By all accounts, the 29-year-old woman I interviewed was a successful freelancer. She described herself as an “arts worker able to support myself in New York.” When the pandemic started, she lost all of her gigs, but she was established enough that one of her clients gave her two weeks of severance.

As a member of what I have termed the “officially unemployed,” she qualified for, and received, unemployment insurance. The stability of weekly unemployment benefits was a stark contrast to the usual volatility of her career. It raised uncomfortable questions.

“Why am I doing this? Why shouldn’t I get a real job? That has benefits and other nice things that I can rely on, that I won’t have to gig work for the rest of my life,” she told me. “I imagine a real job being a 9 to 5, or something that’s regular and consistent, that has benefits that are connected to it, and maybe one day you’ll retire from it, and they’ll give you money for that. I don’t even know. I can’t even fathom it.”

For years, it’s been clear that the idea of what constitutes a “good job” is changing. For the baby boomers’ generation, it often involved a salary, a private office, paid vacation, regular raises, health insurance, and a 401k with a decent company match. For the parents of baby boomers—aka the “greatest generation”—a good job offered a pension instead of a 401(k), and crucially, was enough to support a family on one income.

Academics generally define a good job as one that pays well, offers opportunities for advancement, and allows for control over one’s work environment. Good jobs allowed workers to work from home during the pandemic and continue to offer remote opportunities. Bad jobs offer low wages, little in the way of benefits or opportunities for advancement, no autonomy, and no control over termination.

Yet, as I note in my new book, Side Hustle Safety Net: How Vulnerable Workers Survive Precarious Times, when many workers dare to dream about a better tomorrow, they don’t talk about a good job or a bad job. They just want a “real job.”

A real job can be a good job, but it doesn’t have to be. As one gig worker in my interviews defined it, a real job includes “full-time hourly work” that offers “benefits” and “more financial security.” As another worker explained, a traditional job meant “I’m going to get either the same amount of pay every week or just know that I have the same hours every week.”

The hundreds of gig workers I’ve interviewed over the last eight years utilize numerous synonyms in discussing a real job: “proper job,” “traditional job,” “a jobby career,” “a real person job,” and “a big girl job.” For all of the headlines proclaiming that the gig economy is the future of work, the fact is that a large majority of workers who have been doing this work—including freelancers and gig-platform workers—want full-time work in their future. A 2019 survey conducted by Axios and Survey Monkey found that 79 percent of respondents would rather have one stable full-time job than multiple jobs with the option to choose how and when they want to work.

As a 23-year-old New Yorker who had worked as a personal assistant, dog walker, and babysitter explained, “I don’t want to wake up one day and be 40 years old and still doing those types of jobs. I still want to have something proper going for myself.”

This lack of “real work” is not limited to rideshare drivers and food delivery workers, either. It is increasingly found in other fields thanks to shadow gig platforms that offer business-to-business staffing. Instawork places workers in 1099 jobs in restaurants, while AllShifts focuses on gig-based nursing jobs, and Roadie offers store delivery work. Even professional jobs aren’t free from app-based gig work thanks to Graphite, Catalant, and Business Talent Group, platforms that are used by almost all Fortune 500 companies, according to the Harvard Business Review.

For companies, the benefit of gig work is that it allows them to outsource risk to workers. Workers take on the risk of slow periods where a lack of demand can leave them scrambling for income, the risk of a platform “deactivating” them without warning or recourse, and the risk of occupational injury from hours spent driving or working in unsafe places. Workers also face the risk of sexual harassment or otherwise uncomfortable experiences with clients who think anything goes behind closed doors. And workers have found themselves hired for scam tasks or driving passengers engaged in criminally questionable activities.

In addition to these risks, for many workers, piecing together little jobs is not financially sustainable. Thirty-two percent of gig workers report it is very difficult to cover their expenses and pay their bills compared to 18% of W2 service sector workers.

There are efforts to make gig work into better gig work, such as New York City’s minimum wage for delivery workers, but few efforts to turn gig work into real work.

One exception is the California law known as AB-5, which required that workers be classified as employees if their work was a regular part of the company’s business. The goal of the law’s authors was that employers would reduce their reliance on independent contractors or 1099 workers, and instead classify those workers as employees—thus turning gig work into real work. But a myriad of exceptions managed to undermine the goal of the law. Then, Lyft and other gig economy giants spent $200 million convincing voters to adopt Proposition 22, which exempted platform-based gig workers from AB-5 rules (at least until the California Supreme Court rules on the legality of their exemptions).

Faced with these challenges, many gig workers attempt to create “real job” security and income stability through “polyemployment,” meaning working multiple jobs. Taking on multiple part-time or gig-based jobs is a way for workers to ensure that they always have some money coming in. Indeed, a recent report from H&R Block notes that millennials—who are now between 28 and 43 years old—average two jobs each, with “nearly one in three intending to work for an app-based company.”

But any temporary stability and security offered by such polyemployment is often a mirage. Job hunting continues to be a daily, if not hourly, activity as workers wait to be summoned by platform algorithms whose lack of clarity and transparency means that workers don’t know if work today means work tomorrow. Meanwhile, any technical difficulties they experience with the apps can lead to income losses.

