\u2018I Just Lost My Cool\u2019<\/strong><\/p>\nAfter dropping out of high school, Mr. Harris ended up working at a carwash and envying the imports driven by drug dealers. One day in 1983, at the age of 18, while walking with his girlfriend on a sidewalk in Washington where drugs were being sold, he watched a high-level dealer pull up in a Mercedes-Benz and demand money from an underling.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis dealer was draped down in jewelry and a nice outfit,\u201d Mr. Harris recalled in an interview in the Woodridge neighborhood of northeast Washington, where he and his wife now live. \u201cThe female with him was draped down, too, gold and everything, dressed real good.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m watching the way he carries himself, and I\u2019m standing there looking like Raggedy Ann. My girl\u2019s looking like Raggedy Ann. I said to myself, \u2018That\u2019s what I want to do.\u2019 \u201d<\/p>\n
Within two years, he was convicted of illegal gun possession, an occupational hazard of his street business selling PCP and cocaine. He went to Lorton, the local prison, in 1985, shortly after he and Ms. Hamilton had their first daughter. He kept up his drug dealing while in prison \u2014 \u201cIt was just as easy to sell inside as outside\u201d \u2014 and returned to the streets for the heyday of the crack market in the late 1980s.<\/p>\n
The Washington police never managed to catch him with the cocaine he was importing by the kilo from New York, but they arrested him for assaulting people at a crack den. He says he went into the apartment, in the Shaw neighborhood, to retrieve $4,000 worth of crack stolen by one of his customers, and discovered it was already being smoked by a dozen people in the room.<\/p>\n
\u201cI just lost my cool,\u201d he said. \u201cI grabbed a lamp and chair lying around there and started smacking people. Nobody was hospitalized, but I broke someone\u2019s arm and cut another one in the leg.\u201d<\/p>\n
An assault like that would have landed Mr. Harris behind bars in many countries, but not for nearly so long. Prisoners serve significantly more time in the United States than in most industrialized countries. Sentences for drug-related offenses and other crimes have gotten stiffer in recent decades, and prosecutors have become more aggressive in seeking longer terms \u2014 as Mr. Harris discovered when he saw the multiple charges against him.<\/p>\n
For injuring two people, Mr. Harris was convicted on two counts of assault, each carrying a minimum three-year sentence. But he received a much stiffer sentence, of 15 to 45 years, on a charge of armed burglary at the crack den.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe cops knew I was selling but couldn\u2019t prove it, so they made up the burglary charge instead,\u201d Mr. Harris contended. He still considers the burglary charge unfair, insisting that he neither broke into the crack den nor took anything, but he also acknowledges that long prison terms were a risk for any American selling drugs: \u201cI knew other dealers who got life without parole.\u201d<\/p>\n
As it was, at the age of 24 he was facing prison until his mid-40s. He urged his wife to move on with her life and divorce him. Despondent, he began snorting heroin in prison \u2014 the first time, he says, that he had ever used hard drugs himself.<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought I was going to lose my mind,\u201d he said. \u201cI felt so bad leaving my wife alone with our daughters. When they were young, they\u2019d ask on the phone where I was, and I\u2019d tell them I was away at camp.\u201d<\/p>\n
His wife went on welfare and turned to relatives to care for their daughters while she visited him at prisons in Tennessee, Texas, Arizona and New Mexico.<\/p>\n
\u201cI wanted to work, but I couldn\u2019t have a job and go visit him,\u201d Ms. Hamilton said. \u201cWhen he was in New Mexico, it would take me three days to get there on the bus. I\u2019d go out there and stay for a month in a trailer near the prison.\u201d<\/p>\n
In Washington, she and her daughters moved from relative to relative, not always together. During one homeless spell, Ms. Hamilton slept by herself for a month in her car. She eventually found a federally subsidized apartment of her own, and once the children were in school she took part-time jobs. But the scrimping never stopped. \u201cWe had a lot of Oodles of Noodles,\u201d she recalled.<\/p>\n
Eleven years after her husband went to prison, Ms. Hamilton followed his advice to divorce, but she didn\u2019t remarry. Like other women in communities with high rates of incarceration, she faced a shortage of potential mates. Because more than 90 percent of prisoners are men, their absence skews the gender ratio. In some neighborhoods in Washington, there are 6 men for every 10 women.<\/p>\n
