<![CDATA[After Incarceration - Blog]]>Fri, 21 Nov 2025 21:31:31 -0500EditMySite<![CDATA[August 1: Remebering REsistance]]>Fri, 01 Aug 2025 16:09:26 GMThttps://www.afterincarceration.org/blog/august-1-remebering-resistancePeople of color have always faced systems of oppression with courage. Throughout history, Black people have put their bodies on the line—facing police batons in the streets, refusing to yield a bus seat, or taking up arms in the face of violence. This tradition of resistance carries many names and many perspectives, all flowing into the river of struggle honored during Black August.

Some, like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., believed that unearned suffering—enduring injustice without retaliation—was the most redemptive experience a human could have. King and countless others bore pain, jail, and even death to expose the moral bankruptcy of segregation and racial violence, transforming suffering into a tool for collective liberation.

At the same time, the history of Black resistance includes the perspective of the soldier: those who, like Private Robert Bandy in Harlem in 1943, wore the uniform of the United States yet faced violence and indignity at home. Black soldiers have fought in every American war, demanding recognition not just for their service abroad, but for their humanity and rights at home. Their resistance was often armed, direct, and insistent on dignity in the face of state power.

Both paths—nonviolent endurance and militant defiance—are woven through the story of Black August. This month is a time to remember not only the well-known heroes but also the hidden, subaltern histories of struggle: the uprisings, the rebellions, the quiet acts of courage, and the moments when ordinary people refused to accept the world as it was.

August invites reflection on the full spectrum of resistance in the United States. It asks that the moral clarity of those who absorbed suffering to move the conscience of a nation be honored, as well as the resolve of those who met force with force. Both have shaped the journey toward freedom and justice.
In remembering Harlem 1943, it becomes clear that the struggle has never been one-dimensional. Whether as soldiers or as dreamers, as rebels or as peacemakers, Black people have continually found ways to resist, to assert dignity, and to shape the course of American history—especially in the face of police violence and the narratives imposed by those in power.

August is a time to reclaim these stories, to lift up the many faces of resistance, and to remind ourselves and the world that the fight for justice is as old—and as varied—as the nation itself.

Harlem 1943: Private Bandy, Police Violence, and a Community’s Breaking PointOn the night of August 1st, 1943, Harlem—already weary from years of discrimination, police abuse, and wartime deprivation—erupted in protest. The spark was the shooting of Private Robert Bandy, a Black soldier home on leave from his service in World War II.

Bandy’s story was painfully familiar to Black New Yorkers. While visiting the Braddock Hotel, he witnessed a police officer, James Collins, roughly handling a Black woman, Marjorie Polite, who had complained about her accommodations. Bandy intervened, insisting that the officer release her. In the ensuing scuffle, Officer Collins drew his gun and shot Bandy in the shoulder.
Word spread rapidly through Harlem that a Black soldier—one risking his life for freedom abroad—had been shot by police in his own country. Rumors, fueled by a long history of police brutality, quickly morphed into reports that Bandy had been killed. Crowds gathered, anger rising with each retelling, and the neighborhood soon exploded in protest. Stores were damaged, goods were taken, and police responded with overwhelming force: beatings, arrests, and more violence.

The uprising lasted for two days. By the end, six people were dead, hundreds injured, and nearly 600 arrested. The city blamed “outside agitators” and “criminal elements,” but the people of Harlem understood the truth: this was an eruption of grief and rage at the unending cycle of police violence and second-class citizenship—even for those in uniform.

Gender, Protection, and the Burden of ContradictionThe events of Harlem 1943 revealed not only the dangers faced by Black men in uniform, but also the profound vulnerability of Black women—a vulnerability shaped by a society that too often refused them even the most basic respect or protection. Marjorie Polite, the woman at the center of the incident, was not simply a bystander. She represents how Black women's suffering—both visible and invisible, pain seen and unseen—has been historically ignored, their resilience seldom recognized.

Black women have long endured everyday indignities and dangers, and the violence that befell Marjorie Polite in the Braddock Hotel was emblematic of this reality. Private Robert Bandy's intervention reflected a deep tradition within Black communities of standing up for one another, of mutual protection and solidarity.