There are solutions. One of the problems with AB-5 was that it was limited to California. Employers could—and did—simply shift their workforce to other states. A national equivalent to AB-5 would circumvent that option.

Another option would be to penalize companies when more than 20% of their workforce is classified as independent contractors. Companies that have frequent layoffs are required to contribute more to state unemployment insurance coffers. Why not do something similar for companies that rely more on gig workers? Gig work might not be exactly as precarious as unemployment, but it’s close.

Likewise, 401(k) plans are mandated by the IRS to be tested annually to ensure that they’re not just a wealth-building tool for the highest-compensated employees, but are beneficial to all employees. Similar tests—comparing the ratio of gig workers to employees—could be required to ensure that real jobs are available to everyone who works there.  If we don’t allow companies to hoard retirement savings for their senior employees, why should we allow them to hoard the “real jobs” themselves?

As for the unemployed arts worker in the opening vignette? She’s now a staff member at a local nonprofit. She has health insurance, paid time off, and a 401(k) with a match. She was one of the lucky ones. She got a real job. But she still freelances on the side.

The post Can a Side Hustle Be a ‘Proper’ Job? appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

The post Anti-Recidivism Coalition Executive Director Sam Lewis appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

The post Amity Foundation President and CEO Doug Bond appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

What is a good job now?

That has been the guiding question for Zócalo’s ongoing series investigating low-wage work across sectors in California—supported by The James Irvine Foundation. Thus far, we’ve gone to Riverside to discuss tourism and hospitality, Fresno to discuss health care, Sacramento to discuss fairness in the workplace, and, this week, in downtown Los Angeles, we brought together leaders in the field of reentry and anti-recidivism to discuss what people leaving prisons and jails need to succeed in work, and in life.

To help formerly incarcerated people get a real “second chance” in society, all identified the importance of community-based organizations that are giving formerly incarcerated people the support—through education, mental and physical health care, policy, housing, and more—to find employment and build sustainable careers.

Gilbert Johnson, director of Strategic Reentry Initiatives at the Office of L.A. Mayor Karen Bass, who moderated the event, started the conversation by asking the panelists how they came to this line of work.

Amity Foundation president and CEO Doug Bond was himself a recipient of Amity’s services as a child. The organization got him out of foster care and reunited him with his formerly incarcerated father, and, later, helped his mother once she was released from prison.

Root & Rebound’s executive director Carmen Garcia started at the organization as a legal assistant through a work-study program at City College of San Francisco. “When I left federal prison, the women there said ‘move forward, don’t look back,’” Garcia said. “But there was that internal conflict for me. I just couldn’t leave the women behind and continue acting in this world as if I wasn’t [once] in their position.”

Anti-Recidivism Coalition executive director Sam Lewis shared the story behind a Polaroid that sits on his desk at home. It’s a picture of him and his mom in 1990 when she visited him in prison on his 21st birthday. It was that day, three years into a life sentence, that he told his mom, “This is wrong… I’m going to change this one day.” When he was finally released home, he found support through community organizations like Friends Outside, which helped him find employment. This further inspired him to work to transform the rehabilitation and corrections system and help people like him—young, of color—on the inside. “I’m one of many in this army of reform that is transforming the system to make it more compassionate, with accountability but with respect and opportunity,” Lewis said.

Opening up pathways from prison to the workplace is beneficial for everyone. Yet for anyone with a criminal record, respect and opportunity are hard-won, Johnson said. That’s why ending the societal stigmas that exist around people who’ve been formerly incarcerated must be the first step in this conversation.

Garcia agreed, saying that she felt like her time in prison was a “scarlet letter.” It is hard to move forward in prospective employment opportunities if people are only willing to see you as an “inmate, criminal, or convict.” The same is true for housing and schooling, she noted.

Such stigmas have long been enshrined in law and policy, which have locked formerly incarcerated people out of entire job sectors in order to “further punish a person” long after they served their time, Johnson said.

Bond noted some victories, such as the “ban the box” legislation in California, which bars most employers from asking a candidate about their conviction history before making a job offer. Proposition 47, too, which passed in 2014, allows Californians to expunge or reduce their convictions on record.

Changing law and policy is important, Lewis said, nodding to the long shadow cast by histories of racist financial loans and redlining that helped create “generational poverty” that reinforces the cycle of mass incarceration. Voting—and political will—can challenge this. “California,” he added, “is leading in many ways.” In the last two decades, California’s prison population has drastically declined, in part because of judicial rulings and the COVID-19 pandemic, which accelerated releases. Some prisons are even set to close. All of this, Bond noted may signal a move to “un-mass incarceration.”

Making employment more inclusive for formerly incarcerated people also makes economic sense, Bond said. In various struggling sectors or those with large work shortages, like Hollywood or health care, filling roles becomes beneficial to those industries and the overall economy.

So, asked Johnson, the moderator, what else is standing in the way of good jobs for people coming out of the corrections system?

“I don’t want any of my people to come out to get a job. I want them to have careers,” Lewis stated. Later, he brought up the idea of retirement for those that spent years incarcerated. “I did the math,” he said, having worked for 14 years since leaving prison. “I will have to work the rest of my life. What about the person who comes home at 65?”

