An Ongoing Sentence
Formerly incarcerated people often say that prison follows you long after you’ve left. It’s an ecosystem predicated on survival, and the more time one serves, the more deeply ingrained the prison social construct becomes. Once released, formerly incarcerated people suffer from mental health and substance abuse disorders at disproportionate rates. Often, they carry a multitude of psychological damages caused by their time incarcerated, often mirroring post traumatic disorders. Symptoms can include distrust, emotional numbing, flashbacks, decreased self-esteem, issues with subordination and more. However, despite growing public discourse about mental health and a thriving global wellness industry, mental health as it relates to time incarcerated is still heavily stigmatized.
New York has an incarceration rate of 443 per 100,000 people and releases approximately 25,000 people annually. Formerly incarcerated individuals are often denied necessary treatment and supportive institutions to address mental health concerns, which can cause recidivism. It’s further exacerbated in communities of color, where aggravated policing and systemic racism can trigger episodes. While on parole or probation, where minor violations such a missing an appointment can send someone back to jail, being unable to cope with reentry is a punishable offense. It’s a cycle that affects not only the wellbeing of individuals, but their families and communities. In this way, their sentence is ongoing.
Isaac Scott, founder of The Confined Arts, photographed in his studio. Art gave him a space to express his emotions.
“Mental health is stigmatized in this space. If I show you the scars of my incarceration, it’s only going to make you have more judgments. I’m carrying two stigmas simultaneously. You feel like you have to show your best self coming home, wear these masks. You can’t show the trauma. That becomes more emotionally distressing.”
“The pressure is on once you return. People want you to get a job immediately, take your kids back, get a house. But you need time to debrief and integrate slowly.”
Dorian Bess found therapy during her second 10-year sentence. But upon release, she was abruptly cut from treatment. Her halfway house, which had said it had several programs, in fact had none.
Clover Perez outside her recording studio in Brooklyn where she interviews formerly incarcerated people and advocates for prison reform.
“I felt like I totally lost my voice. I had to learn to speak up again because injustice is traumatizing. There is a sense that they’re always pulling you back.”
Darrell Bennet, photographed in his home. He was incarcerated three years after graduating from Harvard Law School. After being released, he published a book about his journey through the system.
“Shame thrives in secrecy. If I can own my story and really lean into it, other people can do the same. During the pandemic, when everything got stripped away, people had to ask, who am I for real? And I have some experience with that. You have to dig in. It’s confrontational but it's a beautiful thing”
Greg Pierce, photographed in the Riverside Bank Park in Harlem, where he finds a reprieve from city life. Greg was incarcerated for 21 years before being released in 2005.
“In prison, when someone bumps into you, it means something. Out here, I didn’t know what people were trying to say to me. But I had to constantly ask myself, ‘do you want to go back to jail?”
Erobos Abzu Lamashtu photographed outside The Castle, a re-entry home run by the Fortune Society, where he has lived for seven years.
“I was under an intense and unique stress with no support...People who go to prison are the most vulnerable population. The idea is to create recidivism. The idea, in my experience, is to perpetuate animalism. It’s a savage culture on purpose.”
“I have trouble being able to sleep, restlessness with flashbacks, dreams of being in prison. I woke up pretty shitty this morning. I woke up afraid.”
Hilton Webb was incarcerated for 27 years, nine months and three days. He can barely remember anything before the age of 20. In prison, instead of addressing his mental health, he was labelled an Emotionally Disturbed Person and put on medicine that left him “stupefied”.
Dave Coleman was incarcerated for 40 years after his parole was rejected 12 times. A musician and artist, he has been spent much of his time learning how to acclimate to freedom and a more technologically advanced world.
“As soon as you remind me of prison or it starts feeling like prison, I start responding like I’m in prison. In my head, I’ve analyzed how I’m going to act: where the nearest exit is, who is going to be the biggest problem. I always have to know where people are. But [the pandemic] was easy after prison. I have no problem being by myself. I know me.”
Ervin “Easy” Hunt photographed in his home. He was incarcerated on and off between 1972 - 2002, predominately for drug charges.
“The biggest thing for me was acceptance. I went in and out of prison several times. It was easier for me than the outside. Outside, I was back in the same neighborhood with the same temptations. I abandoned my mother and my family just like I had been abandoned by my dad.”
Benji Arroyo was incarcerated for 26 years. Released in December of 2019, the cultural and technological differences were shocking. As he was beginning to find his way, the pandemic hit.
“The number one illness in prison is mental illness. It’s almost like you’re traumatized. You have to build a new life in prison, away from your family.”
"When you're released, everything has changed. You can be in long enough for people to die, people to be born, for the beeper to become the smartphone. How can you reintegrate when you’re not mentally stable?”
Shawanna Vaughn was incarcerated for five years, during which time she suffered traumas such as one roommate setting another on fire. Now, she the author and champion of the Post-Traumatic Prison Disorder Act, which would recognize PTPD.