Yet, attempts to step in and protect Black women have not only been overlooked or erased in dominant narratives—they have often been met with violent punishment. The contradiction is not merely that Black men were punished for offending white women, but that they could also be violently punished for intervening to protect Black women. There are many stories, both whispered and sensationalized, about what could happen to a Black person—especially a man—who tried to shield a Black woman from abuse, whether by police, employers, or white citizens. The message was clear: defending Black women could cost a Black man his freedom, his livelihood, or his life.

This dynamic reaches back to the era of slavery, when Black men were often forced to witness the violation of women they loved—wives, daughters, mothers—by white men, powerless to intervene under threat of deadly violence. The trauma of being made to stand by, unable to protect, became a generational burden. This legacy did not end with emancipation; it continued through the era of lynching, Jim Crow, and beyond, shaping behaviors and survival strategies in ways that still echo today.

Within many families, there are memories of the “crazy” uncle who would not tolerate disrespect, or the “strong-willed” father who demanded dignity for his loved ones, to whatever degree was possible. Black men have long fought for Black women, just as they have protected Black children and defended their communities—sometimes at great personal risk. These acts of resistance, whether public or private, are as much a part of Black history as the suffering endured.

Today, this contradiction persists in subtler forms. Black men may still be expected to absorb the consequences of stepping into conflicts—such as mediating or “keeping the peace” when well-meaning white women cause harm within communities of color—often being asked to shield others rather than address the deeper, underlying power imbalances.

These patterns are not merely historical—they echo in boardrooms, classrooms, and community spaces, shaping how protection, vulnerability, and accountability are understood and enacted.

The Contradiction at the Heart of NonviolenceThis tension between the need for safety and the longing for justice runs through the history of Black resistance. The embrace of nonviolence in the civil rights era was rooted not only in principle, but also in a long tradition of navigating peril with care and wisdom. For some, nonviolence was a way to claim dignity and moral clarity; for others, it was a necessary strategy in the face of overwhelming force.

The story of Harlem 1943, and the stories of women like Marjorie Polite, force a grappling with these enduring contradictions. They remind us that the history of resistance is not only about public heroes, but also about the quiet, daily acts of courage and care—fathers, uncles, neighbors, and friends—that have held communities together in the face of unthinkable odds.

]]><![CDATA[The Architecture of Supression]]>Thu, 03 Apr 2025 16:24:35 GMThttps://www.afterincarceration.org/blog/the-architecture-of-supressionHow the PLRA Weaponized psychological torture in new york state Prisons

In 1996, a single piece of legislation transformed American prisons into sophisticated battlegrounds of psychological warfare. The Prison Litigation Reform Act (PLRA), signed into law during Clinton's "tough on crime" era, wasn't just bureaucratic reform—it was counterinsurgency strategy, born from the state's determination to prevent another Attica uprising while ensuring that prison violence remained invisible to courts and the public.

The Insurgency That Sparked a WarTo understand the PLRA, we must first understand what it was designed to counter. The 1971 Attica uprising represented the prison system's greatest fear: organized resistance from incarcerated people demanding basic human dignity. For four days, incarcerated men controlled a significant portion of Attica Correctional Facility, presenting authorities with a list of demands focused on living conditions, religious freedom, and basic human rights.

The state's response was swift and brutal—39 people died when armed forces retook the prison. But the uprising's legacy lived on. Throughout the 1970s and 1980s, incarcerated people increasingly turned to federal courts to seek protection from unconstitutional conditions. By the early 1990s, prisoners were filing approximately 40,000 federal civil rights cases annually.

For prison authorities, this litigation represented a second front of insurgency—one fought through legal papers rather than direct action, but no less threatening to institutional power. The prison system's response was to engineer a legislative weapon that would neutralize both forms of resistance simultaneously.

Designing the Perfect Weapon: The PLRA established two key provisions that together formed a nearly impenetrable shield against accountability:

The "Physical Injury" Requirement: Section 1997e(e) states that "No Federal civil action may be brought by a prisoner... for mental or emotional injury suffered while in custody without a prior showing of physical injury." This single clause effectively legalized psychological torture in American prisons.
Verbal abuse, racial harassment, sexual intimidation, sleep deprivation, and prolonged isolation—all forms of torture recognized internationally—became virtually impossible to challenge legally unless they left visible bruises. Prison officials quickly adapted, developing sophisticated methods of control that would cause maximum psychological damage while remaining legally protected.

