Desert Dreams

I spent the first week of my Christmas vacation in Big Bend National Park. I had dreamed of returning to this beautifully desolate region during my time in prison, so I immediately felt at home in the park. While in prison, memories of past trips comforted me during the countless moments of sadness. I’d also imagine future trips, planting the details in my mind to give texture and definition to uncertain hopes.

I had learned that planning for the future brought the future into the present. A friendly chaplaincy volunteer visited me twice a month, and we talked at length about my plans for the future. All of these plans were dependent on me being granted parole, and parole was far from certain; so my mentor suggested that I ask instead, 

“What am I doing today that will lead me to my desired goal?”

I embraced the exercise with enthusiasm. I imagined the type of life I wanted to lead when given my freedom. I knew that I wanted to be free from addiction, so I participated in every program available to me in order to practice the principles of recovery.  Soon, I found myself mentoring others who were drawn to my positive outlook. Recovery stopped being a future goal, and instead became my daily reality. 

I also knew that I wanted to rebuild the career I had destroyed. During my downward slide into addiction, I had succumbed to a paralyzing apathy that made me a liability to employers. In prison, I shook off the apathy. I worked diligently as a clerk in a mechanical shop, and brought even greater determination to my volunteer position as a Peer Educator.  For the first time in many years, I received praise from bosses and coworkers alike. I am often shocked when I hear people suggest that individuals coming out of prison aren’t ready to become productive members of the workforce, as if this were a general rule. 

It occurred to me as I hiked the desert trails that my dreams in prison had created a path to freedom, and the vast December sky amplified the liberty. I stopped to look into the blue sky, and grabbed some bottled water from my pack. Big Bend is so dry that visitors must bring their own water; yet it teems with life.  Peregrine falcons darted playfully above me as I hiked through a canyon, and I could see signs of black bear along the mountain trails. Purple cacti and thorny bushes with indigo-colored leaves charmed me on my desert hikes. 

It surprised me that such an unforgiving environment could produce such living beauty, but it does.

I found such living beauty while in prison, people who guided me on my path to freedom. I’ll never forget my friend Michael. In prison, he had envisioned the life he was supposed to lead. He had an intelligence and discipline that would have led most people to Ivy League schools. In the mechanical shop, he found a book on how to program databases and network computers. With no help other than the book, he programmed a sophisticated database and networked five separate shops together. He became the de-facto IT manager, almost indispensable. 

People in prison aren’t destined from birth to lead a life of crime, regardless of what some third-rate criminologists might suggest. Someone had hopes for their future, but something went terribly wrong along the way. Michael had endured such loveless abuse from his own father, that a dark core of rage lay hidden beneath his warm exterior. He was also a Vietnam War veteran, and the psychological scars of battle entwined with the rage to bring out a shocking violence. By the time I had met him, he was in his 60s and had spent the better part of his adult life in prison.

Yet, he had imagined a future where he could be the loving and gentle father he never experienced. He practiced this daily, imperfectly at first. He had to apologize countless times, especially when the rage invaded his eyes and words. Over time, the gentleness on the exterior permeated the angry core within him, and he no longer had to restrain the rage. Fatherless men started calling him “Dad.” His dreams for the future became his present reality. Michael is now a free man. He is the IT manager for a family-owned business, and volunteers with men as they make the difficult transition from prison back to the community.

Thoughts of Michael and others like him arose in my mind during my lonely hikes. The unfriendly land does not nourish life. I walked along the dry cracked dirt, yet I could see life all around me. 

The plants and animals had developed spines and claws to protect themselves, but their determination to survive had given them resilience.

This is what happens sometimes in prison. The community willfully ignores the painful trauma and neglect that had taken beautiful lives off track, and they discard and label these wounded souls: offender, convict, criminal. Prison is one of the harshest places on the planet; yet, the men and women who live there continue to dream. It’s as if the dreams someone had for their lives when they were born are seeds that only need a little water to grow. 

Even in the desert, it rains sometimes.   

