Commencement

It seems that media coverage of criminal offenses and irredeemable “criminals” dominates local news, giving a strong impression that crime runs rampant and those who commit crime are incapable of becoming productive members of our community. The truth is far more complicated. Most people commit crime due to a variety of factors including substance-use disorder, mental illness, and past abuse; factors that can be addressed through strong rehabilitation. 

Tragically, sensational media stories dampen public support for rehabilitation; and create massive barriers as people with criminal histories try to rejoin society.

Considering these barriers, it is extraordinary when people with past criminal involvement manage to chart a productive life in the community. These stories are not nearly as rare as people think, and they are deserving of the same level of coverage local media grants to the “crime of the week.”  A great example is Reginald Smith, who will be graduating from the University of Texas at Austin on Saturday, December 3rd.

Reggie was sentenced to prison five times in his adult life, the last stint for nearly six years. Like many of the people he met while in prison, he struggled with substance-use disorder. Finding limited rehabilitative resources in prison, he continued to struggle each time he was released to stay sober, find a job, and rent a place to live. 

Against the odds, Reggie kept working towards recovery from addiction both in prison and out.

After his last time in prison, Reggie connected with the local recovery community. Determined to stay out of prison, he became a house manager at a sober-living home. He stayed sober. He enrolled in the University of Texas to earn his Bachelors in Social Work, and quickly became a leader on campus. He served in the UT Center for Students in Recovery and championed efforts to create opportunity for formerly incarcerated individuals.

Because of his work, Reggie was awarded a fellowship from the Hogg Foundation for Mental Health to advance public policy that will promote substance-use disorder treatment and mental health care to divert people from jail and prison.  He is an invited speaker and recognized leader among those with a lived history of mental illness and criminal justice involvement. He is also a mentor to those who are striving for recovery and a productive life despite the stigma and shame of a criminal record.

Reggie graduates Magna Cum Laude with his Bachelors in Social Work this weekend. He was selected by the student body to give the commencement address. His journey inspires countless people who have been discarded by society because of past mistakes.

 NOTE: I alerted contacts in both print and visual media about Reggie’s story. As of today, December 2^nd, no reporter had picked up the story; so, I decided to post on my blog. I appreciate readers sharing this post with others.  Thanks!

The “T” Word

I recently started looking for an apartment to rent. I’ve been gainfully employed for more than a year. I’m an active and productive member of my community.  My criminal history is just that - history. In short, I’m an outstanding candidate for rental property, except for the fact that I have a criminal background.

I soon learned that it will be more difficult to find rental property than it was to find a job. An apartment locator who specializes in finding rental housing for people with certain types of rental barriers such as broken leases and criminal records told me that there was absolutely nothing she could do for me. Most property management companies refuse to lease to anyone with a criminal record, especially a felony record. A minority of properties make exceptions for DWI arrests so long as they were many years in the past.  The apartment locator told me that I would have a better chance leasing directly from an owner. 

Therefore, I began looking for private landlords advertising rental property on Craigslist. I found a kindly gentleman wanting to lease the guest house behind his home. I told him that I had a criminal record and that I was on parole, but he seemed willing to overlook these issues so long as he had an opportunity to speak to my references. Days later, he invited me to plan for a mid-December move in.  I was thrilled. So was he. He explained that his recent tenant, a college student from an affluent home, was sloppy, financially irresponsible, and had broken his lease in order to move in with friends. 

  

One week before I was to move in, however, the landlord emailed me. He had studied my criminal record more closely, and changed his mind. I asked for an opportunity to explain what had happened that led me to commit multiple robberies, and what I had done since that time to change my life. He refused to allow me to lease the house.  I said to him,

“Let me be sure that I understand. In light of everything you just experienced with your previous tenant, someone who doesn’t have a criminal record, you are turning down a mature, responsible, financially stable applicant?”  He did not respond. 

Undaunted, I continued to search. I found a privately owned apartment complex managed by a landlord. The rent was in my budget, and the apartment was located less than two miles from my job. I sat down with the landlord to explain my circumstance, what happened, and what I had done to change my life. I handed him a list of references. I then explained that I actively worked to pass HB 1510 during the previous legislative session, and that the bill removes the threat of civil liability when landlords choose to lease to applicants with criminal records. 

He seemed impressed.  He leaned forward and said to me, “I’m one of the most progressive people you’ll ever meet...” I’ve learned that “progressive people” tend to call themselves progressive right before they are about to say something decidedly non-progressive.  He went on: “We used to allow people with criminal records to lease here, but we wound up with a bunch of ‘thugs’ on the property.” I was taken aback.  The “t-word” has become a coded way for people to express racial fears. The criminal-justice system has impacted people of color so disproportionately, that the Department of Housing and Urban Development issued guidance stating that blanket bans on leasing to people with criminal records is racially discriminatory.

What the landlord didn't say was that the area where the apartments were located was becoming trendy, with a high-end health food store on the same block. The more stringent the rental criteria, the easier it is to attract more homogeneous applicants. The landlord told me that their lawyer had recommended that they institute a policy that would prevent anyone with a criminal record from applying.

I asked if they ever made exceptions. He said, “No! If we made an exception for you, a white person, and not someone else, then we’d be violating the Fair Housing Act!”  I was shocked.

In effect, the owner had instituted a policy which will likely prevent many people of color from leasing property; and then refused to make an exception to the policy for an otherwise qualified applicant out of fear of being accused of housing discrimination. 

