Understanding why people rarely make it out of the underground, and how we can help change this.

I’LL GO WITH YOU

In my twenties, I did a lot of traveling in  Latin America. Even though I spoke decent Spanish, I constantly felt lost. 

My travels were rarely along tourist routes. I was visiting grassroots organizations in Guatemala City’s “red zones”, or a cooperative of coffee farmers in the mountains of Honduras. There was no Disneyland-like map with clear, colored arrows guiding me through a successful experience. 

I had to exchange money at border crossings, get in the right line to stamp my passport, find the right bus terminal to buy the right ticket to a small city whose name I’d forgotten. To call someone for help, I had to learn about the cell phone networks, different providers, find out which place would sell me a phone and which bodega could sell me minutes. I had to ask strangers how to help me call the automated numbers to apply my purchased minutes. 

I felt so afraid. So stressed. And most of all, I felt so stupid and ashamed at feeling afraid and stressed. 

When someone would tell me where to go next, I despaired. My brain stopped listening. I just wanted to ask, “Would you mind going with me? Please?”

More than once, I felt so overwhelmed and so out of my element, I panicked and actually changed my flights at the first computer I could find in order to go home early. I’m embarrassed to even admit that here, for the first time.

That experience has helped me understand how guys out of prison suddenly backpedal, reverse their plans, and retreat to what is familiar. I got a small taste of how most folks releasing from prison feel when they first get off the bus and face the foreign world — and all the barriers still ahead — of Official Society In America. 

It’s scary. It’s confusing. It’s overwhelming.

But it also showed me the incredible value of having someone walk alongside you. 

When the Honduran coffee farmers sent someone to meet me in the city, standing with a smile when I got off the bus, taking my backpack and putting it in the back of the car, my travel terror turned to joy. My host took me to lunch. I asked a hundred questions about what I needed to do that day and went to get my map out… he said, “Don’t worry. We’ll get it done. I’ll go with you.” 

And then: “We are so glad you’re here and you made it OK.” 

This made all the difference. And it makes all the difference to our releasing friends, too. 

RIDES

This is the season we talked about a few modules ago: it involves rides, rides, and more rides.

All this driving around might seem like a drag, but hear me out: rides are where it’s at.

Both your person, and your own town, will become more real to you as you accompany them through all the reentry steps these first two months.

Some of the offices and appointments you’ll need to navigate together may be familiar to you: Department of Licensing, Social Security office, grocery store, bank, getting a simple cell phone and a cheap minutes plan.

But some offices will be new to you: the DOC parole office for checking in with the CCO, welfare offices for health insurance and food benefits, the chemical dependency treatment agency for a required evaluation, local municipal courts to quash old warrants or set up a payment plan on old traffic debt.

You’ll figure it out easily with a Google search on your phone.

What’s important at this point in your preparation is setting aside the time. Budget the resource of your time during the first month of release. Plan on being available a lot that whole first month.

Get your friends and family on board – praying for you, understanding what you are busy with, offering their moral support.

THE GATES OF HADES ARE THICK

Remember: you are navigating the next layer of the gates of Hades. It’s not just the prison walls, the hassle of Securus or phone calls and visiting policies. You are now entering the many barriers between the land of the living that we know and the American underground in which most every formerly incarcerated person remains stuck, even after leaving prison.

As you go from one office to the next, you start to get a feel for how far underground your friend has lived – how many legal, social, and economic systems intersect into an intimidating barricade. You see how many ladders (programs, fees, appointments, documentation)  one must climb up to get out from underneath the system into a “legal” existence.

Just like  the heavy barriers over Lazarus’ tomb, these barriers are hard for releasing folks to handle on their own.  So your team’s energy and time accompanying your partner through these systems is deep church work. The gates of Hades cannot stop this movement, Jesus told his disciples.

That’s us.


PRESENCE

Picking up your released friend and taking them to these different appointments, visiting various departments, looking resources up online – it’s not just tangible assistance. It’s also time together.

This has been the core of my pastoral work for years: conversations in the car. Laughing in court lobbies and driver’s licensing centers while waiting for our number to be called. Sudden confessions and deep struggles come up as we park outside their house and I turn the engine off. That’s where I’ve most often prayed with people. This is where communion happens.

Rarely have releasing friends initiated time together with me by calling to say, “Let’s get coffee this week and chat!” It doesn’t happen that way. Real connection usually happens along the way — as we walk the road of reentry together.