I wake up daily with enormous gratitude for the life I get to live today. Years ago, I strayed off course; yet, the gentle rain from volunteers and men like Michael helped me to heal. Eventually, I found a path that led back to the life I was supposed to live. When I think of people in prison, I think of the resilient men who changed my life. 

People who attempt to describe prisoners while failing to see these beautiful souls reclaiming their lost dreams are like those who walk through the desert and see only cracked dry ground instead of brilliant purple cacti.    

Never Been Better

A few months ago, I spoke with a good friend of mine who is still doing time in prison. It had been more than a year since I had last spoken with him, yet I could feel his warmth and gentleness as if we were in the same room together.  It is true that the prison environment does little to engender the core attributes of friendship like trust, empathy, and compassion.

Yet, many people had shown him extraordinary kindness during his two decades in prison, and had had learned to pass that kindness on to others. 

I asked him how he’d been doing, and he said to me, “Never been better!” His familiar positivity brought a smile to my face. It was that bright optimism that drew me to him in the first place. Being close to him lightened the shadows I still carried at that time, and gave me hope for the future.

He had embraced faith while in prison, and it became a living force within him. Unlike many people I meet out here in the “free” world, he actually lived his faith. It propelled him into service to others. He had been teaching newcomers in prison about sexual assault prevention for nearly five years before I met him. When he wasn’t teaching, he worked in the chapel as a clerk, where he could assist the Chaplain and volunteers. Over time, they stopped seeing him as an inmate, and put him in charge of facilitating the Friday night chapel services. 

He told his story one Friday night. I’ll never forget it. He had experienced a traumatic childhood, with a chaotic home life and a father in prison. The turmoil led him to drugs and unhealthy acquaintances. Weeks before his 19^th birthday, he accompanied two young men to buy some drugs. Unexpectedly, the two men attacked the drug dealer and killed him. My friend was horrified.

He spent an entire year in county jail claiming that he never had any intention of harming the man who lost his life. The two men responsible for the murder quickly accepted plea agreements that would assure them of release from prison in their late 30s. My friend dared to claim innocence, and asked for a trial. Under the law of parties, my friend was charged and convicted of Capital Murder. 

To punish him for refusing the plea agreement, the prosecutor demanded a sentence that would keep him in prison at least twice the length of time given to the actual murderers. 

The judge agreed with the prosecutor, so my friend won’t even be eligible for parole until 2033. His right to appeal expired long ago. Unless Texas passes a law that makes my friend eligible for a second look by the sentencing court, he will remain in prison until he is at least 58 years old. Some states allow certain individuals, like those who were children themselves at the time the crime was committed, to appeal for a sentence reduction after serving a certain percentage of the sentence. Such a law could be extended to those sentenced under the law of parties, particularly when the actual murderer(s) received more lenient sentences.  Sadly, no such law exists in Texas.

My friend had to learn to forgive others in order to cope with injustice. After having served two decades in prison, my friend learned that one of the men who had committed the murder was on the unit awaiting parole release. The Chaplain accompanied my friend to the release gate, where they met the man. 

My friend looked the man in the eye and said, “I forgive you.” They shook hands, and the man departed the unit to begin his adult life outside of prison.

Both of the men who committed the murder are now free from prison. They are living their lives, able to pursue careers and family. Out here in the “free” world, the same prosecutor who abandoned all sense of fairness, demanding that my friend serve 20 years for being a party to a murder and an additional 60 years for daring to defend himself in court, gets to sleep in a comfortable bed and perhaps enjoy a round of golf this weekend. The judge who went along with the prosecutor, forgetting his sworn duty to remain just and impartial, also gets to enjoy his life, perhaps fishing along the Texas coast. My friend will experience none of these things. 

As for my friend, he’s “never been better.” He’ll teach a class this week that will make prison safer. He’ll share his kindness with people like me, helping them to heal and grow into the men they were intended to be. People who experience his friendship will return to the “free” world with a deeper commitment to improve the lives of others. 