The Exhaustion Requirement: Before accessing courts, prisoners must first navigate complex grievance systems controlled by the very staff they're accusing of misconduct. These administrative processes have strict deadlines (sometimes as short as 48 hours after an incident), complex filing requirements, and multiple levels of appeal—all administered by prison staff with a vested interest in rejecting claims.

As anthropologist Orisanmi Burton's research reveals, these systems weren't neutral mechanisms that happened to fail; they were strategic tools of counterinsurgency designed to absorb and neutralize resistance while maintaining state control. The grievance system became the perfect intelligence-gathering apparatus—every complaint filed became a data point identifying potential resistance, effectively extending COINTELPRO-like surveillance behind prison walls.

The Battlefield Adaptation: With the PLRA's protection, a particular type of warfare took hold in American prisons—one where psychological domination replaced visible violence as the primary means of control. Prison staff quickly learned to exploit this legal shield:

Guards could use racial slurs, sexual harassment, and deliberate humiliation without legal consequence
Administrators could place people in solitary confinement for years without judicial review
Staff could "lose" or destroy personal property, including family photos and legal papers
Bright lights could be kept on 24 hours a day, disrupting sleep patterns
Basic necessities like showers, exercise, and medical care could be withheld as punishment

These tactics aren't random cruelty—they're calculated methods of psychological breakdown used in warfare contexts. And like all sophisticated warfare, this system adapted to neutralize resistance through intelligence gathering, not just force.

The grievance process became the perfect tool for this intelligence mission. Each complaint revealed who was willing to challenge authority, which issues generated solidarity, and where potential organizing might emerge. Staff learned that grievances submitted against them served as valuable intelligence about which incarcerated people might need closer monitoring or isolation. The system that claimed to provide accountability instead created a comprehensive surveillance network mapping potential resistance.

The New York Battleground: New York's Incarcerated Grievance Program (IGP) exemplifies this warfare strategy. Created in the aftermath of Attica, the system purports to provide administrative remedies while functioning as a sophisticated mechanism for neutralizing opposition.
The numbers tell the story: according to state data, less than 0.5% of grievances alleging staff misconduct are ever substantiated. This isn't failure—it's success at the system's actual mission. Each denied grievance simultaneously blocks court access while mapping potential resistance networks. Staff misconduct remains protected while organized opposition is systematically identified and isolated.

New York's experience following the 2021 HALT Solitary Confinement Act reveals how deeply embedded psychological warfare has become in carceral control. When the state limited solitary confinement to 15 days, prison staff didn't simply adapt—they staged coordinated sick-outs and aggressive campaigns claiming HALT endangered them. This reaction revealed something profound: psychological torture had become so fundamental to their control strategy that its restriction was experienced as disarmament.

The aftermath was telling. Reports documented at least 35 deaths in state facilities in just eight months following HALT's implementation. New York quietly paid over $10 million to settle lawsuits involving prison guard brutality in a five-year period. When legal protection for psychological torture was weakened, physical violence increased. The warfare simply shifted tactics.

Beyond Broken Systems: Understanding the PLRA and prison grievance systems as warfare strategy rather than failed bureaucracy transforms how we must respond. These aren't broken systems needing reform—they're functioning exactly as designed, as tools of counterinsurgency developed to neutralize resistance while generating intelligence.

The PLRA's deliberate construction of legal immunity for psychological torture, coupled with administrative mazes designed to block court access while monitoring potential resistance, represents sophisticated state violence. Its provisions weren't accidental overreach but calculated warfare against incarcerated people's ability to resist unconstitutional conditions.

What does it mean when a system responds to losing the right to torture with more violence rather than adaptation? It means the PLRA did exactly what it was designed to do: create a closed system where incarcerated people's suffering remained invisible to courts and the public while resistance could be systematically identified and neutralized.

Repealing the PLRA isn't just about legal reform—it's about dismantling a central weapon in the state's arsenal against incarcerated people's humanity and resistance. Until we recognize these mechanisms as warfare rather than flawed protection, we cannot effectively challenge the architecture of carceral control they maintain.

