Beyond the prison gate

‘I can’t describe the release of pressure. As soon as I found out I was accepted, it was like a bomb had gone off and all the stress had been released. I have had a heck of a life with being rejected. I did a terrible thing and I was like a clam—closed up. I couldn’t give two hoots about life, but since Bryan came along I’ve never looked back.’

Pat* sits back in his chair in a small kitchen and lounge at the Reintegration Services office in the Addington Supportive Accommodation building, Christchurch, and looks across at Bryan Edwards, then at Tim* in another chair. Pat is a former client with the Salvation Army Reintegration Service for ex-prisoners. Tim is a Reintegration Service client who has been out of prison almost three months. Later, we’re joined by Phil*, another ex-client who drops by to see Bryan and stays to talk.

The Reintegration Service started in 2007 in Christchurch and a month later in Wellington, national operations manager Glen Buckner says. Today, they also work in Napier and Invercargill. They will open services in New Plymouth, Palmerston North and Gisborne this year, under an expanded contract just signed with the Department of Corrections.

They’re contracted to help up to 500 released prisoners a year, with some receiving six months of support, including a flat to live in for 13 weeks, and support for a further 13 weeks in their own accommodation.

About 15,000 prisoners are released in New Zealand every year. Almost 27 per cent are back in prison within a year, and 37 per cent after two years.

The Salvation Army Reintegration Service is contracted to work with men and women who have a high risk of re-offending and limited or no other support. Despite that, at last count, more than 70 per cent of their clients had stayed out of prison for more than a year, Glen says.

Clients must have served at least two years in prison and most have serious criminal convictions. ‘A lot of sex-offenders and we’ve had people in for violent crimes,’ Glen says. Although they also had a client who spent 10 years on and off in jail for driving without a driver’s licence, but had not committed any other crime. (Eventually, Glen was able to support him to get a community-based sentence and get his licence.)

There’s a waiting list for the service. Reintegration Service staff work closely with the Parole Board, prison staff and probation officers, working out a person’s release date and if there is suitable accommodation available. Usually, clients are referred by a prison case worker; although Tim says he contacted the Army himself after hearing about the programme. Staff meet clients for an assessment, and multiple times in the week before they leave prison, then pick them up the day they’re released.

Basic human needs

‘It’s one of those basic needs,’ Bryan says. ‘Knowing there’s some shelter, that there’s someone that cares about where you’re going. That’s what this service is all about.’

Many prisoners are released from New Zealand prisons with no accommodation, no job and facing weeks before they can start collecting a benefit.

‘If you come from Rolleston Prison, you take that last van ride to Paparua Prison, to be released from there. Then the gates open and you’re just told to walk. Basically, “See you,” ’ Phil says.

Pat was supposed to be paroled shortly before the end of his sentence, ‘But they couldn’t get a suitable place for me to stay on home detention, so I had to wait. It was only in that last month before my sentence finished that reality hit me and I thought, ‘What happens when those gates open and there’s nobody there?’ But sure enough, The Salvation Army rescued me from the gate.’  

Tim remarks that the disused Addington stockyards, near central Christchurch, are a popular place to sleep rough. Would he have been heading there? ‘I was starting from zero, because I haven’t made good decisions in my life and when you get to this age it’s hard. But it’s not starting from zero if you have a place to live.’  

Finding the right flats can be hard, but Glen says the Army has been very lucky with the neighbours and landlords for its flats. Clients sign a strict set of rules when they move in and the very small number who break them are quickly moved on, he says.

First stop from the prison gates is to a doctor the Reintegration Service works with, for a medical check-up, Bryan says. People need the medical check-up, photo ID, an address and a bank account to get a benefit. Without those, things can be pretty grim.

Bryan tells a story of a group of prisoners released just before Christmas a few years ago who ended up living rough on the banks of the Waimakariri River and coming to the Salvation Army church in Belfast for basic living assistance and help getting the documents they needed to get life started again.

Life on the outside

Even with a temporary flat and money sorted it’s a slow road to get back into society, with many subtle hurdles making people feel like an outsider. Things like a landlord asking about criminal convictions when they’re flat hunting, or that insurance costs are often much higher for people with criminal convictions.

It can be frustratingly slow, but it’s also time for clients to settle back into life, Bryan says.

‘The young guys want to do everything on the first day. One of the funniest stories I can recall, this young guy wanted to do WINZ the first day, he had a job lined up second day and he was going to do this, this and this. I said, “Slow down—baby steps.” We took him to the doctor, they went to take some blood and he fainted! He came out white as a sheet, this tough young man, and I said, “That’ll slow you down.” ’

Pat describes prison as like being encased in a block of concrete. Phil talks about seeing a man coming to his new accommodation on the day he was released. ‘The first thing he did, he dumped his stuff on his bed and went straight outside, sat down and started just playing with the grass. He’d been that long in the concrete jungle.’

Changes we barely notice can be a stumbling block to adjusting after a while inside, Bryan says. ‘When you walk in that gate, life stops. Absolutely stops. Just using a plastic card, I stuffed it up a few times. It’s those little things you need somebody with you for a while for.’