My friend will probably bring a message at the Friday night chapel service. He may talk about an ancient king named Solomon who knew a thing or two about justice. Perhaps my friend will teach others that, when it comes to matters of justice, where lives are at stake, one needs a double portion of wisdom. 

Because wisdom is often lacking in the Texas courts, we need a Second Look Law. It's also time to take a second look at Law of Parties.  

Holliday Thanksgiving

I still remember my first Thanksgiving in prison.  I was assigned to the Holliday Unit at the time, an unlikely name for a prison unit.  The unit is located on Interstate 45 north of Huntsville, Texas.  It extends for half a mile from front entrance to back gate.  The unit houses more than 2000 residents, and is  designated as a transfer facility, intended to hold men for no more than two years before they are assigned to a permanent unit. 

I had been incarcerated for a little more than a year including county jail time, and had lingered at Holliday for ten months with no job assignment and minimal activity.  The meals were grim. We had to walk to the chow hall and appointments with our hands behind our backs, and we were treated with a level of contempt that still saddens me today. Officers yelled, threatened, and ridiculed. Often, a female lieutenant looked at us with such derision that her lips seemed to curl and purse automatically, as though the sight of us made her want to spit.  She would enter the dormitory and threaten to release tear gas, because the 100 bored inmates were talking too loudly. 

Given my experience in prison up to that point, nothing prepared me for Thanksgiving in prison. I walked slowly through the chow hall line. When I reached the front I received a tray piled with food, most of it quite good in comparison to what had been served during the preceding year. They gave us plenty of time to eat, which didn’t stop me from shoveling the food in my mouth before I had swallowed the previous bite. I had learned that when the officer knocked on the table it was time to get up, regardless of how much food was left on my plate.

When we walked out of the chow hall, the Warden herself handed me a dessert plate to take with me back to the dorm.  She wished me “Happy Thanksgiving” as though I were a guest in her home. The Major and Captain stood next to the Warden and both of them looked me directly in the eye and smiled warmly.  I’ll never forget the experience. 

I think back on that day with bitter-sweet emotion. It cost the ranking officers nothing to treat us with dignity that day.  It did not compromise security, nor did it send a message that the prison authorities approved of the crimes I had committed.  On that day, they reminded me of our common humanity. They showed compassion for the fact that I had to spend Thanksgiving away from my family. 

Their kindness on that day took a small measure of shame away from me. 

I think of what would happen in the lives of the 150,000 people incarcerated in Texas if they were treated with dignity every day of the year.  I can find no evidence to suggest that such treatment would minimize the intended effect of being in prison. In fact, there is plenty of evidence from European prisons that respectful treatment actually improves rehabilitation and helps people adjust when they return home. 

For me, the warmth I experienced on that first Thanksgiving in prison reminded me that I was worthy of a smile despite my mistakes. Treating people with dignity sends the message that they are more than the worst thing they’ve ever done.  Dignity says that, while we all may have different accomplishments, the one thing we share in common is a tendency to make mistakes. 

Dignity was the sweetest gift on that dessert tray, and I never let it go. 

If you are interested in becoming a volunteer in the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, go to https://www.tdcj.state.tx.us/divisions/rpd/rpd_volunteer.html

Free Radical

A State Representative once asked me if there are racial disparities in the criminal justice system. I took a moment to think about it, because there are so many ways to answer that question.  I chose the more academic answer: “African Americans and Latinos are disproportionately represented at every level of our criminal justice system.”  I left it at that. By using the academic term, “disproportionality,” however, I failed to convey a reality far more disturbing than most people fully comprehend. 

The term merely states that one particular group is over represented in relation to its share of an overall population.  For instance, African Americans comprise about 12 percent of the Texas population, yet make up more than 34 percent of the state prison population. If such a statement didn’t make the listener’s eyes glaze over, the fact could easily be dismissed as a sad statement about higher crime rates in certain communities. 

We’re not talking about “disproportionality.” At 34 percent, African Americans represent the majority of people doing time in state prison.  Latinos represent 33 percent of state prisoners; and Whites represent only 31 percent of the TDCJ population, despite being the largest racial group in the state.