Another crucial factor that all the panelists spoke on was the need for mental health services. Johnson noted that society must target the root causes and circumstances, to “unpack trauma,” in order to rehabilitate people and ready them for good, stable, and successful work. “I was in my own prison long before I went to prison,” Garcia noted, speaking about the traumas she faced as a child. “We need therapy,” both Garcia and Lewis stated. Mental health care should be part of robust primary health care, Bond added.

Johnson asked all the panelists what they would demand of society and employers.

Invest in our organization to support people coming out of incarceration with housing and employment, Garcia said. Connect people reentering with big companies, Lewis said. And offer paid trainings and stipends for education and housing, Bond said.

The conversation on stage was complemented by a virtual reality station presented by ASU’s Narrative and Emerging Media program where audience members could experience “After Solitary,” which shares the story of Kenny Moore’s time in solitary confinement. Guests who stuck around for the reception were also able to taste food catered by 2nd Chance Soul Food Fish Fry, an Inglewood restaurant that employs formerly incarcerated people.

As the conversation came to an end, an in-person audience member, who had been formerly incarcerated, asked how the panelists thought people reentering society could break the “defeatist mindset” they might experience.

They all shared sentiments about their own work and lived experience that reverberated with something Johnson said earlier: “Community organizations are standing as the first line of defense for those coming home.”

The post Life After Incarceration Starts in Community appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

During the past decade, California’s prison system has undergone a whirlwind of change. In part, this reshaping has come in response to federal court orders to reduce prison overcrowding and improve unsatisfactory living conditions.

At the same time, initiatives by the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR), the state legislature, and voters have gone into effect that prioritize prisoner rehabilitation. Their impact has been especially profound for prisoners serving life sentences, including me. Suddenly, many lifers have become eligible to appear before the parole board decades sooner than their sentences allowed.

That has shortened the time and space between inmates and the world of jobs and careers outside the walls.

The success of these initiatives has created momentum that is shrinking the space further. Under a mandate to create more rehabilitative opportunities for prisoners who would be released sooner, CDCR has allowed some of us lifers to leave high security yards like the Level IV, 180-design facilities—a design that allows a 180-degree view of all cells and dayrooms from the prison control room—where I’ve spent most of my time.

If you’re a lifer with good behavior, you are more likely to be an override transfer to a lower-level yard. Getting to a lower-level yard means access to far more programming.

In prison, “programming” refers to the rehabilitative opportunities available to prisoners at a facility. Much programming involves employment. CDCR offers job-training courses under the Office of Correctional Education. These so-called CTE (Career and Technical Education) programs include courses in construction, business, energy, information technology, public services, manufacturing, and transportation. The courses are aligned with industry certifications, state licensing requirements and apprenticeship programs.

Inmates can also get jobs and develop occupational skills through the Prison Industry Authority (PIA). The PIA operates as a business venture on a profit-loss basis, producing a wide range of goods and supplying various services within California prisons. It seeks to create working conditions for inmates much like those of private enterprise and to help inmates develop productive work habits that they can use upon release.

Many inmates covet PIA jobs due to the training and apprenticeship opportunities afforded there, and the higher prison wages. This “higher” is relative: PIA jobs range from 35 cents to $1 per hour, while most non-PIA jobs pay from 8 to 37 cents an hour—though those numbers are supposed to go up soon.

I arrived to the CDCR in August 2001. Over the next several years, my misconduct, lack of personal accountability and unwillingness to rehabilitate myself kept me housed on some of California’s highest-security facilities, where extended cell confinement, violence, and limited programming are the norm. Not until March 2022 did I set foot in a lower-security yard.

Having dug myself into a hole during my first 15 years in prison, it took me nearly 6 years of disciplinary-free behavior and positive programming participation to earn the behavioral override that sent me to the lower-level Ironwood State Prison.

That means I have little experience with CTE programs. In 2008, while housed in Kern Valley State Prison, I was assigned to office services and earned certificates for proficiency in several Microsoft programs, filing and records management, and keyboarding.

My lack of experience is not unusual. Very few inmates I know who spent time on 180-design yards received job training there, let alone gained an industry certification in a vocation. Instead, many 180-facilities followed a similar pattern: CTE courses might be offered for a few years, but then they were shut down. A course might resume but would rarely gain traction, or last long enough, to train meaningful portions of 180-yard populations; other courses were never restarted or replaced.

There were often justifiable reasons that courses were shut down. At some yards, the levels of violence led to months or even years of lockdowns. Maintaining CTE staff and resources was often impossible given budget pressures. And lifers too often viewed the courses as pointless given their lack of hope for ever being released. Under such conditions, CTE programs had little realistic chance for lasting success.

But now, times have changed. Sentencing reforms have restored hope for release to many lifers, giving them incentive to participate in programming. Violence also has declined on 180-design yards. Lockdowns continue, but not at the same frequency or duration.

One big contributor to this atmosphere of change has been the introduction of self-help classes. There are now numerous weekly classes available on topics like addiction, gang recovery and victim impact. The classes emphasize personal accountability, empathy, remorse, insight and healthy emotional expression.