I checked this out with the Department of Housing and Urban Development. Someone who works for an Assistant Secretary emailed me back. He confirmed the twisted logic of the landlord. If a property manager with a policy of not leasing to someone with a criminal record decides to make an exception to that policy, then the criteria the landlord used to make the exception must be used with all applicants regardless of race.  Few owners are willing to trust a landlord or leasing agent to make these decisions; so, rental property remains largely off limits to people with criminal records, despite all the work we did on HB 1510.    

The issue isn’t how to get landlords and property managers to make exceptions to policies that bar people with criminal records from renting apartments. The issue is that those policies shouldn’t exist in the first place.

The only thing that a potential landlord should be able to ask is whether or not we can meet the same rental application standards as renters who do not have criminal records.  

 You Can Help:

The Smart on Crime Coalition created two implementation guides for HB 1510, which removes the threat of liability when landlords decide the lease property to people with criminal records. The first guide is intended for potential renters and their advocates, providing helpful guidance on how to overcome rental barriers due to criminal records. The second is intended as an outreach tool for landlords. Potential applicants should bring this with them when submitting an application.

Let landlords know about the law, and encourage them to remove the criminal background barrier. 

• HB 1510 Implementation Guide for Potential Renters and their Advocates

3g

Months ago, I attended a hearing of the House Judiciary and Civil Jurisprudence Committee to give testimony for HB 1510, which ultimately passed. When the legislation goes into effect in January, it will remove the risk of lawsuits from landlords when they decide to lease property to individuals with criminal background records.  The bill was entirely about the perception of risk.  The actual risk associated with leasing property to someone with a history of involvement with the criminal justice system is rather low. 

There are a number of factors that mitigate risk.  Consistent participation in recovery groups is a strong indicator that the person will be a responsible renter.  Successfully completing probation or parole are good signs, but so are meeting all community supervision conditions such as paying fees on time and fulfilling all community service requirements.  From the standpoint of a potential landlord, the most likely indicators that an individual is unlikely to commit a new crime include employment and housing stability. 

That is to say, if a person can meet the criteria on a rental application, a landlord can rest assured that the applicant is worth the risk, regardless of criminal history. 

All HB 1510 does is encourage landlords to place the criminal background check aside and have a conversation with someone who is trying to create a new life.  Landlords who take the risk and lease property to people with criminal histories actually promote stability and reduce the risk of recidivism.  They can do this today.  They don’t have to wait until the bill goes into effect. 

Despite the gap between the perceived and actual risk, Legislators remained concerned that the bill would remove the right to sue landlords who rent to people who have committed violent crimes like murder, aggravated robbery, or sexual assault.  These are known as “3g” offenses, shorthand for the section of the Texas Code of Criminal Procures that lists the most serious crimes.  Before HB 1510 could proceed through the legislative process, the bill had to be modified to retain imaginary barriers between violent “offenders” and unsuspecting neighborhoods. 

The Committee hearing ran very late, so only a few people testified. It was one of those strange moments in the session when a bill has such strong support that too much testimony actually does more harm than good.  I decided to merely thank the Members and invited them to read my written testimony.  Then I sat down.  There is so much I wish I could have said. 

I thought of my own time in prison and the “3g offenders” I knew.  Every incarcerated individual doing time in the general population of Texas state prisons wears white.  There is nothing that distinguishes one individual from another with respect to the crimes that led them to prison.  There are three paths available to them:  become more entrenched in criminal thinking, make no progress at all, or work to change the factors that led them to prison.  I surrounded myself with people who chose the more difficult path.  My mentors and friends were people who had fully committed themselves to exemplary lives.  Most of them had committed 3g offenses. 

Seldom have I met people more selfless than the “men in white” serving others while serving time.  For example, when an increasingly large number of young men were transferred to my unit, a group of mature men created a ministry to mentor these younger individuals. They formed group discussions and developed classes. They taught these young men to take pride in living upstanding lives, and they helped them to see that being accountable for your behavior is a sign of strength.  

The sad irony is that, had these young men experienced as youth such unconditional regard from committed adults who were truly invested in their lives, they would have gone to college instead of prison. 

I joined another group of men to teach classes on sexual assault and HIV prevention. My fellow educators had spent years in a culture that told them to mind their own business if they witnessed a rape. In the decades they had spent in prison, they learned that there is nothing worse than a “snitch.” Somehow, my peers summoned the courage to oppose the culture of silence.  They refused to tolerate sexual assault, and they dared to encourage others to report incidents to prison authorities. Because of them, the culture is changing. I deeply admired the courage of these men, most of whom had committed violent crimes.

My greatest teachers were so called “3g offenders.”  The man who helped me to take responsibility for my crimes was serving 40 years for aggravated robbery.  I learned from him that, in refusing to blame addiction for the robberies I committed, I empowered myself to change the destructive ways in which I dealt with anger, fear, and shame.  Another man spent hours every week teaching me how to find serenity in the face of grief and uncertainty. He is serving a life sentence for murdering his wife during an alcoholic blackout. He became a father figure to me, especially after my own father died.

These men were not atypical. I found positive lights on every unit, in every dorm, and on every cell block. When I asked for help, men-in-white stepped up to help me live a productive and meaningful life. 

Every challenge I successfully master out here in the “free” world, be it professional, emotional, or interpersonal, I owe to my neighbors inside prison. 

About 95 percent of those serving time will eventually return to the community.  Interestingly, the recidivism rate for those convicted of violent offenses is slightly lower than the rate for those convicted of certain nonviolent offenses.  Further, when the crime is drug-related, those convicted of violent offenses respond even more favorably to drug treatment than those convicted of nonviolent offenses. I saw this first hand while in prison.  The "3g offenders" I knew embraced rehabilitation and worked hard to share it with others. These are exactly the types of people I'd like to call "neighbor."