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mass incarceration
Fed Workforce Cuts Leave Formerly Incarcerated Individuals Without a Future
When policymakers strip away funding for education and job training, it is not just setting up individuals for failure—it is ensuring a future where entire communities remain trapped in cycles of poverty and incarceration.
Mar 14, 2025
Imagine being sentenced to prison as a juvenile. You enter a world not designed to rehabilitate you, but to warehouse you alongside adults who have long since given up hope. The promise of education and job training is nonexistent, or at best, a fleeting privilege reserved for a select few.
You serve your time, only to return to a society that has already made up its mind about your worth. You are ready to rebuild your life, but the structures necessary to support that transition—education, employment, and rehabilitation programs—are crumbling around you.
With recent cuts to the federal workforce and over $600 million slashed from vital teacher training grants, that already fragile path to redemption is further dismantled. The reality for those reentering society after incarceration is bleak.
The stakes are clear: Either invest in people, ensuring they have the tools needed to succeed post-incarceration, or continue to sabotage their futures before they even have a chance to rebuild.
According to the Bureau of Justice Statistics, in 2021, there were 2,250 juveniles 17 and younger held in adult jails and prisons. That number has been declining as the Prison Policy Initiative states that as of 2019, on any day there were 48,000 youth detained.
There are distinct disparities in detention as the Sentencing Project reports that in 2021, the white placement rate in juvenile facilities was 49 per 100,000 youth. The Black youth placement rate was 228 per 100,000, tribal youth were at a rate of 181 per 100,000, and Latino youth were a rate of 57 per 100,000.
A steady job is the cornerstone of successful reintegration, yet the opportunities available to newly-released youth are scarce. “The latest available data from the National Longitudinal Survey of Youth found that 20% of reentering young people born between 1980 and 1984 were unemployed in the first year following their release” the Center for American Progress found.
“In the 12th full year after release, that number grew to 26%. According to further analysis of these data, young adults with criminal legal histories worked an average of only 35.8 weeks in the first full year after their release,” the survey shows.
Many young people report they are met with application questions that force them to disclose their past, immediately placing them at a disadvantage. For those who manage to find employment, wages are often low, and the stigma of their past follows them like a shadow.
Nonprofit organizations such as The Doe Fund, Homeboy Industries, and Defy Ventures that work tirelessly to provide job training, legal aid, and mentorship are facing funding cuts that threaten their survival. Without these crucial programs, the cycle of recidivism tightens its grip, and the promise of a second chance fades further from reach.
These grants help create educators who specialize in reaching marginalized communities, including those affected by incarceration. Without these resources, the pipeline to education, a key factor in breaking the cycle of incarceration, is severely weakened. If education is the key to opportunity, then these cuts are slamming the door shut on those who need it most.
A recent report on predictions for youth justice funding programs says, “One major hurdle is the inconsistent allocation of funds across different states and communities. Disparities in funding can lead to unequal access to essential services, leaving some youth without the support they need to succeed.”
With federal cuts prompted by an executive order to end all Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion initiatives, youth justice funding may be on the chopping block.
But this issue of resources for youth extends beyond those directly impacted by incarceration. A society that fails to rehabilitate and reintegrate its formerly incarcerated citizens is a society that fosters instability.
Families remain fractured, communities suffer from economic stagnation, and the cost of recidivism far outweighs the investment in successful reintegration. When policymakers strip away funding for education and job training, it is not just setting up individuals for failure—it is ensuring a future where entire communities remain trapped in cycles of poverty and incarceration.
When the pillars necessary for reentry—education, employment, and support—are removed, research shows the fear, anxiety, and hopelessness experienced by those returning home are not just personal struggles; they are systemic failures.
Instead of pulling away crucial funding, policymakers, elected officials, nonprofit funders, philanthropists, advocates, and community leaders must expand access to education and workforce development, particularly for those who have served their time and are ready to contribute to society.
The stakes are clear: Either invest in people, ensuring they have the tools needed to succeed post-incarceration, or continue to sabotage their futures before they even have a chance to rebuild. It’s time to reject policies that leave the most vulnerable behind and instead fight for a future where second chances are more than just empty promises.
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Cop City Is A Disability Issue, and Disabled Organizers Must Fight To Stop It
In a society that prioritizes profits over people, disabled people are frequently marginalized and disposed of. Incarceration and police violence underscore the ways capitalism fails its most vulnerable.
Jan 10, 2025
Snce 2020, plans to build militarized police training facilities, also known as cop cities, have erupted across the country in an effort to maintain the status quo and quell political dissent from abolitionist and progressive organizers. As of July 2024, there are 80 projects either already being built or in the process of negotiating contracts to begin construction. Ten states have plans for multiple police compounds. The creation of these training facilities marks a new chapter of policing in the U.S.
Disability justice and disabled community organizers must be at the forefront of the nationwide movement to stop cop cities because this movement is a disability justice issue.