In our next post, we'll examine how prison grievance systems, demonstrate how they it does more harm than good and share how the analysis informs our strategies.

Suggested Reading

American Civil Liberties Union. End the Prison Litigation Reform Act. ACLU, https://www.aclu.org/other/end-prison-litigation-reform-act. Accessed 3 Apr. 2025.
Burton, Orisanmi. Tip of the Spear: Black Radicalism, Prison Repression, and the Long Attica Revolt. University of California Press, 2023.
Correctional Association of New York. Marcy Correctional Facility Monitoring Report. Correctional Association of NY, 2019, https://www.correctionalassociation.org.
Human Rights Watch. No Equal Justice: The Prison Litigation Reform Act in the United States. HRW, 16 June 2009, https://www.hrw.org/report/2009/06/16/no-equal-justice/prison-litigation-reform-act-united-states.
New York Focus. “Inside the NY Prisons Where Violence Is Rising.” New York Focus, 2023, https://www.nysfocus.com.
New York State Department of Corrections and Community Supervision. Research and Reports. DOCCS, 2019–2023, https://doccs.ny.gov/research-and-reports.
New York State Senate. HALT Solitary Confinement Act, Senate Bill S2836, 2021, https://www.nysenate.gov/legislation/bills/2021/s2836.
New York State Comptroller’s Office. Lawsuit Settlement Data. 2018–2024. [Link to FOIL-based data if applicable].
Prison Policy Initiative. The PLRA at 25: A Prisoner’s Access to Justice. Prison Policy Initiative, 2021, https://www.prisonpolicy.org/reports/plra.html.
United States Code. Prison Litigation Reform Act (PLRA), 42 U.S.C. § 1997e. Cornell Law School Legal Information Institute, https://www.law.cornell.edu/uscode/text/42/1997e.

]]><![CDATA[Hiring Practices in Prison Education:Part One, Protect Ya NeckRespectfully, Jose Pineda]]>Fri, 06 Dec 2024 05:00:00 GMThttps://www.afterincarceration.org/blog/hiring-practices-in-prison-educationpart-one-protect-ya-neckrespectfully-jose-pinedaI often hear people say: “The people who are closest to the problem are also closest to the solutions.” People with decision-making titles are often eager to amplify the embodied wisdom of survivors; yet, those leadership positions remain occupied by allies in the fight for social justice rather than the directly-impacted veterans beside them. The gap between rhetoric and reality is reinforced everyday in the nonprofit-industrial-complex. When it comes to college programs in New York prisons, the chasm is quietly turning into an echo chamber. This text is food for thought.

New York passed Proposition 1 on November 2, 2024. This amendment to the State Constitution, effectively expands constitutional protections against discrimination. While anti-discrimination protections already existed in various federal, state and local laws, this amendment lowers barriers and raises stakes. Experts say new theoretical legal arguments are likely to follow the implementation of these new provisions. In the next couple of years, Courts will decide cases that set new precedents in New York. The Equal Rights Amendment, passed 60 years after the Civil Rights Act that created protected classes, does more than just reinforce existing protections–it reminds us that those protections exist in the first place. Maybe people will pay more attention to the potential consequences of forcing job applicants to undergo a DOCCS volunteer application prior to a conditional offer of employment.