Incarceration rates give an even more stark illustration.  The state prison incarceration rate is about 557 people out of 100,000. This rate puts Texas near the top in terms of the percentage of the overall population in prison.  The rate does not include people in federal prison, county jail, and other detention facilities.  

That rate is closer to 800 out of 100,000, which places Texas on par with the incarceration rate in the USSR under Stalin. 

But, it is only when you break down the incarceration rates by race that you see the real driver of mass incarceration.  The state prison incarceration rate for Whites in Texas is 407 out of 100,000.  It’s 478 out of 100,000 for Latinos.  For African Americans in Texas, the incarceration rate is 1547 out of 100,000; nearly four times the rate for Whites, three times the state rate, and twice the rate compared to the most oppressive regime in the 20^th century.  When you add in the people in county jail and federal prison, the inequality becomes even more pronounced, approaching 3000 for every 100,000. 

Let’s be clear – the incarceration rate for Whites, 407 out of 100,000, is obscenely high.  I would never suggest that we should correct the problem of mass incarceration by bringing the incarceration rates of racial minorities down to the level of Whites.  Most countries in the world consider a rate of 100 out of 100,000 to be extremely high, so we have to reform our overall approach to criminal justice.  

However, the staggering difference between White and African American incarceration rates in Texas tells us of something far more insidious.

 You don’t achieve a state prison incarceration rate of 1547 out of 100,000 by accident.  Crime rates do not account for the disparity.  So many things would have to happen at every level to ensure that such an inordinately high percentage of a particular group’s population is placed behind bars.

You would have to actively target that population with aggressive and militarized tactics, and abandon any commitment to community policing.  This would ensure a greater number of arrests within one community versus another, especially for low-level offenses that don’t require arrest.  In fact, those same offenses would have to be designated as felonies, so that criminal justice system involvement is prolonged.  You would have to establish a bonding system to preclude low income individuals from getting out of jail to deal with the charges without losing jobs or housing, guaranteeing that people will take a plea deal instead of defending themselves in court.

You would then have to restrict employment and housing opportunities due to criminal justice involvement, so that people become frequent flyers in jails and prison. Then you would have to create enhanced penalties for frequent arrests, leading to lifelong criminal justice system involvement. 

But, all of that effort would only yield an incarceration rate on par with the USSR under Stalin. To double that rate, you would have to compound economic disadvantage by taking those institutions and programs that were intended to build a bridge of opportunity into the larger economy, and turn them into vehicles that funnel people into the criminal justice system.  In fact, you would have to ensure that the most vulnerable members of a particular community actually come out worse by virtue of having touched those same institutions. 

Most people would be outraged by such a system.  Historians would talk about a system like that hundreds of years from now, using it as a case example of an unjust and merciless culture. 

To keep the populace from demanding a new, more just and equitable system, you would have to characterize anyone who opposed the system as “extreme.”  In fact, those who dared to be honest about racial injustice would be discredited outright. You would have to remove voting rights from the victims of this system, keeping them voiceless. 

To create a system like the one we have in Texas, one would have to be truly radical.  

For more information, check out the interactive map developed by the Sentencing Project.

Drug Crimes

Seven years ago I was in county jail anxiously awaiting the outcome of my criminal case.  There was no thought of taking my case to trial.  I had committed three counts of robbery in a 24-hour crack cocaine binge. I was already on probation for another robbery I had committed 18 months prior. I accepted a plea agreement of 15 years with parole eligibility after serving one-quarter of my sentence. When I tell fellow addicts about the crimes I committed in that desperate state, they invariable say, “Yep. I get it.”

Cocaine and other stimulants are not only extremely addictive, they alter the brain.[i] Actual lesions are observed in the brains of cocaine abusers, meaning that drug use literally causes brain damage. The damage impairs decision making even during periods of abstinence, making it extraordinarily difficult to remain drug free long enough for the brain to heal. 