The classes can help inmates deal with perhaps the biggest barrier to change: uncertainty. What will my change look like? What will it mean for my life? What will it mean for me as a person? These are the difficult questions every prisoner seeking to fully rehabilitate himself must figure out, come to terms with, and commit to making real.

When I decided to accept change in 2016, I did not have the answer to any of those questions. By chance, self-help classes started on my yard later that year. But given their high demand and the length of my sentence, I was unable to enroll at that time. By 2018, however, I was participating in several self-help classes that began the process of clarifying how change would manifest in my life.

Then I got a PIA job and received job training during the pandemic—opportunities which played a major role in reinforcing my commitment to rehabilitation and expanding my perspective on change. Being an offender custodian—my PIA job—is not a glamorous job. I worked in the facility clinic and mostly cleaned bathrooms, holding tanks, and offices. Yet I also learned chemical handling and safety, floor care, and proper cleanup for blood and bodily fluids. I earned a certificate and money to pay down the restitution I owe for my crimes.

I was extremely fortunate to land the PIA job.  In many situations, inmates like myself serving life without parole are automatically excluded. Even when it is allowed, there is still a 25 percent cap on the number of lifers in an institution who can hold PIA jobs.

The job complemented my self-help work. It taught me skills I would have never learned otherwise, gave me a sense of responsibility and normalcy, and allowed me to feel pride for doing something productive. It enabled me to exercise the new identity I was working to create.

About seven months after arriving to D-facility (a Level III yard) in Ironwood, I was assigned to auto mechanics. It was a truly hands-on CTE course. I had access to torque wrenches, drills, a wheel-alignment machine, crank cases, cars that actually run, and so much else one would find in a mechanic’s garage.

It had been a long journey. It took me nearly seven years on 180 yards before I was assigned to a vocational class, and another 14 years and that transfer to Ironwood to be assigned to my second such class.

It need not be that way for others. Now, prison conditions on 180 yards pose far fewer problems to the operation of CTE courses compared to the past. With self-help classes available, inmates will also have far more opportunities to begin the rehabilitative process. Plus, tablets are in every California prison now and provided free of charge, allowing inmates to connect to online resources.

CTE courses combine hands-on training with textbook assignments. For inmates on 180 yards enrolled in CTE courses, the textbooks could be downloaded onto their tablets to keep course learning going in the event of a lockdown. Revising the current CDCR policy, which currently allows only 10% of a CTE course to include lifers, should be a priority in relation to Level IV yards.

Deeper meaning can be found in job training classes beyond the skills and certification gained. Where prisoner rehabilitation is concerned, it can be the light that shows the best path forward. The CDCR should do more to make such programs a permanent part of its rehabilitative vision at every level of the prison system.

The post With Sentencing Reforms, the Distance Between Prison and the Job Market Is Shrinking appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

When you’re working with men and women coming out of prison to find meaningful career trajectories, it’s important to ask them about their prison experience.

Far too often, formerly incarcerated people don’t appreciate the value of their prison journey.

They will tell you, “All I did was work on a yard crew,” without recognizing that such work might prepare them for everything from construction to landscaping to property management.

They will tell you, “All I did was work in the kitchen,” without recognizing that they might have learned enough to get a job in food services, or open their own restaurant.

I work as the Southern California executive director for Defy Ventures, a national non-profit that offers both prison-based and community-based entrepreneurship, personal development, and career readiness programs. We call the people we serve—people who are on a journey out of prison—“entrepreneurs in training,” or EITs for short.

And one big advantage our clients have is the time they spent in prison. The public doesn’t understand it, but prisons offer opportunities. There are leadership positions. Men can push forward independent initiatives. I started a “Grief and Loss” group, and helped facilitate numerous other groups while I was inside.

While in prison, I actually had quite a bit of time to work on myself, in a lot of groups that I was involved in, and also through a lot of books that I had the opportunity to read. People out here have not had the same chance to work on themselves as those who have been incarcerated.

So, as I tell our EITs, all the work you’ve done on yourself can be the thing that sets you apart—even your superpower.

If you think about your prison experience this way, there are opportunities out there for you. One young man I worked with had learned how to install and fix the sprinkler system and mowers while working in the prison yard, and had realized that he was mechanically inclined. We had a CEO of an electric bus company who was supportive of hiring formerly incarcerated people, and was eager to find people with mechanical skills. The young man not only got hired—he also received equity in the company.

I know firsthand about the transition from prison to working life. While serving a life sentence for shooting a man to death when I was a gang member in Southern California in 1999, I spent time at four state prisons in California. At Solano State Prison, my last stop before I was paroled, one of my jobs was to clean the hospital. That proved to be one stroke of good fortune. The other was that I participated in a pilot program of the Defy Ventures program that I now get to help lead.

Once I got out, my brother gave me a job helping with paperwork at his real estate firm so I’d have an income. I knew that real estate wasn’t a long-term opportunity for me, because, as a convicted felon, the state wouldn’t license me. But I did notice that the janitor firm they used wasn’t cleaning the building the way it should be cleaned.

I talked to the building owner and offered my services. I used to run a hospital cleaning crew up north, I explained. I went on godaddy.com to reserve a name and web address for my company, Jade Janitors. I had to get my business license and find business insurance. Then I gave the guy a quote, and was hired the same week. I eventually had six employees, four of them formerly incarcerated.