Law and Hiring Practices

Law	Key Operations	Questions Employers Cannot Ask	Jurisdiction
New York State Constitution Article I, § 11 (amended 2024)	Applies broadly to state actions and policies to ensure non-discrimination and equal protection.	Any questions related to protected characteristics such as race, gender, or age.	Applies to all governmental entities and public employers within New York State.
NYSHRL	Enforces non-discriminatory practices through state agencies and courts.	Questions about race, gender, sexual orientation, age, disability, or criminal history at the pre-offer stage.	Applies to all private and public employers, housing providers, and businesses in New York State with four or more employees.
N.Y. Executive Law § 296(1)(a)	Applies to employers, requiring compliance with anti-discrimination policies in hiring and employment.	Questions implying bias against protected classes such as ethnicity, religion, or family status.	Covers employers statewide in New York with four or more employees, including private, public, and non-profit employers.
N.Y. Executive Law § 296(1)(d)	Regulates job applications and interviews to avoid discrimination at the pre-employment stage.	Questions about disability, marital status, pregnancy, or gender identity.	Applies to all employers and employment agencies operating within New York State.
Ban-the-Box Laws	Prohibits employers from including criminal history questions on initial job applications.	Questions about arrests or convictions before a conditional offer is made.	Applies to private and public employers within New York State with four or more employees.
N.Y. Executive Law § 296(16)	Restricts employers from disqualifying applicants solely on the basis of prior convictions.	Questions about sealed records, juvenile offenses, or arrests not leading to convictions.	Applies to private and public employers in New York State with four or more employees.
N.Y. Correction Law Article 23-A	Mandates an assessment of the nature of the offense and its relevance to the job.	Questions implying automatic disqualification due to criminal records.	Applies to all employers in New York State hiring for jobs performed within the state.
Title VII of the Civil Rights Act	Regulates hiring, promotion, compensation, and workplace environment practices.	Questions about religion, cultural practices, or national origin that are not job-related.	Applies to employers nationwide with 15 or more employees, including private, public, and federal employers.
Age Discrimination in Employment Act (ADEA)	Applies to hiring, promotions, layoffs, and benefits.	Questions about age, date of birth, or year of graduation from high school or college.	Applies to employers nationwide with 20 or more employees, including federal, state, and local governments.
Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA)	Requires reasonable accommodations and prohibits discriminatory hiring practices.	Questions about medical conditions, past illnesses, or disabilities unless job-related and discussed post-offer.	Applies to employers nationwide with 15 or more employees, including private, public, and non-profit organizations.

The Department of Corrections and Community Supervision (DOCCS) requires volunteer applicants to disclose personal information (e.g., age, gender, sex, marital status, etc.). This violates anti-discrimination legislation, both old and new. It may seem easier to bury one's head in the sand, but if campuses continue to look the other way–college in prison programs will face more than theoretical arguments. They run the risk of legal action, individually and as the target of a class action for inclusion will be infused with the embodied wisdom of Jailhouse Lawyers. That challenge should not be taken lightly. The Prison Litigation Reform Act of 1996 does not apply to formerly incarcerated community members. When we are released from prison, we regain our right to access the courts like everyone else.

In response to New York's expanded Equal Rights Amendment, institutions must take proactive steps toward compliance and transformation. Organizations should revise hiring practices by conducting independent screenings and extending offers based on qualifications before addressing access requirements. Legal compliance demands the elimination of questions about protected characteristics and full implementation of Ban-the-Box laws, delaying background checks until after conditional offers. Enhanced transparency requires documented interview notes, hiring deliberations, and clear explanations for decisions to protect against discrimination claims. These measures ensure alignment with the constitutional protections taking effect January 1, 2025.

Conclusion
Current hiring practices are jeopardizing the future of college in prison in New York State. The problematic questions raised by DOCCS volunteer application process are creating an identifiable pattern that will require disclosure in a court of law. Campuses are making themselves unnecessarily vulnerable by capitulating to the pressure of prison administrations. By failing to align with state and federal protections, institutions jeopardize their mission to provide transformative education and expose themselves to potential lawsuits. If you are a champion of college in prison programming, think about how your campus administration would respond to a class action lawsuit costing the college millions of dollars. Immediate action is essential to protect against legal challenges and ensure these programs fulfill their public promises.

]]><![CDATA[Reimagining Reentry: When Justice Meets Humanity]]>Thu, 19 Sep 2024 12:08:36 GMThttps://www.afterincarceration.org/blog/reimagining-reentry-when-justice-meets-humanityIn the shadows of prison walls, a quiet revolution is brewing - one that seeks to transform the very essence of how we welcome those who’ve experienced incarceration back into our communities.

The Need for a Humanizing Approach
The current reentry process often treats individuals with justice system involvement as statistics rather than people with unique experiences and potential. By shifting our focus to a more humanizing approach, we not only address the immediate challenges of reintegration but also tap into the wealth of perspective and resilience that formerly incarcerated individuals bring to our communities. This paradigm shift has the power to redefine success in reentry, moving beyond mere recidivism rates to encompass holistic personal growth and community contribution.