I relapsed frequently.  I was also under psychiatric care for depression and anxiety at the same time, which would suggest the need for longer-term residential treatment and extended aftercare in a supportive environment.[ii]  Instead, I was placed in a punitive halfway house in a neighborhood with high levels of drug activity. Every day presented an agonizing struggle to ignore the oppressive urge to find more crack. The obsessions to use were so powerful that I’d enter into periodic fugue states, unconsciously moving through the day as memories and fantasies of crack cocaine seized my present awareness.     

When I finally relapsed, my only thought was to find more crack. In that state, I would have done anything to score another hit.  I committed robbery to get more drugs.  This is what a drug crime looks like. 

 In criminal justice reform, people often talk of “low-level drug offenders.” I never met a “low-level drug offender” while in prison. In state prison, only 16 percent of the population is incarcerated for drug offenses. Most of the “drug offenders” I met were in prison for theft, burglary, or robbery. These are crimes that undoubtedly warrant a consequence, but the people arrested for these crimes remain treatable. 

There is no research that supports the notion that long-term incarceration is a form of rehabilitation. 

Researchers have studied drug addiction treatment so extensively, that they can affirmatively state: Treatment Works. The National Institute of Drug Abuse even established principles of effective treatment.[iii] Therefore, when one talks of rehabilitation for someone convicted of a drug-related offense, the proper response is treatment, not more time in prison. 

Unfortunately, judges and prosecutors have little confidence in treatment.  In many counties in Texas, the vast majority of felony convictions result in prison or state jail sentences, not community supervision.  While Texas has a long way to go in terms of making evidence-based treatment more widely available, people on community supervision at least have greater access to treatment than those in prison. 

In prison, pre-release treatment can only be accessed through a favorable vote of the Texas Board of Pardons and Paroles. You read that correctly: one can only get treatment in prison after serving the minimum sentence imposed by the court, and only then by a vote of non-clinicians. Sadly, the Parole Board continues to view parole denial as a tool for rehabilitation. In Texas, nearly 85% of those eligible for parole will be released within five years of initial parole eligibility; however, the Board only approves about 35% of those eligible every year. 

This means that the Parole Board spends $835 million each year to keep about 44,000 people in prison beyond their minimum sentence, most of whom would have benefited from treatment. In true Texas fashion, many of those people are denied parole because of a history of drug use. Again, you read that correctly: 

In Texas, the Parole Board can deny someone treatment because the individual has a history of drug abuse. 

Just as I had to understand my problem before I could truly grasp recovery, Texas has to understand that addiction is at root of a significant proportion of crimes committed in the state. Knowing that incarceration will not address the problem, we must invest our limited resources in what does work. Treatment, housing, and aftercare are effective strategies. 

Treatment does not preclude a consequence for serious crimes, but thinking of incarceration as a form of rehabilitation is the very definition of insanity.  

Citations

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[i] Fuchs, Rita A., et al, “Differential Involvement of Orbitofrontal Cortex Subregions in Conditioned Cue-Induced and Cocaine-Primed Reinstatement of Cocaine Seeking in Rats,” The Journal of Neuroscience, July, 21, 2004, http://www.jneurosci.org/content/24/29/6600.full.pdf.

[ii] National Treatment Agency for Substance Misuse, “Treating cocaine/crack dependence,”

[iii] National Institute on Drug Abuse, “Principles of Drug Addiction Treatment: A Research-Based Guide (Third Edition,” http://www.drugabuse.gov/publications/principles-drug-addiction-treatment-research-based-guide-third-edition/principles-effective-treatment. 

Nature of the Crime – Motion to Revoke

In 2014, more than 24,000 people were sent to prison in Texas due to probation violations.[i]  That is a number greater than the size of the entire federal and state prison population in 31 states.  

Probation revocations account for one-third of all people received by the Texas Department of Criminal Justice every year.  Moreover, nearly half of those people sent to prison based on probation violations did not even commit a new crime. They were simply unable to meet the conditions of probation, so the probation officer issued a Motion to Revoke based on “technical violations.”  Technical violations can include anything from not completing treatment to failure to report.