I didn’t stop there. I helped my family start a restaurant. Within 18 months of leaving prison, I was both working there and at Jade Janitors. Then, in 2017, an opportunity to join the post-release services at Defy Ventures opened up, and I took it, while still holding onto the cleaning business.

I also wrote a book, which was published in 2020. It’s called Sparrow in the Razor Wire. The title is a reference to a moment in prison when I noticed a sparrow, badly injured because it had landed on razor wire, singing its song. From that moment, prison did not feel like punishment anymore—it became a place where I could remake myself into someone better.

We try to create that same feeling with our training. Defy Ventures’ core program inside prisons is called “The CEO of Your Life.” It’s a seven-month program with more than 2,000 pages of curriculum, four books, and twice-weekly facilitations for five hours. There’s another five hours of homework on top of that. At the halfway point of the program, we have a coaching day, where we bring in volunteers from the business world. Finally, the culmination is a business-pitch competition and graduation ceremony where everyone receives a certificate from Claremont Graduate University’s Drucker School of Management.

In this process, we are trying to shift two mindsets: the mindsets of people with criminal histories, and the mindsets of businesspeople. Each needs to recognize the opportunities in the other.

We—the formerly incarcerated—still encounter barriers in business and work. For example, during the pandemic, Jade Janitors lost 70 percent of its contracts because no one was paying to have their offices cleaned anymore. I started filling out a PPP loan for the business. But then I got to question five, which asked me if I was on parole. I answered yes, and the survey wouldn’t let me continue.

Why should my team be discriminated against for something I did over 20 years ago?

I can’t remember exactly how CBS Money Watch found out about what happened with Jade Janitors. The next thing I knew I was hearing from CNN and being contacted by the ACLU. After that Defy Ventures and the ACLU sued the Small Business Administration in a class action lawsuit on behalf of all small business owners with criminal histories. The application got changed, and I was able to qualify for the PPP loan.

Another big issue in California is licensing.

One of our graduates worked in prison as an optician, making glasses. But when he went to work at Costco and had to get a license, his crime from 30 years ago came up.

Another EIT who found an excellent job was performing well, but the company algorithm began saying he had to be fired because he was showing up late twice a month. The problem was that his parole agent would call him in the morning and insist on meeting right that day.

In that case, we were able to talk to management and explain the need for flexibility.

This is why it’s important for the formerly incarcerated to make sure they value themselves. Without knowing your own strengths, you can’t advocate for yourself and your worth.

The post Prison Time Can Be Your Superpower in Business appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

What’s a good job for formerly incarcerated people?

When people in the corrections field are asked that question, you often hear this mantra: Get a job, any job. The idea is that work will reduce your risk of going back behind bars. As a result, people coming out of prison feel pushed to take crappy jobs that have difficult schedules, low pay, no benefits, or poor working conditions.

That’s bad advice. In my research with other scholars, we’ve found that formerly incarcerated people just churn through jobs like that. Indeed, taking a bad job doesn’t protect you from recidivism or the other struggles too often faced by the formerly incarcerated. In one study, looking at formerly incarcerated young men in Michigan, over one-quarter of people coming out of prison experienced persistent desperation and struggle, including periods of homelessness; another one-third had intermittent periods of desperation, and struggle for survival.

Instead, we need to think of work for the formerly incarcerated the same way that we think of jobs for anyone without a lot of recent work experience or education. That means formerly incarcerated people need the same things from jobs that everyone does: a living wage, a job ladder to allow for the acquisition of skills and promotion, and stability, especially in scheduling.

When you understand this, you can see why we’ve made only slow progress in employment for formerly incarcerated people.

There have been some gains. Largely due to a tight labor market, we’re getting more incarcerated people in the door. Employers need more workers, so some businesses have been more open to hiring people with criminal records. Also, governments and nonprofits are offering more reintegration programs that include job training.

Changes in laws may have helped, too—like “ban the box” laws that prevent employers from asking job applicants on their applications whether they’ve ever been convicted of a felony. These laws were a response to a surge in harsh sentencing laws and mass incarceration during the 1980s and 1990s.

But “banning the box” isn’t enough. First, employers can still conduct background checks—they just need to wait to do so until later in the hiring process, usually once a provisional hiring decision has been made. Second, when formerly incarcerated people do get jobs, they can have trouble holding onto them. This is partly because formerly incarcerated people often end up in the least desirable jobs, which experience considerable turnover among all employees, not just those with criminal records. The formerly incarcerated often face other barriers to stable employment, too, like housing insecurity, health problems, and parole supervision by a punitive justice system.

And even when formerly incarcerated employees manage to settle in and succeed in their jobs, moving up is tricky. Going up a job ladder is difficult for people with criminal records. Indeed, even moving laterally or diagonally can be challenging within a company, with different bosses having different attitudes. It’s even harder when getting ahead means changing firms. The standards and scrutiny of a candidate with a record are different for entry-level jobs than for supervisory positions. Sometimes, skills training or licensing programs, which people must complete to advance, maintain prohibitions on those with criminal records.

