As a successful commodities broker, Jake Hall made a good living. After spending time in prison, though, he couldn’t even get a job washing dishes. He filled out innumerable applications, but when employers saw the checked felony box, they would tell him “no thanks,” or simply throw the application away.
As a successful commodities broker, Jake Hall made a good living. After spending time in prison, though, he couldn’t even get a job washing dishes. He filled out innumerable applications, but when employers saw the checked felony box, they would tell him “no thanks,” or simply throw the application away.
Nearly 700,000 people are released from state and federal prisons every year. One year after release, only 37 percent have a full-time job, and most of those earn a lower hourly wage than they did before incarceration, according to the Urban Institute Justice Policy Center. The checkboxes for felony convictions that appear on many low-wage job applications are emblematic of the obstacles facing ex-prisoners in today’s highly competitive job market. Many employers—formally or informally—embrace policies to automatically disqualify those who check the box, leaving few legitimate options for a population vulnerable to recidivism.
A campaign to “ban the box” has arisen in the prisoner reentry community. Its proponents argue that ex-prisoners deserve a fair evaluation of their qualifications for a job. While job applicants with histories of incarceration would still be subject to appropriate background checks and disclosure requirements, the removal of the box would give them a chance to make a good first impression and explain their past—an opportunity usually denied to them.
In Memphis, Tennessee, as in other cities across the nation, a Ban the Box initiative was recently introduced to the city council. In support of the measure to help ex-prisoners obtain work and avoid crime, Prison Fellowship assisted a local Memphis advocate and former prisoner, DeAndre Brown.
DeAndre’s Journey
DeAndre Brown was accepted to Rhodes College near Memphis, Tennessee, on a full-ride academic scholarship in 1994. He planned to become a doctor. But over time, he realized the sacrifices that would accompany his dream: years of schooling and large amounts of debt. Instead, he decided he wanted a life like the other young men in his neighborhood—men with lots of disposable cash, often gained through the sale of drugs. DeAndre’s own illicit activities led to incarceration at age 28. After his release, he says, “It was very hard.” He could not secure a job because of his record. “I can’t say that I’ve never had the desire to go back [to illegal ways],” he remembers, because he knew he could make money that way. But he “didn’t let the desire take [him] under.”
After a couple of months without a job, DeAndre and his wife started their own janitorial company in an attempt to bring in a paycheck. Shortly after, they won a large contract with a local hospital.
But, “when [the hospital] found out I had a felony conviction on my background,” recalls DeAndre, “I had to turn in my keys that very day. I was no longer welcome on the premises … even though I had put in almost two years.” Three months after the discovery, the hospital officially terminated the contract with DeAndre’s company.
Then, almost two years ago, DeAndre heard Prison Fellowship Founder Chuck Colson on the radio talking about getting involved with prison ministry. DeAndre had long had the desire to minister to prisoners, but until then he didn’t know where to start. He and his wife soon became certified Prison Fellowship volunteers and played an active role in Tennessee’s 2010 Out4Life Conference, a collaboration of regional community-based reentry efforts.
In 2009 DeAndre opened a nonprofit called Lifeline to Success, helping ex-prisoners—or “clients,” as he prefers to call them—get job training and life skills. But, when his first six clients were rejected by a Memphis Library-sponsored employment aid agency due to their criminal records, they returned to his office defeated. That’s when DeAndre decided to take the issue to city hall.
Battle in Memphis
At the next city council meeting, several of DeAndre’s clients explained their reentry struggles. DeAndre challenged the council to lead the effort to ban the box on applications for city jobs, to show the business community that ex-prisoners are worthy job applicants, too. “We want to change perceptions,” DeAndre explained to them.
To DeAndre’s surprise, the council favored his plan to ban the box, admitting that it is the responsibility of elected officials to stand behind such efforts. They realized that prisoners without hope of a job oftentimes end up back behind bars because they run out of options. By promoting access to jobs for ex-prisoners, the city could promote their rehabilitation.
Local media, however, cast a shadow on the proceedings. Print and online discussions used such derogatory terms as “ex-cons,” and raised questions beyond the intent or specificity of the legislation. “Should violent offenders take city jobs?” one radio announcer even asked, adversely changing the entire tone of the conversation.
But rather than dwelling on media pessimism, DeAndre determined to focus his efforts on persuading the decision makers. Prison Fellowship assisted DeAndre in his presentation to the Memphis city council, providing statistical analysis and research showing the importance of jobs for ex-prisoners. Pat Nolan, the vice president over Prison Fellowship’s justice reform efforts, wrote a letter in support of the measure. In the end, the council passed the measure by a vote of 9-2.
Future of Ban the Box
The victory in Memphis is an important first step.
Legislation banning the box for both the public and private sectors has already been passed in states such as Hawaii and Massachusetts, while New Mexico, Connecticut, and Minnesota have banned the box for public employers. In addition, smaller jurisdictions have banned the box, including Boston, Chicago, Minneapolis, and San Francisco. Legislation is still pending in California, Maryland, Nebraska, and Wisconsin, among others.
DeAndre hopes that Ban the Box will move to the state level and eventually become a national movement. “It’s important,” he adds, “because it gives [ex-prisoners] hope. The hope is what gives them the desire to do better.”