Social reintegration and the prison environment: the major omissions in the public debate
In Canada and Quebec, visible minorities are overrepresented in prison institutions: in recent years, the proportion of people of color in prisons has exploded. And when they leave prison, social reintegration is a major challenge for them. Former inmates were kind enough to share their experience with La Converse.
The reality of prison life
A Quebecer of Algerian origin, Amine* tells her story in the judicial system in an upset way. For him, prison is far from being a foreign environment. “The first time I was arrested was in 2015. I was 15. I was underage. I got into a fight downtown, and when the police intervened, I was thrown into the Backseat from the police car,” explains the 23-year-old man. “Once at the police station, they called my parents to come and get me. Nothing happened after that, but I will never forget how the police talked to me in the car. They insulted and belittled me,” he said, recalling the scene.
This first arrest is only the beginning of a stormy relationship between the citizen and the judicial system. Amine has in fact found himself behind the bars of the Montreal Detention Establishment, commonly known as “the Bordeaux prison”, nine times. “The first time I was in prison, it was for drunk driving. I was arrested and then taken to the operational center in downtown Montreal. It was there that I saw a cell for the first time as an adult. I was just 18,” he said. The operational center is where potential suspects are temporarily detained. “The cell was empty: there was just a bench and a sink. As it was winter, it was very cold,” continues the young citizen. “Normally, if the detention is long, the agents have to get you food, and a blanket if it's cold, but I didn't get anything,” he reports, outraged. He won't have a blanket and won't get food until the end of the day. “From there, I knew I wasn't going to be treated like a human being,” he laments.
“During one of my visits to Bordeaux, I was put in total isolation in my cell for two weeks. I was not allowed to shower or talk on the phone, because I was confined to myself,” he recalls, distressed. It also evokes the time when the pandemic was wreaking havoc all over the world. According to him, people “tend to forget that prison life during this time was particularly trying.” In a tense tone, he explains: “When someone is sick, they put the whole wing under control. That means you can't go out for 14 days. If you get sick, the people on your wing forbid you to tell the guards. Otherwise, you're alienating everyone.” Although the population then had difficulty coping with the health restrictions linked to the pandemic, Amine, who was going back and forth in prison during this time, returned to the outside world with great relief. “When I got out of prison during the pandemic, it was different. Outside, people did not experience the pandemic like those in prison,” he recalls.
“I no longer believe in reintegration”
As was the incarceration process, that of disorienting release. “I was incarcerated in an unknown place, with people I didn't know, and I didn't have the right to anything from the outside world,” he describes, speaking of the social isolation he experienced. He adds that “prisoners are abandoned and then released; they are expected to act as rehabilitated citizens. The problem with social reintegration is that no tools are provided for the transition after a short incarceration.” Amine points out that the length of imprisonment is not the only factor to take into account in an inmate's experience. “Even if I didn't stay Inside Only a few days ago, I had traumatic experiences,” he said, troubled.
He testifies to the sudden break he suffered from society as a result of his prison experience. Once released, he was left alone, with no help to reintegrate into society. “When I got out of prison, someone had to come and get me. I had to go home directly, as if nothing had happened, without being welcomed or guided,” says the young man. For him, the lack of an appropriate transition has only made his situation worse. “I have fallen back into the same habits of exclusion several times.”
After being confronted with the judicial and prison systems, Amine lost all confidence in the establishments and institutions linked to him. “I no longer believe in reintegration, it never worked for me,” he admits. With a nonchalant look, he adds: “The way I was treated by the police and agents made me understand that reinsertion is not applied the same way for everyone.” This indifference has also become a reality shared by other inmates who have experienced similar stories. “It is the result of systemic abandonment. If they don't want me in society, I won't try to reintegrate,” he says, resigned.
Continue at all costs
Like Amine, Mattéo has been in prison several times during his life. Of Mexican origin, the young man is in the process of completing a civil engineering technique at Collège Ahuntsic in the hope of getting his life back on track.
The 28-year-old Quebecer is well aware of the vagaries of judicial life because of his numerous stays in prison, all over Quebec. “The first time I was incarcerated, it lasted a month. I had to miss classes and exams,” he explains. His periods in custody still hamper his school career. “I had to be absent because of my sentence, which affected my academic results. When I tried to cancel my session, the school refused. They justified this rejection by telling me that if I had been in prison, it was my fault. Today, I was found not guilty for this case in question,” he laments. “I always liked school. I never stopped CEGEP, even though it was easier for me to drop out,” adds Mattéo with determination.
The consequences of his incarceration are not limited to the school field. He still faces difficulties when looking for a job. According to him, the biggest obstacle to social reintegration is the criminal record that is linked to the person. “I have applied for hundreds of jobs. But each time, I found myself facing a wall,” he admits. “My criminal record always gets in my way. The only jobs I have access to are too restrictive and offer only a meager salary. Otherwise, I can work in the dark, but it's too dangerous,” he continues.