Introducing Restorative Reentry Circles
Restorative reentry circles aim to help people transitioning from incarceration reclaim their humanity as they rejoin society. These circles create a space where hearts and minds can open, connecting people across social divides and fostering empathy. By employing ancient storytelling techniques, participants can explore and share life experiences, often marked by oppression and marginalization, allowing them to reconnect with their authentic selves.

The Wilderness Model of Reentry
Drawing inspiration from the biblical exodus, the concept of the wilderness serves as a powerful metaphor for the reentry process. Like the israelites wandering in the desert, those navigating post-incarceration life face a period of uncertainty and transformation. This “wilderness” phase is not just about physical freedom, but about shedding old identities, confronting deep-seated fears, and forging a new collective purpose. It’s a communal journey of growth, where both individuals with justice system involvement and the broader community are transformed through shared experiences and mutual support.

Disrupting Systems of Oppression
The circle process inherently challenges hierarchical structures that perpetuate inequality. By creating circles with community members who have experienced incarceration and are engaged in activities that enhance collective quality of life, we can begin to dismantle systemic barriers to reintegration.

Engaging Stakeholders and Learning From Experience
Successful reentry depends on involving a wide range of community stakeholders, from those recently released to corporate leaders. My personal journey at Home Depot illustrates the complex interplay between human connection and systemic barriers. While personal relationships with managers initially opened doors for me, they ultimately couldn’t shield me from the cold efficiency of algorithmic decision-making.

This experience underscores the need for a holistic approach to reentry that combines interpersonal understanding with systemic change. Human interaction, not algorithms, should guide the process of reentry and employment, ensuring that empathy and understanding play a central role in decision-making. By engaging diverse stakeholders and learning from lived experiences, we can create more inclusive and effective reentry practices that recognize the full humanity of those involved in the justice system.

Join the Movement for Restorative Reentry
Restorative reentry circles offer a powerful framework for transforming the reentry process, creating a future where everyone has the opportunity to reclaim their identity and thrive. But this vision requires your involvement:

1. Educate yourself about the challenges faced by those reentering society after incarceration.
2. Volunteer with local reentry support organizations.
3. Advocate for fair hiring policies and reduced reintegration barriers.
4. Implement inclusive hiring initiatives if you’re an employer.
5. Participate in or organize restorative justice circles.
6. Share success stories to challenge stigma and inspire hope.

The journey towards a more just and compassionate world begins with each of us. By taking action today, you can help build a society where reentry becomes a pathway to transformation, not just for individuals, but for entire communities. Together, we can turn the tide on recidivism and create a future where justice truly meets humanity.

Will you join us in reimagining reentry?

]]><![CDATA[Restorative Justice and Restorative Practices: What I learned After Incarceration]]>Tue, 27 Aug 2024 03:53:53 GMThttps://www.afterincarceration.org/blog/restorative-justice-and-restorative-practices-what-i-learned-after-incarceration

Restorative Justice, much like its retributive relative–criminal justice– represents a conflict resolution ideal. Punishment has proven to be a viable method of social control. It has not, however, proven to be a system that leads to safety. Despite its shortfalls, state sanctioned violence does seem to deter personal vendettas between people of European descent. It does not resonate as well with people from non-European cultures, hence the cycles of interpersonal violence in culturally specific contexts.

As an ancestor of mine, Eddie Ellis, would often remind people: There are no prison problems. Those problems have been transplanted from the community and concentrated within the confines of a correctional facility. Restorative Practices (RPs) are often indigenous, predating capitalism and developing along a diachronically different timeline. RPs depart, drastically, from the traditions of torture and public execution embodied by people from European descent. For contemporary practitioners of restorative justice such as myself, we see RPs as the Due Process of Dignity. We hold how we handle things up, to stand in stark contrast to the facades of Due Process of Law we face.

While the criminal legal system is designed to prioritize efficiency and finality, restorative justice requires more of an emergent mindset. It is about recognizing the validity of conflicting truths and creating a space when everyone involved can show up as their authentic selves. It relies on a horizontal power structure. The entire community of stakeholders has a say in what happens during each phase of the process. There are no authorities, only individuals equally invested in repairing harm. The outcomes rely on the wisdom of our ancestors. In many instances, we need only remember how to respect one another. Restorative justice seeks to develop patterns of thinking and speaking with one another that foster understanding, healing, and accountability without fear. The place people emerge from this process, is the place people find common ground.