\u201cWith so many men locked up, the ones left think they can do whatever they want,\u201d Ms. Hamilton said. \u201cA man will have three mistresses, and they\u2019ll each put up with it because there are no other men around.\u201d<\/p>\n
Epidemiologists have found that when the incarceration rate rises in a county, there tends to be a subsequent increase in the rates of sexually transmitted diseases and teenage pregnancy, possibly because women have less power to require their partners to practice protected sex or remain monogamous.<\/p>\n
When researchers try to explain why AIDS is much more prevalent among blacks than whites, they point to the consequences of incarceration, which disrupts steady relationships and can lead to high-risk sexual behavior. When sociologists look for causes of child poverty and juvenile delinquency, they link these problems to the incarceration of parents and the resulting economic and emotional strains on families.<\/p>\n
Some families, of course, benefit after an abusive parent or spouse is locked up. But Christopher Wildeman, a Yale sociologist, has found that children are generally more likely to suffer academically and socially after the incarceration of a parent. Boys left fatherless become more physically aggressive. Spouses of prisoners become more prone to depression and other mental and physical problems.<\/p>\n
\u201cEducation, income, housing, health \u2014 incarceration affects everyone and everything in the nation\u2019s low-income neighborhoods,\u201d said Megan Comfort, a sociologist at the nonprofit research organization RTI International who has analyzed what she calls the \u201csecondary prisonization\u201d of women with partners serving time in San Quentin State Prison.<\/p>\n
Before the era of mass incarceration, there was already evidence linking problems in poor neighborhoods to the high number of single-parent households and also to the high rate of mobility: the continual turnover on many blocks as transients moved in and out.<\/p>\n
Now those trends have been amplified by the prison boom\u2019s \u201ccoercive mobility,\u201d as it is termed by Todd R. Clear, the dean of the School of Criminal Justice at Rutgers University. In some low-income neighborhoods, he notes, virtually everyone has at least one relative currently or recently behind bars, so families and communities are continually disrupted by people going in and out of prison.<\/p>\n
A Perverse Effect<\/strong><\/p>\nThis social disorder may ultimately have the perverse effect of raising the crime rate in some communities, Dr. Clear and some other scholars say. Robert DeFina and Lance Hannon, both at Villanova University, have found that while crime may initially decline in places that lock up more people, within a few years the rate rebounds and is even higher than before.<\/p>\n
New York City\u2019s continuing drop in crime in the past two decades may have occurred partly because it reduced its prison population in the 1990s and thereby avoided a subsequent rebound effect.<\/p>\n
Raymond V. Liedka, of Oakland University in Michigan, and colleagues have found that the crime-fighting effects of prison disappear once the incarceration rate gets too high. \u201cIf the buildup goes beyond a tipping point, then additional incarceration is not going to gain our society any reduction in crime, and may lead to increased crime,\u201d Dr. Liedka said.<\/p>\n
The benefits of incarceration are especially questionable for men serving long sentences into middle age. The likelihood of committing a crime drops steeply once a man enters his 30s. This was the case with Mr. Harris, who turned his life around shortly after hitting 30.<\/p>\n
\u201cI said, \u2018I wasn\u2019t born in no jail, and I\u2019m not going to die here,\u2019 \u201d he recalled, describing how he gave up heroin and other drugs, converted to Islam and went to work on his high school equivalency degree.<\/p>\n
But he still had 14 more years to spend in prison. During that time, he stayed in touch with his family, talking to his children daily. When he was released in 2009, he reunited with them and Ms. Hamilton.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was like a man coming out of a cave after 20 years,\u201d Mr. Harris said. \u201cThe streets were the same, but everything else had changed. My kids were grown. They had to teach me how to use a cellphone and pay for the bus.\u201d<\/p>\n
The only job he could find was at a laundry, where he sorted soiled linens for $8.25 an hour, less than half the typical wage for a man his age but not unusual for someone just out of prison. Even though the District of Columbia has made special efforts to find jobs for ex-prisoners and to destigmatize their records \u2014 they are officially known as \u201creturning citizens\u201d \u2014 many have a hard time finding any kind of work.<\/p>\n