Changes in corporate structure also make upward mobility difficult. It used to be more common for people to rise from the entry-level to upper management of a company. Today’s most profitable and dynamic companies often rely on high-skill or high-education workers. Formerly incarcerated people who work at such companies might well start out working for contractors, as janitors or cafeteria workers. What is their path to becoming employees and rising?

Companies need to do more to support formerly incarcerated workers and create internal job ladders. There are also many ways public policy can assist formerly incarcerated people in their job paths and career trajectories. California’s openness in this area makes it an important laboratory.

I’ve seen possibilities in the research I’ve done with other scholars, based on huge data sets on thousands of young men in the state of Michigan during the 2000s. We tracked these young men for many years after they left prison.

Our findings suggest that California, and other states open to reform, can help in many ways: through greater housing supports (to prevent residential stability), through mental health and substance abuse supports, and through changes to harmful parole systems that often prioritize surveillance and punishment over reintegration. Indeed, my research suggests that people who do best after leaving prison combine multiple sources of support—including employment, public benefits, and support from their social networks and families.

States can make parole less intrusive and more flexible, to meet the needs of workers. Too often, parole involves surveillance and mandatory check-ins that can disrupt job schedules. It also can impose short-term custodial sanctions—like being sent back to jail temporarily—that cost the formerly incarcerated their jobs, housing, and income.

California and other states also could do more to integrate formerly incarcerated people into higher education. Formerly incarcerated people understand the importance of education for success in the labor market. In our Michigan study, we found that more than one-quarter of the young men enrolled in college sometime after leaving prison.

Higher education doesn’t just help with employment. It provides intellectual development, opportunities to establish pro-social peer groups, new social identities, and a sense of belonging and purpose. Research shows it also reduces the likelihood of recidivism.

Changes being made within prisons provide new reasons to be optimistic. Incarcerated students are now eligible for Pell grants from the federal government, making it possible for community colleges and other post-secondary institutions to create new college and training programs in prison. And organizations like the Petey Greene Program, where I serve on the board, are pioneering new educational programs to help those serving time in prisons and jails prepare for college-level study.

When they come home from prison, formerly incarcerated students need more support services, such as academic and financial counseling to succeed, just like other low-income and first-generation students. Colleges should also open eligibility for campus housing or work-study programs, which sometimes bar students with records. Community colleges could help by incorporating more job skills into classes and integrating paid internships since formerly incarcerated students often have to support themselves and their families while they go to school. Also, parole should treat college attendance like employment, making parole less onerous and shorter for people who complete degrees or certificates.

Making such commitments will enrich colleges and universities. At UC Berkeley, where I teach, the Berkeley Underground Scholars, an organization of students incarcerated or impacted by the justice system, have excelled in academics and leadership. More universities have begun similar programs for formerly incarcerated students.

The goal of all such policies is to help formerly incarcerated people find the right job, and not have to settle for just any job.

The post People Coming Out of Prison Need Good Jobs, Too appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

It’s Zócalo’s 20th birthday, and we hit the two decade milestone running—we hosted 21 events in 2023 to fulfill our mission of connecting people to ideas and to each other.

At our homebase at the ASU California Center in downtown Los Angeles, we discussed some of the biggest issues of the day—from artificial intelligence to surveillance. We enjoyed a special homecoming, hosting our first-ever event steps away from our namesake: Mexico City’s Plaza de la Constitución, otherwise known as the Zócalo, one of the largest public squares in the world. We traversed California, from Sacramento to Riverside, to discuss the needs of workers in low-wage sectors of the state’s economy. We traveled to Jackson, Mississippi, and to Memphis, Tennessee, to consider how sins of the past shape the present, and what might move us forward. We even threw a dance party—shout out to all 700 of you who boogied with us at the Port of L.A. on a Sunday afternoon!

Picking our favorite public programs each year is never easy, but these seven events reflect the variety of our work—and most importantly, kept us talking long after the discussions wrapped. Whether you came in person or watched virtually, you’re what makes our public square so robust. Thanks for being part of Zócalo, and we look forward to continuing the conversation next year.

Do We Need More Food Fights?

This emotional conversation and cooking demonstration brought together photographer Zahara Gómez Lucini, who compiled a cookbook that collects recipes from the families of desaparecidos—the tens of thousands of people who have gone missing in Mexico—and Maite Gomez-Rejón, a culinary historian and co-host of the “Hungry for History” podcast. Livestreamed and in person from LA Cocina de Gloria Molina’s demonstration kitchen in downtown L.A., the women prepared special guest Blanca Soto’s pozole from the cookbook and spoke about the power of a meal. Cooking does not just satisfy our hunger, they noted, but can also unite us, and in this case reunite us, with those who are no longer here. The special event, presented in partnership with LA Cocina de Gloria Molina and California Humanities, was part of our birthday series “What Connects Us?”