Restorative systems typically involve exercises structured to emphasize shared understanding and healing. RPs often take place in a circle, using a talking piece, where each participant has a chance to be heard. These best practices may (or may not) result in apologies, remedial actions, or other forms of accountability. Other RPs are used proactively to grow cultural norms of belonging and reinforce the understanding that all members of a given community—including their voices—are valued. Despite their potential, RPs remain underutilized in the reentry process for formerly incarcerated individuals and the communities they return to. As someone who has navigated this journey, I’ve experienced firsthand the profound impact of these practices, which provide a crucial space to process the deep-seated traumas induced by the prison experience. The constant assault on our humanity within correctional facilities often leads to internalized dehumanization—a survival mechanism that, while necessary behind bars, becomes a barrier to reintegration upon release. RPs offer a safe environment to unpack these experiences, allowing us to reconnect with our inherent worth and dignity, highlighting the missed opportunities in our current system.

Through guided dialogues and community circles, we can begin to address the deep harms endured during incarceration. These might include lost time with family, missed educational or career opportunities, or the lasting impact of violence witnessed and/or experienced. While these losses can never be fully restored, acknowledging them in a supportive setting is a crucial step in the healing process. Restorative practices also provide a platform to deconstruct the negative narratives we’ve internalized. In prison, we often compartmentalize our humanity as a form of self-protection. These adaptations, necessary for survival in a challenging environment, can become deeply ingrained. Restorative practices help us shed these protective layers, like a tree shedding its old bark, allowing our authentic selves to re-emerge and fostering healthier ways of relating to others and ourselves. Moreover, these practices allow us to take meaningful responsibility for our past actions. Unlike the traditional system, which often leaves us disconnected from the harm we’ve caused, restorative practices enable direct engagement with those we’ve hurt. This accountability is not about punishment, but about understanding impact and committing to positive change.

Restorative justice is designed to reach a place where everyone feels justice has been served. In contrast, the criminal legal system will allow an innocent man to languish in prison rather than overturn a final decision. The criminal legal system prioritizes efficiency and finality, whereas restorative justice prioritizes understanding and healing. In the workplace and broader community, RPs address the unique challenges faced by formerly incarcerated individuals while revealing the hidden costs of incarceration to society. These practices foster open dialogue about concerns, misconceptions, and past traumas, promoting more inclusive and supportive environments. By facilitating these conversations, communities gain insight into the complex realities of reentry, leading to the development of more effective support systems, from job training programs to mental health resources. In the workplace specifically, RPs help address issues such as limited work history and the stigma associated with a criminal record. They also aid in navigating the subtle social dynamics that arise when integrating formerly incarcerated individuals into a team. By cultivating a culture of openness and understanding, these approaches not only ease the reintegration process but also enrich the workplace with diverse perspectives and experiences. It’s like planting seeds of understanding in fertile soil, nurturing them to grow into a garden of mutual respect and collaboration.

By embracing RPs, we create a cycle of healing and growth. Formerly incarcerated individuals find pathways to process trauma, reclaim their humanity, and reintegrate into society. Communities gain restored relationships, increased safety, and the rich contributions of all their members. This enhances our collective ability to rebuild lives, strengthen community bonds, and contribute positively to society. To fully realize these benefits, we need systemic support for RPs at all levels—in our criminal legal system, our schools, our workplaces, and our communities. By investing in these underutilized approaches, we invest in the potential of every individual to heal and transform, and in the capacity of our communities to become more just, compassionate, and whole.

Jose Pineda

]]><![CDATA[Hugs Now; Hugs Later: Flowers Never]]>Fri, 04 Mar 2022 08:00:00 GMThttps://www.afterincarceration.org/blog/hugs-now-hugs-later-flowers-never

Your flowers are beautiful, but they will die just like you and I. What will live forever, in every dimension, is how we show up for each other in the present…. I thought about this then I watched Eldra Jacks III talk about healing circles in prison.

