Reentry: Recognition and Realization

During a recent visit to a nearby prison, one of the inmates asked a question of me that I found surprisingly difficult to answer. To paraphrase it: "What is the most challenging aspect of your reentry experience?" As I thought about the question, and how I might answer it, I began to feel a bit uncomfortable. I felt uncomfortable because I couldn't bring myself to say that one aspect of my reentry experience outweighed all others. Yes, the job search is primary, but so is the disconnect between me and family members over my inability to tap into an income stream big enough to make all of us happy. Then, too, what about the territorialism and petty conflict between reentry programs and service providers that should instead operate collaboratively? Finally, there's the anguish and frustration of working hard to provide effective supports to others that nobody has been able, or willing, to offer me.

Now, words concerning reentry usually come to me without much difficulty. Not to say that I'm glib about it. I wouldn't say that glibness characterizes me at all, about anything. I do speak about reentry, however, with a passion that most often gets the attention of my audience. My comments include a healthy dose of the most relevant statistics regarding recidivism, the educational level, incidence of mental health issues, and substance abuse of prisoners. Inevitably, my comments include a heavy emphasis upon the importance of employment in the reentry process, and the profoundly problematic host of collateral consequences to a criminal conviction. The words flow, my passion fills the room, and my audience routinely grows still and quiet, all eyes fixated on me.

At that moment in my presentation, I normally pause for effect, pace about a bit, looking each member of the audience straight in the eyes. I stop, allowing the gravity of the moment to settle in, and read the expressions on the varied faces. What do I see? Perplexity. Consternation. Vulnerability. Confession of need, eagerness for direction, powerlessness, a nearly-desperate effort to remain hopeful. At that moment, my passion transforms into solemnity. My solemnity transitions into encouragement. Encouragement then morphs into engagement. Engagement leads to mutual respect and a sense of shared struggle.

In the course of the presentation, my audience evolves through individualism to community. In that sense of community, my audience begins to glean a consciousness of shared struggle that ameliorates the perplexity and relieves the consternation. The vulnerability is no longer vulnerability because we are all equally vulnerable. Likewise, the confession of need merely melds our spirits. For a brief period of time, powerlessness gives way to determination, the sense of direction grows within, and the nearly-desperate hope becomes confidence, an invigorated sense of possibility.

My discomfort at that simple question slowly faded into nonexistence, as my chest swelled with the mutual support that had taken center stage between me and my audience. My audience got me. They understood, in my non-answer, the unutterable obstacles to successful reentry. The essential challenges to reentry are, indeed, more problematic than I can adequately express. Our language, as descriptive as it is, doesn't begin to describe the holistic trauma of the reentry experience.