So find excuses to take care of these tasks by going together. Trust and relationship grow when you are in each other’s presence.

QUICK QUESTION

YOUR PRESENCE IS POWER

In my first year as a volunteer jail chaplain, one of the guys who got out and contacted our ministry was Zane: a towering white guy—standing at 6 foot 6 inches—with a shaved head, huge hands, tattoos crawling around his arms, out of his shirt and up his neck. Not the pretty  tattoos we see these days, but the old fashioned kind, scrawled in prison cells when guards aren’t watching. Zane used to cook and sell meth. He’d had an encounter with Jesus, he said, in our Bible studies, and wanted to know if the kind of love we talked about as chaplains was available outside of the jail prayer groups, out here in our community.

He took us at our word.

Zane had lots of court debt. Old misdemeanors, traffic fines, convictions — they each come with a pile of fees that balloon with interest in courts, then even higher rates from the collection agencies who buy the debt. These legal financial obligations (LFOs) are a primary barrier to reentry, one of the biggest “stones” that seal millions of formerly incarcerated people  into a legal and financial underground. 

When Zane asked me to go to a little municipal court with him, to ask the judge to let him set up a payment plan and take the hold off his driver’s license, I had no idea how to help. I just tagged along, really.

We took off our belts to walk through the courthouse metal detector, then found some seats in the pews of the courtroom. I sat there for two hours with Zane, who got out of his seat often to pace in the lobby. I watched, listened, and tried to figure out the liturgy of the legal rituals playing out.

Zane’s name was eventually called and he stood before the judge and pointed backwards to me as his “community support,” as he tried to describe positive changes in his life. The judge’s eyebrows actually went up; it was like my scrawny presence in the courtroom actually meant something. He granted Zane leniency, offering to wipe the entire debt if Zane showed three months’ consistent payment of $50.

Once we got outside, this large, intimidating man slumped into the posture of a little boy and hugged me.

“Bro, none of this would have been possible without you.”

“Are you kidding? I didn’t do anything.”

“You don’t get it,” he said. “I was f—ing terrified to be here today. I was sweating and nearly had a panic attack being in a courthouse again. If you weren’t with me in there, I would have taken off and left. Like three times. But I didn’t because you were here with me. I never woulda crossed this fear if it wasn’t for you.”

That’s what your simple presence can do.

You don’t have to be an expert. Just be there.


PAY ATTENTION

You don’t have to be an expert. Just by paying attention and keeping track — of details, paperwork, dates, basic stuff — you are offering the mental capacity your person might not have when they are so overwhelmed.

While you support your person’s new practice of putting all appointments into a calendar (in their phone is most common now, and they’ll never forget it at home or on their bedroom wall), you should also keep early appointment dates in your calendar and remind your person of important dates coming up. Clarify that you are giving them a ride, or that  another team member can.

In prison, you don’t need a calendar. You don’t need to keep track of your schedule. You live inside an automated machine. All jobs, visits, classes only happen when you get a “call out.” Your life happens on an assembly line, a conveyor belt.

Learning to control the sudden free-flow of time into an invisible grid of calendar dates and daily hours is quite an existential transition, if you think about it. You can help with that.

ONLINE ACCOMPANIMENT

During the pandemic, most of the offices our releasing friends needed to visit closed. This showed us that much of what was done in person can be done online. This can simplify some things, but can also be a barrier if our friend has no computer or internet, or little experience with clunky websites and professional jargon.

So, accompaniment looks different.

Find time to meet up in a space you both feel comfortable. Have a nice beverage or lunch.

Start wading through websites. Google the phone numbers, write it all down, keep track. 

You know how much you love waiting on hold for Comcast customer service? Oh wait, you hate it? Well, folks just out of prison are even more intimidated and will hang up as soon as the press-a-number options feel overwhelming. So just putting your phone on speaker, making one call at a time together, setting up evaluation dates, re-visiting online portals… that’s how we roll away the stones and practice resurrection in this digital era. 

The gates of Hades — no matter how they morph and change in the modern age — can’t stop the movement of Jesus’ people. (Matthew 16:18)

And it’s still time together, just around a laptop. Don’t forget to savor and enjoy this friend of yours. Take time to laugh, talk about your lives, take a quick break and go for a walk in the sun.