If Texas is going to achieve significant reductions in its prison population, it has to start with making probation more effective. Putting aside all the acclaim associated with drug and other specialty courts, probation is the primary diversion strategy to keep people out of prison.  There are about 221,000 people on felony probation in Texas, a number that is dropping for the reasons I discussed in the previous post.  Further, the felony community supervision revocation rate was higher in 2014 than it was five years ago.[ii] 

Fewer people diverted and a higher revocation rate will reverse the limited progress Texas has achieved in terms of reducing its prison population. 

The issue is about more than just reducing the size of our prison population.  It’s about helping people to address the problems that led to criminal justice system involvement, so that crime rates decrease and people can live productive lives. Successful community supervision reduces the effects of addiction and mental illness, increases employment stability, and improves the quality of the community. Probation officers who define success in this way are providing a valuable service in their communities. 

I met with the Chief of a medium-sized Community Supervision and Corrections Department (CSCD) last week, and hope to meet with several others in the near future.  I asked what it would take to reduce probation revocations and ensure that probationers never return to the criminal justice system. The Chief had a number of interesting ideas. He emphasized incentives over sanctions. Many probationers struggle with fees, so he allows people on his caseload to do additional community service hours in lieu of fees. He goes a step further. He counts participating in rehabilitative programming, from addiction recovery to GED classes, as community service.    

The Chief emphasized the need to improve services to people with special needs. He wants all of his officers to be trained in “trauma-informed care,” recognizing the correlation between past trauma and current addiction and mental illness. He also wants to see more specialty officers for a variety of caseloads, including people with substance abuse issues and veterans. He suggested that every CSCD have a social worker on staff to assist with housing, employment, counseling, and other issues that arise during the course of supervision. 

How a CSCD handles violations is critically important. Studies have indicated that it’s not just harsh sanctions for minor violations that is the problem.  Probation departments that are inconsistent or even lenient when it comes to violations tend to have high revocation rates, just as those departments that are overly harsh or punitive. Studies have shown that anticipated sanctions should be swift, certain, and progressive.[iii] Those states that have communicated expected sanctions for specific violations and are consistent when imposing sanctions tend to have lower revocation and recidivism rates.[iv]

Even when probationers continue to violate or even abscond, however, judges still don’t have to send them to prison. Probationers often abscond due to relapse, unpaid probation fees, or other factors that can be addressed without sending someone to prison.  Judges can refer probationers to Substance Abuse Felony Punishment (SAFP) Facilities (SAFP), which are operated by the Texas Department of Criminal Justice (TDCJ). When SAFP placements are combined with halfway house placement and aftercare, the recidivism rate for those who complete the program is 17% lower compared to those with similar needs who do not receive these services.[v]  Further, judges may also send probationers to TDCJ Intermediate Sanction Facilities for several months instead of sending them to prison. 

The emphasis should always be on helping people to be successful in the community, but judges must exercise every diversion strategy available before even considering prison placement. 

Even CSCD’s that embrace the goal of helping probationers to overcome addiction and become productive citizens know that they can’t do it alone. During my interview with the Probation Chief, someone passed by the office. The Chief called to the man and asked him to join us. The man had worked in the community supervision field for 37 years and was about to retire. Seeing a wonderful opportunity to learn from the best, I asked him, 

“What will it take to lower revocations and help people to succeed on probation?”  Without missing a beat, he said, “Help them to get jobs.”

Most employers remain entrenched in blanket bans on hiring anyone with a criminal history, particularly a felony record . The veteran probation officer said to me that probation departments need better collaboration with the Texas Workforce Commission and local employers.  The single leading factor in preventing someone from committing another crime is employment stability. 

Probation success leads to safer communities and fewer people in prison, but it will take the entire community, including employers, supporting the work of CSCD’s for them to achieve their goals. 