Always looking for a job, Mattéo receives refusal after refusal. “I was already laughed at in the face during an interview because I said that I had a criminal record,” he said. Filled with frustration, he asks himself: “What can you do to re-enter the workforce when you are an ex-con and you have a label permanently stuck on your back? ” Despite his efforts, the former prisoner says that he will probably not have the chance to work as an engineer in Quebec later. “If I want to join the Order of Engineers of Quebec, I will have to file a pardon application to have my criminal record suspended. But that won't be possible for 10 years,” regrets the student, desperate by the absurdity of the situation.
“Prison, no matter how long it lasts, leaves deep scars”
Unlike Amine and Mattéo, Elias* has only been in prison once, in 2021. Aged only 22 at the time, he was arrested and taken to the Ottawa-Carleton Detention Centre. His incarceration lasted 25 days. It may seem brief, but for the young man, this experience is synonymous with long hours of confinement in a tight cell, tasteless food, loneliness, and uncertainty.
Once released, Elias felt abandoned and experienced a lot of anxiety in his reintegration process. “I am told that I have been acquitted of the charges against me. I go back to the cell, I wait for the administrative process to be completed. Then the guards arrive and finally escort me to freedom,” he describes. He recalls his last moments in prison: “As I walked to the exit, I could feel the agents looking at me. As if I didn't deserve this freedom,” he says bitterly. “After 25 nights in the same place, I finally found myself outside! My parents picked me up as if they were picking me up from school, and I went home,” he said, shaken by the lack of delicacy of the prison release procedure. He goes on to denounce the fact that there is “no support, no help, no accommodation — neither for me, nor for my parents.”
All the way back home, Elias was wondering about his fate. After spending time in prison, he was apprehensive about what the repercussions of his experience would be. “The road to Montreal was a long one. I was happy, but at the same time super anxious; I didn't know what was going to happen,” he adds, exhausted. The fear of the unknown was then eating away at the young Montrealer.
“The biggest ordeal I have ever endured was the brutal shock of transition. Entering prison was painful, but getting out was just as difficult,” Elias admits. Feeling abandoned by the system, he continues: “I had no idea what was going to happen next, I was in a fog of stress.” After trying to reintegrate into society, he found himself stuck. “I had conditions to respect. A curfew, for example, that prevented me from getting a job. Nobody wanted to hire me because I couldn't work after 8 p.m.,” he reports. For him, the treatment meted out to former prisoners is unfair. “I cannot understand how people are released from prison without any help to reintegrate into society after such a traumatic experience. Prison, regardless of the length of the sentence, leaves deep scars,” he concludes with conviction.
“Exclusion is a kind of prison”
The stories of Amine, Mattéo, and Elias reflect the frustrating and alarming reality experienced by many people who have served time in prison. These individuals often find it very difficult to be considered as fully-fledged human beings. In general, they are instead judged to be lifelong offenders and are condemned to live with a strong social stigma.
Mohamed Lotfi, who is a worker, educator, and facilitator with former inmates, has heard similar stories and experiences from people of color. Based on his experience, he noted that “the difficulties ex-prisoners face are often the same as before they were incarcerated.” According to him, it is rather the repercussions of the various mechanisms that some communities face.
It also highlights an important fact: “Racial profiling, discrimination, social exclusion — all this is another form of prison. Prison is only the physical and legal place that some individuals face, but there are several types of exclusion systems that these same individuals experience every day.” Underlining the role of this exclusion, Mr. Lotfi continues: “While some people experience social rejection from the beginning of their life, it is normal that they are more likely to end up incarcerated. Thus, if a person is five times more likely to be stopped by the police because of the color of their skin, there is a risk of an overrepresentation of prisoners of color in prison.” In the same vein, he adds, “once in the cycle of exclusion, it is less and more difficult for those affected to get out of it and return to society in a dignified manner.”
According to the educator, one of the main obstacles to social reintegration is the omission of incarcerated people from the public debate. “Prisons and the people who frequent them are completely forgotten. In the media and political sphere, we never talk about it, or very rarely,” he said.
The difficulties experienced by former prisoners are not limited to their time in prison, but often extend well beyond that. The prison system is organized around a set of mechanisms that have a significant impact on the lives of individuals, especially those from marginalized or racialized communities. As a solution, the speaker proposes “including the people concerned in decisions and debates in order to know what they need to reintegrate into society”. In the meantime, Amine, Mattéo and Elias are named after numerous people who, in the same situations, are still waiting for progress.
*First names have been changed for reasons of confidentiality.