The movement to #StopCopCity emerged in the wake of nationwide uprisings in response to police killings of Black people, sparking critical conversations around the role of policing, the limits of police reform, community safety, and alternatives to the criminal legal system. Along with other organizations, I organized on the ground in Atlanta, where multiple police agencies used militarized tactics against community members. This occurred even as we mourned the loss of Rayshard Brooks, a member of our community who was killed by the Atlanta Police Department. All of this unfolded as we grappled with the profound impacts of a global pandemic—a mass-disabling event affecting countless lives.
We must listen to and follow the leadership of disabled people, especially those who are formerly or currently incarcerated.
Our collective grief transformed into action, fueling demands to end state-sanctioned violence and redirect investment into our communities. Our displays of solidarity angered and alarmed corporations, as well as local and national political establishments. In collaboration with major media outlets, those in power obscured the focus, reframing the narrative around rising crime rates and once again positioning police as the solution to our social, political, and economic challenges.
As a response to our organizing efforts, the city of Atlanta decided to build a $90 million complex equipped with military-grade facilities and a mock city for urban police training. If completed, this would be the country’s largest police training facility. Other municipalities have followed Atlanta’s misleadership. Cop city proposals have surfaced in Baltimore, Maryland; San Pablo, California; Fitchburg, Massachusetts; and Nashville, Tennessee all in response to demonstrations that took place in 2020. Meanwhile, other facilities have completed construction and are currently in operation like the cop cities in Semmes, Alabama; Fort Lauderdale, Florida; Decatur and Chicago, Illinois; and Madisonville, Kentucky.
In a society that prioritizes profits over people, disabled people are frequently marginalized and disposed of. Incarceration and police violence underscore the ways capitalism fails its most vulnerable. Disabled people are often excluded from discussions about the criminal legal system, resulting in limited and ineffective strategies for addressing the root causes of incarceration (e.g., poverty, racism, and capitalism).
The overrepresentation of people with disabilities in prisons and jails illustrates how victims of capitalism are locked up and harmed. Approximately 66% of incarcerated individuals in the U.S. report having a disability, while half of all people killed by police are disabled, with disabled Black Americans disproportionately affected. Even people without a disability who are locked up develop some sort of disability over the course of their imprisonment because the prison system is disabling.
Each year, an estimated 350 people with mental health diagnoses are killed by law enforcement, and individuals with psychiatric disabilities are 16 times more likely to be killed during police encounters. People like Anthony Hill, Sandra Bland, Eric Garner, Deborah Danner, Alfred Olango, Daniel Prude, Magdiel Sanchez, Freddie Gray, and countless others were all disabled people who were murdered by police.
These risks are even greater for people of color, women, trans folks, and LGBTQIA+ people. An alarming statistic reveals that by age 28, half of all disabled Black Americans have experienced arrest, underscoring the urgent need to address police violence and brutality as an intersectional issue that includes disability justice. These statistics will continue to rise as more Cop Cities are built, which will place BIPOC disabled individuals in closer proximity to police and increase their risk of harm.
The estimated budgets for these police training facilities are staggering; meanwhile police funding already consumes the majority of municipal budgets at the expense of essential social services. As police budgets grow, funding for education, direct services, infrastructure, and healthcare falls, leaving many—especially disabled individuals—without access to the resources they need. For example, Baltimore’s training facility is projected to cost $330 million; San Pablo, California estimates a $44 million facility, and Richmond, Kentucky, has a $28 million project budget.
Investing more in police departments does not create safer communities. Increased training does not address the root causes of violence. The safest communities are those that are well-resourced and have minimal police presence. Our communities deserve better.
The changing landscape of policing in the U.S. is increasingly characterized by international police exchange programs (also known as Deadly Exchange programs), which expose officers to new surveillance methods, military tactics, and forms of political repression from countries with notorious human rights abuses.
The Georgia International Law Enforcement Exchange (GILEE) program in Atlanta sends U.S. officers to train with the Israeli Occupation Forces (IOF), who are responsible for the ongoing genocide of Palestinians. The IOF conducts urban warfare training in a mock city called "Little Gaza," a replica of the Gaza Strip designed to simulate combat scenarios. These practices serve as the blueprint for cop cities across the U.S.
In Baltimore, an Amnesty International report found that the Baltimore Police Department’s participation in deadly exchange programs with Israel contributed to “widespread constitutional violations, discriminatory enforcement, and a culture of retaliation.” However, more police departments are participating in deadly exchange programs. Police officials from states including Florida, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Arizona, Connecticut, Massachusetts, North Carolina, Washington, and D.C. have also trained with Israeli paramilitary forces.
Israel, a nation responsible for the killing and disabling of hundreds of thousands of Palestinians, serves as the model for these military complexes. These tactics will disproportionately impact marginalized communities domestically and amplify surveillance and repression in already vulnerable areas. Disability Justice involves liberating Palestinians from the disabling effects of genocide.