There’s also the social stigma of feeling like an outsider, or being treated like one, Bryan adds. ‘Sometimes I take clients to the mall and they say, “I think everyone’s looking at me,” and you say, “No, they’re just doing their thing.” I had a client, a big guy with full facial tattoos, but he was a big teddy bear. He used to come here to use the gym. One day there were two ladies on the desk and he poked his tongue out at them. They were saying to me, “Don’t you bring him back here. He’s too scary!” and I was saying, “No, that was a friendly gesture!” ’

Finding a place in the community

The focus of the Reintegration Service is helping clients normalise and find their place in the community, Glen says.

Staff attend a client’s first few probation meetings and help clients keep to the safety plans they draw up to help them avoid reoffending. Beyond that, there’s no set programme. Some work every day and catch up with reintegration staff on breaks or in evenings. For others, a day can include taking them to probation meetings, helping them job hunt, or just listening when they’re stressed.

‘It can be quite emotional at times,’ Bryan says. ‘I’ve had guys in this office crying. That’s why we keep these,’ he gestures to the box of tissues on the window sill. ‘It’s not uncommon to have guys in here letting it all out. We encourage them to vent. Guys come in here shouting and I say, “That’s great, keep going,” and after a few minutes they’re calm. I’m in my fifth year here and I’ve never felt unsafe with any of these guys.’

They also offer spiritual support to those who want it, through a weekly Bible study or with The Salvation Army’s Recovery Church.

Many have broken relationships with family, or court orders not to associate with some of them, but where possible, Glen says they try and reconcile family members. Matching everyone’s expectations with reality can be hard. ‘We’ve had people pull down their blinds and refuse to answer the door because they’re overwhelmed and just want time on their own. That can be healthy, and we can reassure families that they’re okay, we’re in touch with them–they just need space.’

But when it works, it’s a special feeling, he says. ‘We’ve seen people going from Mum and Dad saying, “I never want them in my house again,” to having them over for tea.’

For some, particularly ex-gang members, there’s a fear of their past catching up with them. A former client of Bryan’s was recalled to prison last year for carrying weapons he had because he was living in fear of being attacked.

For many, making new friends is tough, especially if parole conditions limit where they can go or who they can associate with. In some cases, the Reintegration Service helps people move to places where they know no one, but where there’s a Salvation Army community to welcome and support them to have a fresh start, Bryan says.

Sometimes overwhelming

Many have times of feeling overwhelmed. At least one staff member is always on call and Bryan says he’s had 3 am calls from people saying it would be easier back in prison.

‘I don’t like to say this,’ Tim leans forward nervously. ‘But in the last few weeks I’ve had that thought. But there’s no life [in prison]. There’s no life there. I was disappointed I had that thought.’  

The key is having people who are willing to accept and support them when they need it, Glen says.

‘I don’t believe you can connect with people for change without building a relationship with them, accepting them for who they are. It doesn’t mean taking them to the movies or having them round to your house, but we try to be as Christ like as we can, to show them compassion and be non-judgemental.’

That support carries on well beyond the contracted time, Bryan says. ‘Even though they’re technically in our service for six months, we’re there as long as they need us. If they put their hand up, we will do whatever we can.’
Not everyone makes it. Some aren’t ready, Glen says.   

‘We had one guy who breached himself. We worked hard with him, but he wasn’t coping. He walked to the point outside his house where his ankle bracelet alarm would start going off and sat down on the pavement to wait for the cops, because he just wanted to go back to prison. He went back inside for a few months and when he came out his attitude was completely different.’

Others reoffend, which is hard, Bryan says, but hundreds more make it as safe members of society and each of those is a win.   

‘There are guys who have a little slip-up and we see that for what it is and support them. Others have gone back to serious reoffending and I say to them, “All I can do is take you to the police to hand yourself in and face the consequences of your offending.” It can be upsetting. You have to bring yourself to look at the good, the ones that succeeded—and they far outnumber the negatives.’  

The men talk about high-profile cases of people breaching parole and how hard it makes life for those who want to go straight. So the blunt and brutal question for Pat, Tim and Phil is, ‘Why should society offer you these chances?’ They’re not naïve. They know the question is there and they’re not hiding from it, or expecting an easy ride: but each is clear and firm in their answer.

‘To create less offending,’ Tim says simply. ‘I don’t think the government can say they’re serious about helping without more of this [reintegration support]. I’m hoping to move on and make big steps because I have had this peace and these three months to sort things out.’  

For Phil, he’s seen the help offered to people inside that isn’t always offered when they leave.

‘We have made horrendous mistakes, there’s no doubt about that. I went through a programme inside. It costs a hundred and something thousand to put us through that, they said. If they’re going to put us through that, there’s got to be the ongoing support. If guys don’t get that support [when they get out], the only option is to go back inside.’

Finally, Pat. He’s been out the longest, has beaten cancer and kept a promise made to his father before he died by setting up a community garden. After four years, he’s certain where he’d be without the Reintegration Service.

‘I know exactly where I’d be. I’d be back where I came from. The unit I was in contained many elderly people. Without that helping hand [from Bryan] there were many corners I could have turned and ended up back where I was. But I decided, no! I made a promise—to Bryan and my probation officer—that I wouldn’t reoffend and I haven’t. No turning back.’

*names have been changed

---

by Robin Raymond (c) 'War Cry' magazine, 19 September 2015, pp5-7
You can read 'War Cry' at your nearest Salvation Army church or centre, or subscribe through Salvationist Resources.