The 2023 Zócalo Book Prize: How Does a Community Save Itself? With Michelle Wilde Anderson

For 13 years, Zócalo has honored the author of the best nonfiction book that explores community and social connection, inviting them to visit us to collect their prize—$10,000 and a nifty Zócalo Rubik’s Cube—and deliver a lecture. In June, this year’s honoree Michelle Wilde Anderson arrived at a packed house at the ASU California Center and shared stories of hope from The Fight to Save the Town: Reimagining Discarded America, her book looking at the communities of Stockton, California; Josephine County, Oregon; Detroit, Michigan; and Lawrence, Massachusetts. “We have to invest in people where they live,” she told the evening’s moderator, Alberto Retana, president and CEO of South L.A.’s Community Coalition. The program also featured poet Paige Buffington, who joined us virtually to read her 2023 Zócalo Poetry Prize-winning submission, “From 20 Miles Outside of Gallup, Holbrook, Winslow, Farmington, or Albuquerque.” And, because this kicked off Zócalo’s 20th birthday celebration, the night ended with cake.

What Does Boxing Owe Its Champions?

The gloves were off at the ring (okay, the ASU California Center) as panelists—professional boxer and actress Kali “KO” Mequinonoag Reis, former middleweight champ Sergio “the Latin Snake” Mora, California State Athletic Commission executive director Andy Foster, and sport and ethnic studies scholar Rudy Mondragón—shared candid perspectives on the state of their sport. The discussion, presented in partnership with UCLA College, Division of Social Sciences and ASU Global Sport Institute, called for more protections for athletes and left the audience with a major question: What will be left of professional boxing if it does not do more to protect its athletes’ physical and financial well-being?

What Is a Good Job Now? For Fairness in the Workplace

What better way to get the attention of California politicians than by convening a conversation right on the Capitol steps in Sacramento? As part of the Zócalo Public Square series supported by The James Irvine Foundation, “What Is a Good Job Now?,” we brought together California State Senator Maria Elena Durazo, founding member of Inland Empire Amazon Workers United Sara Fee, and California Labor Commissioner assistant chief Daniel Yu for a memorable conversation on wage theft, unpaid overtime, dangerous working conditions, discrimination, and rising employer retaliation, moderated by our own Joe Mathews.

What Is the Value of Art?

Nobody called the fire department on us, but so many people showed up for this powerhouse night of arts and culture that we had to open a separate screening room. In anticipation of the international art fair Frieze Los Angeles, we curated a conversation on the state of the art world, inviting LAXART director Hamza Walker, artist and activist Andrea Bowers, writer and curator Helen Molesworth, and artist, cultural organizer, and co-founder of Meztli Projects Joel Garcia to break down some of artists’ greatest aesthetic, moral, and financial challenges, as well as their biggest opportunities for social change and community building.

How Does a Community Move With Music? A Diaspora Dance Party

We came. We shared our songs and stories of L.A. And we danced. We danced a lot. Zócalo’s first-ever dance party (another birthday series event), held at the Wilmington Waterfront Park at the Port of Los Angeles, was a smashing success. Los Angeles Times columnist Gustavo Arellano, the inaugural contributor to our ongoing “Diaspora Jukebox” playlist series, emceed. KCRW DJ Raul Campos and local Wilmington DJ Mario “Dred” Lopez kept the music flowing. Curation from Levitt Pavilion and performances by Pacifico Dance Company and Korean Classical Music and Dance Company wowed the crowd. If you needed a break from the dancing, we had food vendors, an art activation by LA Commons, and a pop-up Wilmington Art Walk at the ready. And glow sticks. So many glow sticks.

How Do We Hear America? A Special Evening of Music by Pulitzer Prize-Winning Composer Raven Chacon

We thought our final program of 2023 was pretty special, and you did, too: Zócalo’s audience voted “How Do We Hear America?” as the fan favorite event of the year. This night of music, co-presented with L.A.-based music collective wasteLAnd, ASU Gammage, and GRoW Annenberg, brought us together at the ASU California Center to watch and listen as the ensemble brought a selection of composer and musician Raven Chacon’s works to life. With our senses activated by the music and our bellies warm with tamales from Mama’s Tamales, and Tacos, Too, we think we ended the year on a high note.

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South Africans got it right when they made “kuning,” the isiZulu word that roughly translates to “it’s a lot,” one of the defining words of 2023.

It was a lot this year.

2023 seemed an epoch of crises: the highest number of global conflicts in three decades, myriad climate disasters that claimed more than 12,000 lives, and the erosion of democracies worldwide.

Amid all of it, Zócalo was here—sifting through the pressing stories and providing context, perspective, and humanity.

Our favorite 15 essays of the year, selected by the Zócalo staff and you, our readers, remind us that even in overwhelming times, people forge ahead. They think deeply. They ask questions. They create. They build community. And they even have some fun.

May you enjoy revisiting these writings as much as we did, as we ready to ring in a new year.

Boxers Know the Power of an Entrance

By Rudy Mondragón

Can anyone make an entrance like a boxer? Before moderating the Zócalo panel “What Does Boxing Owe Its Champions?,” scholar Rudy Mondragón made the case that the boxing ring entrance is the most important ritual in sport. More than a mere act of bravado, he writes, a ring entrance communicates everything from pride to dignity to political protest—in just a few ephemeral, glittering, bombastic moments.

A boxer’s entrance is more than just flash. It’s how they make their mark in the sport and the world, scholar Rudy Mondragón writes. Above, William “El Gallo Negro” King wears a Mexican sarape with a rooster and a sombrero de charro, embracing his Afro-Mexican roots. Photo by Rudy Mondragón.