This is partly because of employers\u2019 well-documented reluctance to hire anyone with a record, partly because of former prisoners\u2019 lack of work experience and contacts, and partly because of their difficulties adapting to life after prison.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou spend long enough in prison being constantly treated like a dog or a parrot, you can get so institutionalized you can\u2019t function outside,\u201d Mr. Harris said. \u201cThat was my biggest challenge, telling myself that I\u2019m not going to forget how to take care of myself or think for myself. I saw that happen to too many guys.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u2018Crippled by Incarceration\u2019<\/strong><\/p>\nThe Rev. Kelly Wilkins sees men like that every day during her work at the Covenant Baptist Church in Washington, which serves the low-income neighborhoods east of the Anacostia River.<\/p>\n
\u201cA lot of the men have been away so long that they\u2019re been crippled by incarceration,\u201d she said. \u201cThey don\u2019t how to survive in the community anymore, and they figure it\u2019s too late for someone in their 40s to start life over.\u201d<\/p>\n
A stint behind bars tends to worsen job prospects that weren\u2019t good to begin with. \u201cPeople who go to prison would have very low wages even without incarceration,\u201d said Dr. Western, the Harvard sociologist and author of \u201cPunishment and Inequality in America.\u201d \u201cThey have very little education, on average, and they live in communities with poor job opportunities, and so on. For all this, the balance of the social science evidence shows that prison makes things worse.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dr. Western and Becky Pettit, a sociologist at the University of Washington, estimate, after controlling for various socioeconomic factors, that incarceration typically reduces annual earnings by 40 percent for the typical male former prisoner.<\/p>\n
The precise financial loss is debatable. Other social scientists have come up with lower estimates for lost wages after incarceration, but everyone agrees it\u2019s only part of the cost. For starters, it doesn\u2019t include wages lost while a man is behind bars.<\/p>\n
Nor does it include all the burdens borne by the prisoner\u2019s family and community during incarceration \u2014 the greatest cost of all, says Donald Braman, an anthropologist at George Washington University Law School who wrote \u201cDoing Time on the Outside\u201d after studying families of prisoners in Washington.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe social deprivation and draining of capital from these communities may well be the greatest contribution our state makes to income inequality,\u201d Dr. Braman said. \u201cThere is no social institution I can think of that comes close to matching it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Drs. DeFina and Hannon, the Villanova sociologists, calculate that if the mass incarceration trend had not occurred in recent decades, the poverty rate would be 20 percent lower today, and that five million fewer people would have fallen below the poverty line.<\/p>\n
Ms. Hamilton and Mr. Harris have now risen above that poverty line, and they consider their family luckier than many others. Their two daughters finished high school; one went to college; both are employed. Ms. Hamilton is working as an aide at a hospital. Mr. Harris has a job as a security guard and a different outlook on life.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t worry about buying clothes anymore,\u201d he said. He and his wife are scrimping to save enough so they can finally, in their late 40s, buy a home together.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s like our life is finally beginning,\u201d Ms. Hamilton said. \u201cIf he hadn\u2019t been away so long, we could own a house by now. We would probably have more kids. I try not to think about all the things we lost.\u201d<\/p>\n
Accentuating the Positive<\/strong><\/p>\nShe and her husband prefer to accentuate the positive, even when it comes to the police and prison. They appreciate that some neighborhoods in Washington are much safer now that drug dealers aren\u2019t fighting on street corners and in crack dens anymore. They figure the crackdown on open-air drug markets helped both the city and Mr. Harris.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf I hadn\u2019t been locked up, I probably would have ended up getting killed on the streets,\u201d Mr. Harris said. His wife agreed.<\/p>\n
\u201cPrison was good for him in some ways,\u201d Ms. Hamilton said. \u201cHe finally grew up there. He\u2019s a man now.\u201d<\/p>\n
But 20 years?<\/p>\n
\u201cThey overdid it,\u201d she said. \u201cIt didn\u2019t have to take that long at all.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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Prison And The Poverty Trap<\/title>\n \n \n \n \n \n \n \n \n \n \n \n \n\t \n\t \n\t \n \n \n \n \n \n\t \n