THE STOPS TO MAKE

Here’s a preview of the common ”gates” you will need to accompany your released friend through the first few weeks. (None of this should be new if you’ve read through your different roles in the STONES TO ROLL AWAY module from several months ago.)

DSHS

Also known as the welfare office. The second or third day out, you’ll either go to the office or do an online application and a phone call. Why? There are often (meager but) essential funds to help people in exactly this start-up season of need: Food Benefits, Cash Benefits, Health Insurance. It just requires wading through tedious applications, confirming their current zero-income status, and getting set up.

Health insurance will be  necessary for the next steps. And try to get an ID/DriverLicense voucher, if they’re available,  for the next stop.

DOL

Department of Licensing is the gatekeeper for breaking out of the underground. It can be harder than you think to get an ID card — proof that you exist in the modern age. That little prison ID they had in prison? Even though it’s issued by the state, it does not qualify as government-issued ID. (If you are  confused or upset by this, it means you are paying attention. This is how people are kept underground.) Jump through the hoops to get the ID!

Also ask for a printout of what is necessary to get their Driver’s License. (On the DOL website, you can usually find way to access license records.) For more detailed directions about this, see the ID & DRIVERS LICENSE guide in the Stones to Roll Away module. 


DRUG TREATMENT AGENCY

It’s very likely that DOC supervision will require a chemical dependency evaluation. Every community has their own “recovery services” agencies. Your releasing friend will need help calling that agency and setting up an appointment for an evaluation. (Now is where Health Insurance will cover the bill and move things along on the first call.) The evaluation results might recommend no treatment, or dictate weekly outpatient treatment (ie addiction counselor meetings or group meetings). If so, be encouraging to your person: “We got this. Plug it into the calendar. We’ll give you a ride. You are taking care of you first. You’re worth it. 

MENTAL HEALTH AGENCY

Many releasing folks, guys especially, downplay their mental health needs. We’ve had a lot of hopeful, healing, intelligent men start to unravel and go off the rails in their second month out because (we found out later) the short supply of mental health meds they were released with ran out. There is often shame behind asking for help with this.

I always say, “We want to support your mental health, and your whole health. You’re worth getting all the support you need to take care of YOU.”

Some DOC offices will require a mental health evaluation in addition to a chemical dependency evaluation. Sometimes they’re with the same agency, which makes things a little simpler. Set up the appointment. Help them ensure the pharmacy has their health insurance info so they can  get their prescription filled.

Down the road, they might be in a more stable place and decide with their mental health prescriber that meds are no longer necessary. But right now, they’re in one of  the most disorienting, stressful transitions of their life. It’s not the time to detox a brain off mental health meds.

COUNTY COURTHOUSE

Many folks leaving the underground have holds on their driver’s licenses — old traffic offenses with ballooning court debt sitting in some municipal (city) court. Our ID/Driver’s License module gives our full strategy on going directly to these courts, asking the clerk or judge to take the fine out of collections (if it’s in collections), and setting up a simple payment plan (ask for $20/month). That takes the hold off the license! Do that in each court where there’s a hold. It’s getting easier these days – it just takes time. Add calendar reminders to make those small monthly payments on time.

SOCIAL SECURITY OFFICE

This office is always terrible, not gonna lie. But it might be necessary to try and recover a long-lost SS Card. Your releasing friend might have worked with their prison counselor to obtain a SS card while still in prison. If not, go to the office, wait in line, and provide them with the documentation they need. 

Some releasing folks might have a more involved Social Security Disability Income (SSDI) application to reactivate, be it for a physical or mental disability. Ask your released friend if this is the case.

A WORD OF BLESSING

Churches are great at handling the many needs that arise when there’s a death and/or a funeral. You come together. You figure it out. A community is forged more deeply. How much more can a church family show up  when bringing someone back to life, getting a person set up in the land of the living?

ACTION STEPS

  • Figure out who among your team is most rich in time availability to give rides this first month out.

  • Review everyone’s roles that the team established back in the STONES TO ROLL AWAY module. Does everyone feel clear on what steps they’re taking with the releasing friend this month?

FOR TEAM DISCUSSION

  • Is all this overwhelming? Be honest with each other.

  • Can anyone relate to the opening Latin America story? Can you think of a time you felt totally lost – in a different country maybe? How did you navigate that? Did someone help you? How did that feel?

  • Does anyone feel encouraged by the news that just your presence can be a game changer?

FOR REFLECTION