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Fighting recidivism: Jacksonville's re-entry program lifts ex-offenders

Florida Times-Union - 4/2/2017

April 01--On Monday evening, Darian Jones recapped his life story in a few short sentences, and brought a crowd of more than 1,500 people to its feet.

Jones did so by detailing his path to redemption -- one that came in the form of a new vocational training certificate, his own car, a house, and a return to his sprawling family that didn't get to see him grow up to become the man he is today. Because he was behind bars.

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It wasn't until halfway through his 13-year prison term that Jones turned the corner. The pivot started with an astute corrections officer, who formulated a wake-up call that eventually led Jones to a prison GED program.

Convicted on assault and kidnapping charges, Jones was first sent to prison at the age of 18, back when he was a high school football star. At first, his reaction was to exude cockiness and a tendency for violence, but still, Jones existed under the glare of a general and persistent apathy.

About seven years into his sentence, that attitude began to give way to promise -- a future outside of prison slowly coming into focus. It was enough to make Jones' friends in prison take notice. They asked him what was going on.

"Dude, I'm getting older," Jones recalls telling them. "I can't keep fighting. I'm going to get out one day, and I need to have something."

The something ended up being the Jacksonville Re-Entry Center, or JREC, a program aimed at stopping ex-offenders from becoming re-offenders. It provides assistance on career development, medical, housing and transportation needs, among other things. The program serves anyone who was a resident of Duval County when they were arrested, convicted of a felony, and is returning to Jacksonville, regardless of the severity of their offense.

For the current fiscal year, JREC received a one-time infusion of $900,000 from the Florida Department of Corrections. The money has allowed the program to expand: serving 500 new clients, hiring a full-time mental health counselor and a part-time nurse practitioner; and offering more transitional housing. But that was a one-time deal, and it's unclear if JREC will retain that level of funding.

Even still, the program is reaching about half of the people it could, according to Pastor Bruce Havens, who spoke alongside Darian Jones on Monday when he gave his rousing speech at ICARE's annual gathering, a coalition of faith leaders who advocate for criminal justice reforms. Havens estimated that almost 1,600 people could have benefited from JREC last year, but only 640 received some assistance.

Turning point

When his GED results came back, Jones said, his score was in the top five all-time for the correctional institute's program, raising some eyebrows. By the time he got to Baker County's prison, there was a vocational program waiting for him, run by JREC.

Jones said the program gave him a way to occupy his time with something positive in a place that is inherently negative. Vocational programs should be funding priorities over adding more beds and building new prisons, Jones said.

"When you're doing that, all you're doing is adding to the problem," he said.

Sheriff Mike Williams said that JREC is a "valuable component of our overall crime reduction strategy."

"The concept is a proven one: reintegrating former offenders into our community by providing them with the necessary resources to secure housing, access healthcare providers and participate in work readiness training," Williams said.

That assistance lowers the risk of recidivism, or re-offending, which is a major issue in the criminal justice system. The rate of recidivism for those who participate in JREC dropped in the fiscal year of 2015-2016, down to 12.5 percent from 20 percent the previous year. But that did not include the more violent offenders who also used the program. In the 2015-16 fiscal year, of the 556 people who used the program, 323 successfully completed it.

Chad Beech, a recently retired corrections officer, was one of the first people to see potential in Jones. Beech said Jones "didn't really fit the mold" of an average prisoner. He didn't run with gangs or other groups -- he got along with everybody.

"But at the same time, he wasn't really hopeful about how things would shake out for him," Beech said.

It was the utter logistics of finding opportunities after incarceration, not to mention the social stigma, that weighed on Jones. Beech told Jones he understood. They spoke about scripture and the lessons to be drawn from Judeo-Christian values.

"People naturally follow someone who seeks to do that which is good for others," Beech said to Jones at the time.

On that score, Jones was a natural.

"When you meet him, he kind of exudes that," Beech said. "He carries himself differently."

Building a career

When Jones got out of prison in June 2013, he didn't even know how to use a bank. That was just one of the things he had to learn with JREC's help.

Jones began to gather resources, constructing a resume and working day jobs through staffing agencies. Throughout the process, JREC was offering Jones guidance.

"They told me, 'Every job you go to, write down what you're doing, it's an added bonus to your resume,'" Jones said.

Within a month, Jones got his first real job: working part-time, but on the payroll, at Goodwill Industries. He started in the warehouse, eventually, working his way up to assistant manager. When his boss asked him if he wanted the job, Jones was taken aback. He asked himself, "Why me?"

Given his time in prison, Jones had convinced myself no one would ever trust him again, especially with the code to the building's alarm system.

"I was able to walk into that building at will when I wanted to," Jones said. "It was a surreal thing."

But life still isn't completely back to normal for Jones. There are some things that will never be the same.

And there are moments when he gets angry: getting lost in his own neighborhood from disorienting new construction, realizing he didn't get to see some of his cousins grow up, and not even being able to vote, despite all the work he has done to correct his life's path.

Florida has some of the nation's harshest laws barring ex-felons from voting.

"What you're telling me is that, when I'm released from prison, I'm basically a second-class citizen," Jones said. "I don't have first-class rights."

Beech, nonetheless, thinks Jones is a first-class person. He attended his graduation from a federally sponsored supply-chain management program. And they continue to see one another to this day. Beech coaches Jones in ju-jitsu.

"I hope that people choose to give him a chance," Beech said of Jones. "Because if they do, they're going to gain a lot."

Ben Conarck: (904)359-4103

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