Citations

[i] Texas Department of Criminal Justice, “Report to the Governor and the Legislative Budget Board on the Monitoring of Community Supervision Diversion Funds,” December 1, 2014, https://www.tdcj.state.tx.us/documents/cjad/CJAD_Monitoring_of_DP_Reports_2014_Report_To_Governor.pdf

[ii] Legislative Budget Board, “Statewide Criminal and Juvenile Justice Recidivism and Revocation Rates,” February,2015, p. 3, http://www.lbb.state.tx.us/Documents/Publications/Policy_Report/1450_CJ_Statewide_Recidivism.pdf

[iii] Kleiman, Mark A. R., “Justice Reinvestment in Community Supervision”, Criminology and Public Policy (2011), Volume 10, Issue 3.

[iv] Ibid.

[v] Texas Department of Criminal Justice, “Evaluation of Offenders Released in Fiscal Year 2011 That Completed Rehabilitation Tier Programs, April,2015, p. 15, file:///C:/Users/Douglas/Downloads/TDCJ-Evaluation%20of%20Rehabilitation%20Programs%20-%20April%202015.pdf

Nature of the Crime – Community Supervision

The sad truth about the criminal justice system is that it often serves its own purposes.

 One of the most confusing moments for me during the most recent legislative session was when I advocated for an improved funding formula for probation departments.  The bill merely called for a study of the current funding allocation formula to reward positive outcomes and move past the overreliance on probationer fees.  The goal was to improve quality, rewarding departments that lowered probation revocation rates.  It would have led to an increase in the number of people on probation because exorbitant fees are often the primary reason people choose state jail time over probation. 

What was the response by many of the members of the Texas Probation Association to the prospect of more clients and financial incentives for good outcomes?  They came out in force to oppose the bill.  

I was shocked. A general rule of thumb in the Texas Legislature:  when an interest group opposes a study bill, they either have something to hide or they are afraid that potential changes will make things worse. 

It saddened me that the Association was so unwilling to discuss improvements to the system, because we all have something to gain if community supervision is successful.  Making probation more effective is one of the most important things we can do to decrease incarceration rates in Texas. Moreover, effective community supervision ends the cycle of relapse and reoffense that characterizes untreated addiction.

I was on probation at one point in my downward slide toward addictive destruction.  While grateful for the chance to remain in the community, I continued to struggle with addiction. I often wonder whether I might have succeeded on probation had the department supervising me utilized best practices. In fact, I have no recollection of them ever conducting a risk and needs assessment, an essential element in effective supervision; nor did they check on my progress in recovery.

They did indeed make sure I paid my fees on time. I paid a monthly fee, roughly $50, just to see my probation officer.  On top of that fee, I paid $130 per month in victim restitution.  The latter fee was a form of amends for the crime I committed, and I paid it without resentment.  However, the combined fees and community service requirements proved to be a challenge, especially when I relapsed.  

The challenge I faced is typical. It is not uncommon for people to be required to pay the probation fee, restitution, treatment costs, and electronic monitoring fees. Some people have to pay out of pocket for classes that allow them to renew their drivers licenses.  Increasingly, probation has become a significant obstacle to recovery instead of a resource to overcome the root causes of criminal behavior.  

I know of professionals charged with Driving While Intoxicated who gladly chose jail time over probation because the community supervision requirements are nearly impossible.  

People living at or near the poverty line often view probation as a trap. Probation costs alone will exacerbate economic challenges.  If one has children, the classes and community service requirements are often too difficult to balance. Knowing that their inability to meet probation requirements will lead to probation revocation and a longer prison sentence, defense attorneys routinely advise clients to accept county jail or state jail time over community supervision. This is one of the reasons that the number of people on probation in Texas has decreased by 40,000 since 2005.

It’s critical for my own recovery not to blame anyone for my own relapse. I had family support and help from the Veteran's Administration.  Probation did not help me to deal with the problems I was facing in terms of addiction and mental illness, but I take responsibility for not embracing the tools of recovery offered to me.  

What I can say affirmatively is that improving community supervision standards will likely prevent someone from having to experience what I did. 

The decline in the number of people taking community supervision as well as the high probation revocation rate will derail any effort to end mass incarceration in Texas.  For more information about fixing the community supervision system in Texas, click here.