Barrier to freedom: The simulated life of an Alaskan ex-con
- Guest contributor
- 6 days ago
- 3 min read
By Glenn Ojard
On the afternoon of Feb. 18, a small group of people gathered in St. Ann’s Parish Hall for a reentry simulation, an event designed to mimic the first month of a prisoner reintegrating into society. Volunteers were given the choice of being a prisoner or a service provider.
I chose to be a prisoner, was provided a new identity, and for the next hour, I pretended to be a man named Seth who did three years in state prison for burglary. The event was split into four sessions of 15 minutes, each session representing a week, and we were tasked with obtaining IDs, going to treatment, meeting with parole officers, feeding ourselves, obtaining urinary analysis, as well as paying rent and restitution.
As far as situations go, Seth’s seemed pretty good. He had already met a romantic partner with two kids and moved in immediately after release. His being a felon absolutely hampered his ability to get work, but Seth was getting $710 in social security payments and $100 in SNAP benefits. This was just enough to squeak by, given the financial parameters of the exercise, which were very generous when compared to the lived experience in Juneau. For example, Seth only needed to come up with $500 for rent and utilities, and his SNAP benefit covered the $25 required to obtain food every week.
Seth was required to take a UA every week and failed twice, getting remanded back to jail and losing $50 each time. Prisoners without funds had the option of appealing to a judge, a role played by reentry coalition co-chair Teri Tibbett. When a simulated week spans only 15 minutes, waiting in line burns valuable time.
Another prisoner, after waiting in line and convincing Judge Tibbett to release him, only had a minute left to complete his necessary steps for the week. He failed and returned to jail. Seth had enough money to make bail, so he avoided this wait but had his own barriers. Twice he was turned down for work due to his felony record. He also became ill, had to sell his boots to buy medicine, and nearly got thrown out of treatment for an outburst. I assure you, I wasn't yelling at some poor volunteer. These fates were handed out on little laminated chance cards.
I spoke to Tibbett afterwards and she told me that this simulation was specifically timed to be when the Alaska Legislature is in session, and that in the past, it had convinced legislators of the importance of state correctional facilities providing a form of picture ID upon release.
Seth was lucky in that he already had his Social Security card and birth certificate. Others had to take precious time to fill out cards for more IDs, and all of these could be claimed at a single simulated vendor. In real world Juneau, one would be traveling all over town.
Tim Hunt, coordinator at the Juneau Reentry Coalition, stated, “Re-entering after incarceration can be difficult, but if we’re able to provide resources and help to these folks to make that easier, it benefits them, their family, and the entire community.”
Currently the Juneau Reentry Coalition is offering a housing grant which can go towards paying a deposit or first month’s rent.
Reflecting on the event, I found that while the simulation laid out the barriers folks faced, it took a leap of empathy to grasp how demoralizing each setback would be. In the room at St. Ann’s, wasting a transportation ticket or getting the run-around from an employer was lighthearted. It lacked the pain of hours wasted on a futile path, or the disrespect and judgment folks like Seth would actually receive.
• Glenn Ojard is a Texas transplant who graduated from Juneau-Douglas High School and received a Bachelor's degree in Anthropology from Minnesota State University Mankato. He currently works as the Rapid Rehousing Manager for the AWARE shelter and performs as a battle rapper under the stage name DEMEA.