Climate change is deeply connected to the issues of cop cities and disability justice. Projects like those in Atlanta and Nashville involve clearing large areas of urban forest, causing severe environmental harm. For example, Atlanta’s urban forest, which protects communities from flash flooding, has already been compromised, leading to increased flooding across the city. Such environmental degradation worsens health conditions for disabled people, leaving them to face the consequences with little support, as we saw during disasters like Hurricane Helene. This situation will only deteriorate further.
What is to be done?
The phrase “death by a thousand cuts” reminds us that there is no single solution to combat social injustice in this country. Addressing these challenges requires a diversity of tactics and a shared commitment to building a better world. Everyone has a role to play in movement work—whether it’s cooking for comrades, taking meeting notes, providing childcare so others can participate, or conducting research on targets. Every action, big or small, adds up, creating momentum when combined with the efforts of others. There is a place for you; come find it.
We must listen to and follow the leadership of disabled people, especially those who are formerly or currently incarcerated. Those directly impacted by oppressive systems possess invaluable knowledge of how these systems function and must be at the forefront of our movements. Yes, that means building relationships with people currently incarcerated.
It’s equally critical to learn from past campaigns, both their victories and setbacks. For example, the 2017 #NoCopAcademy campaign in Chicago, which sought to stop the construction of a police training facility, illustrates how grassroots organizing can achieve tangible wins. While the facility was ultimately built, organizers succeeded in cutting $21 million from school policing budgets, a significant step toward redistributing resources.
A new world is emerging, whether we are ready for it or not. It’s up to all of us to prepare and take action to shape what comes next. Liberation is possible, but we need you to make it a reality.
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Pardon Me: Ending the Stigma That Harms Generations
When we reduce people to their convictions, we fail to see their humanity, their potential, and the harm this judgment causes not just to them but to their families.
Dec 25, 2024
U.S. President Joe Biden’s recent clemency grants to 1,500 Americans sparked renewed discussions about second chances.
Yet for millions of parents—mothers and fathers—the shackles of their past legal convictions extend far beyond their time served. The collateral consequences of a criminal record don’t just haunt individuals. They ripple through families, shaping the lives of children who had no part in their parents’ mistakes.
As someone who has traversed the lasting consequences of a conviction, I know firsthand how society judges parents like me—not by the love and care we provide our children but by the labels of our past. But when we reduce people to their convictions, we fail to see their humanity, their potential, and the harm this judgment causes not just to them but to their families.
The collateral consequences of a criminal conviction aren’t just abstract statistics—they’re the missed field trips, the lost jobs, the countless times parents must tell their children, “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
Around 77 million Americans, or one in three Americans, have criminal records, according to the National Conference of State Legislatures. Each year, more than 600,000 Americans are released from prison and reenter society. It is a transition rife with barriers of injustice, prejudice, racism, and inequality.
The United States has more than 44,000 laws and policies that restrict people with criminal convictions from accessing basic rights and opportunities. These rules create barriers to housing, employment, education, and even parenting. For mothers and fathers, the inability to rebuild their lives post-incarceration isn’t just a personal struggle—it’s a family crisis.
One of the most painful moments after my conviction was realizing I couldn’t chaperone my 13-year-old daughter’s eighth grade field trip because of my record. Telling her I wasn’t allowed to go broke something inside me.
For parents like me, these moments happen all the time—when we can’t volunteer at school, rent an apartment near better schools, or secure a job that provides stability. To our children, it feels like rejection.
One report estimates that the number of children with incarcerated parents ranges from 1.7 to 2.7 million. Research shows these children are more likely to face emotional, behavioral, and academic challenges. They’re often treated as if their parent’s conviction is their fault. This stigma perpetuates cycles of poverty and marginalization, making it harder for families to break free from systemic barriers.
Beyond the personal pain, the statistics paint a bleak picture. According to the Prison Policy Initiative, nearly 70% of formerly incarcerated individuals are unemployed or underemployed a year after release. For parents, this means struggling to provide even the basics for their children.
Women are particularly vulnerable, with many returning to find their housing options limited because public housing policies exclude people with records. Fathers, too, often face obstacles in reestablishing their parental rights or even being present in their children’s lives due to parole restrictions and ongoing stigma.
These systemic barriers serve as a constant reminder that, in the eyes of society, those with records are defined by their convictions. It’s as though the world has dog eared a page from their worst chapter, refusing to read further.
To be sure, accountability matters. Parents who commit harm must take responsibility for their actions. But accountability must not equate to a lifetime of condemnation. Punishing parents indefinitely only compounds harm, especially for the children who depend on them for stability and love.
Parents are more than their past mistakes, just as a book is more than its cover. Judging someone solely by their record robs them of the chance to write a better chapter. It also robs their children of the opportunity to see their parents as whole people—flawed but capable of change and love.
The collateral consequences of a criminal conviction aren’t just abstract statistics—they’re the missed field trips, the lost jobs, the countless times parents must tell their children, “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
If we truly value redemption as a society, we must move beyond judging people solely by their convictions.
Every parent deserves the chance to show their children that they are more than their past. And every child deserves the opportunity to believe in second chances. Clemency relies on laws, policies, pardons, and humanity.
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