From Kathleen, our hinterlands correspondent, comes this Op-Ed from the Buffalo News.  It’s written by Gerald T. Balone, who describes himself this way:

A little over a year ago, I walked out of Fishkill Correctional Facility, one of the 17 state prisons where I had been confined for 37 years for my involvement in a robbery in which three people were killed on the East Side of Buffalo.

Now 37 years in prison is a long time, but this isn’t about whether the sentence was right or wrong, long or short, good or bad.  He did his 37 years, which means that he lived through many changes in the system, going back to the good old days of 1973, before “tough on crime” became the mantra of anyone who sought election and “the harsher the better” became the penal philosophy.

Although I never thought I would see the outside of a prison wall, I took advantage of every educational opportunity afforded — many of which, unfortunately, are no longer available to inmates — to me in prison.

I earned five college degrees, including two master’s degrees, completed several apprenticeship programs and took virtually every counseling and self-help program available.

I came out of prison an entirely different person, with the goal of repaying society for the trust and confidence placed in me by the New York State Board of Parole.

This short passage is full of details worthy of note.  He earned five college degrees?  That was at a time when people thought that educating prisoners was a way out of poverty and recidivism.  Then came the anger.  Why should criminals receive a free education when law-abiding families struggled to pay for college for their children?

There is no bitterness in Balone’s tone.  He doesn’t complain that life was unfair or that he was denied justice.  Indeed, he expresses appreciation for the “trust and confidence” placed in him by allowing him to walk out of prison.  Assuming, as I do, his sincerity, this is what we hope will happen to a person who is sentenced to a term of imprisonment.  We desire rehabilitation.  We want them to realize the error of their ways and to become law-abiding, productive citizens.  This is the point.

I was initially released to a halfway house operated by Cephas Buffalo, and spent my first 100 days living with other ex-offenders in South Buffalo. That was a godsend because it provided me with a gateway into a culture that, as you might imagine, bore little resemblance to the one I was removed from in 1973.

This is the stuff of science fiction novels, entering prison when disco ruled and coming out to find that Microsoft now runs everything.  But more than that, society went from the Burger Court to the Roberts Court; the pendulum (if you like this analogy) swung all the way to the other side while Balone was inside.  When he went in, he left a society that valued empathy.  He returned to a harsh, angry society that cared little for anyone but themselves.

Unfortunately, my education and training have not yielded the employment prospects I had anticipated.

In 1973, there was a belief that people who committed crimes could pay their dues to society and, once paid in full, return to be given another chance.  It was up to them to make the most of their time inside, to educate themselves, to become the person they weren’t when they walked into prison.

But if you followed the rules, educated yourself, gained skills and insight, then you would one day be given a second chance.  Those on the outside would accept you again as a worthy human being.  That was the promise of 1973.

That’s not the world in 2008.  Once a criminal, always a criminal.  There’s no paying one’s dues anymore.  There’s no rehabilitation or forgiveness.  While Balone was in prison, society changed the deal. 

Re-entry is, at its most basic level, a public safety measure. I understand the political reality of appearing “soft on crime,” but I would urge our elected representatives to view re-entry as an investment in their community.

Ah, the old days of wine and roses, before we turned so mean, angry and foolish.  Welcome back, Gerald T. Balone.