His humanity resonated with me, it was familiar, and the applause he got at one point made me uncomfortable. We should acknowledge and uplift each other, but it’s not about giving and receiving flowers. The true value of expressing your appreciation for people, before you lose them, is the ability to be together in that moment. There is an audience for his story, for our story, and our power lies there, in our ability to share. The individual ripple effects of that power are significant–but not the point. They are not where the surface has been disrupted, and we must follow that trajectory because it is our entry point into what lies beneath the surface. We go as deep as our authenticity allows. Our authentic selves are like stones. Our social selves, determined by arbitrary divisions of power and oppressive expressions of force, are riddled with air pockets. The weight of one’s suffering may cause them to go under, but if they are not capable of surrendering–they go down gasping for breath. That sink can be deadly, the death symbolic and cyclical.

]]><![CDATA[New Year, New Stage In The Journey]]>Mon, 24 Jan 2022 08:00:00 GMThttps://www.afterincarceration.org/blog/new-year-new-stage-in-the-journey

We guide people, like rails and road signs, along self-determined courses of action. Many of us travel the same road, but, even then, each of us lives in the nuances of our individual lanes. After Incarceration is a community based organization without borders. We are not everyone’s gateway to liberation, but we fight for the liberation of everyone.

Vertical Divider

When we successfully dissolve the arbitrary divisions that we’ve been socialized to accept, the natural inclination of all human beings is to support other human beings.

We start with building inclusive communities and centering the lived experience of systems impacted people. We see one another and hear one another without seeing or hearing any “others.” When we successfully dissolve the arbitrary divisions that we’ve been socialized to accept, the natural inclination of all human beings is to support other human beings.

We access those winding roads by sharing stories about our relationships to the planet we live on. We rely on the elements--earth, wind, water and fire--to guide people, like rails and reflectors, along their self-determined journeys. Then we go further. We invest in people, not projects. We don’t draw the map, we equip people to become cartographers.

We each know within us how to get there. We will find our way. So together, we keep going.

]]><![CDATA[Welcome to the AI Community Blog!]]>Wed, 01 Dec 2021 08:00:00 GMThttps://www.afterincarceration.org/blog/welcome-to-the-ai-community-blog

After Incarceration is Live.

This space is for us, the growing After Incarceration community. This space is for you, regardless of your perceived proximity to our cause--because our fight is your fight too. In this space, we are they and they are us. Always.

Trigger Warning: this shit is real, and sometimes, it’s raw. Sometimes the pain people are pushing through can get displaced. We speak it how we live it, and we welcome every opportunity to be accountable to our words. We will never attempt to control the way people think about a thing, but we will ask people to think about why they think the way they do. When we use words we don’t really mean, for instance--what does that mean?

Transparency: We are starting this blog to increase the visibility of grassroots organizations and the community leaders emerging from the margins. Blog posts are a cost effective way to optimize your search engine results--but it takes time to create content. We are proposing a collaborative effort. You can increase the visibility of your efforts and issues by sharing them, and by being in the audience for us. Drop, follow, and share links in the comments. We all win.

This isn’t chainmail or TikTok, though. Our content, like our community, is connected by a determination to be better. We refuse to accept the ideological limitations of capitalism, refuse to have our freedom defined by the market, and refuse to be fueled by fear. We have lived in our fears long enough. We imagine life after incarceration without the confines of fear. Each of us has our own relationship to the words “after incarceration.” For some, after incarceration is still a dream, still a place they can only visit in their mind. For others, it starts on a specific date. For all of us, a world after incarceration is our future if we make it so.

Finally, the forms of expression we seek to share are not uniform. People who are rebuilding our lives after incarceration wish to share some of the wisdom we learned in the darkness, where you have to dream just to get through the day. You could find a scholarly article review in one post--and a haiku in the next. We encourage you to pay attention, or at least give a second look, when you come across something you aren’t accustomed to talking about. It’s just as important to show up and listen as it is to show up and shout. If you want people to care about what’s important to you, try caring about what’s important to them. We all live in the nuances of our own lives. The multiplicity we see in the world, will be read in this blog. And, by being true to our selves, we will see the sharedness of our seemingly separate experiences. Being unique does not require separation. It requires relationships.

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