How Is a Poem Like a Political Campaign?

By Derek Mong

Most of us haven’t given much thought to how poetry and political campaigning might be alike. But Zócalo contributing editor Derek Mong, who won a National Arts and Entertainment Journalism award for this essay, has given it serious thought. Aside from the obvious—that “both benefit from a clipboard”—he unearths deeper threads tying the pursuits together.

My Work as an In-Home Caregiver Shouldn’t Be This Hard

By Alva Rodriguez

Alva Rodriguez is one of more than 550,000 caregivers in California’s In-Home Supportive Services (IHSS) program—workers who help an estimated 650,000 disabled, blind, or elderly Californians continue living in their own homes. Writing from Fresno for our The James Irvine Foundation-funded series “What Is a Good Job Now?,” Rodriguez describes the deep precarity of the job—“one of the toughest and worst-paying you will find”— and reflects on ways to improve this essential line of work.

What Mourning Looks Like in Monterey Park

By Wendy Cheng

On January 21, 2023, a gunman opened fire and killed 11 people at Star Ballroom Dance Studio in Monterey Park, resulting in the deadliest mass shooting in Los Angeles County history. Wendy Cheng writes about the outpouring of community support and solidarity in the wake of the attack, and the ways a public memorial for the victims reflected the city’s unique multiethnic and multiracial history as a home for “immigrants and lost ones.”

Whose Sedona Is It, Anyway?

By Tom Zoellner

During the pandemic, Sedona, Arizona, temporarily stopped advertising in high-end travel magazines. In the place of well-heeled visitors have come day travelers and overnighters from nearby cities that some residents say are destroying “Slo-dona”—and the town finds itself stuck in a fierce debate about whether it should “yank back the welcome mat to the middle class,” writes Tom Zoellner. Published in the fall, the piece generated enough chatter that just recently the city and the chamber of commerce put out a joint statement in response.

Intellectual Snobbery is for the Birds

By Tim Birkhead

Ornithologist Tim Birkhead shares how an encounter with a hobbyist birdkeeper who breeds bullfinches (who are, if you aren’t aware, “humbly endowed”) led him down a new line of research into the phenomenon known as sperm competition, and a better understanding of reproduction in birds. While the subject of Birkhead’s essay might make a middle schooler giggle, the story itself makes a powerful point: Researchers need to listen to people outside academia’s ivory tower.

Tim Birkhead, one of the world’s leading bird biologists, shares why being open to learning from people outside of academia’s ivory tower—in this case hobbyist birdkeepers—can lead to “unexpected and exciting results.” Photo by T.R. Birkhead.

Dianne Feinstein’s Most Important Job Was an Unofficial One

By Joe Mathews

Zócalo columnist and democracy editor Joe Mathews has made some big proclamations this year. That San Diego is California’s “finest college town.” That we should call it the California, not the Colorado, River. That the Santa Cruz otter absolutely should have bitten back. But one of his most memorable takes came in the wake of Dianne Feinstein’s death. Reflecting on her long tenure in U.S. political life, Mathews makes a case that her greatest role in office was as California’s “last ambassador to the American government.”

Reckoning With Racist ‘Lynch Law’ and Rape Charges, a Century Later

By Margaret Burnham

For two years, Zócalo has worked on a project supported by the Mellon Foundation that asks: “How Should Societies Remember Their Sins?” This essay by Margaret Burnham, director of the Civil Rights and Restorative Justice Project at Northeastern University, shows how such reckonings can lead to action and change through the story of John Henry James. In 1898, James, a Black man in Virginia, was accused of raping a white woman, murdered by a lynch mob, and posthumously indicted for assault. Burnham details how, 125 years later, a judge dismissed the indictment thanks to a campaign by historians, lawyers, and community members. The decision opens a “path forward for a crucial American reckoning with a thousand-plus state executions of Black males accused of assaulting white females,” Burnham writes.

The Struggle for a Latino Place in Chicago

By Mike Amezcua

Historian Mike Amezcua explores the parallel struggles of mid-20th century Black and Latino Chicagoans overcoming segregation and making space for their communities. “This history of Latino placemaking is far less known than the civil rights struggle led by King,” Amezcua writes. “But it remains an important context for later developments in Chicago’s urban and political history.” Readers were passionate about Amezcua’s piece, writing it in as a favorite in our audience survey.

My Mom is Out of Prison, But I’m Still Not Free

By Angel Gilbert

Most young people look forward to college as a time of independence, but when Columbia University student Angel Gilbert started school, she had already been on her own “for far too long.” In her Zócalo essay, Gilbert, one of millions of young people who have had an incarcerated parent, shares what it was like to grow up with a mother behind bars. “My emotional pain will never truly heal,” she writes. However, she adds that once she reaches her goal of becoming a lawyer, all of her experiences ensure that she will fight harder for her future marginalized clients.

Destined to Be Trans, Muslim, and Indonesian

By Amar Alfikar

Growing up in a traditional Muslim neighborhood in Java, Indonesia in the 1990s, Amar Alfikar, a trans man and activist, shares how he leaned into family and faith to understand—and embrace—his true identity. “If it was not for my family’s acceptance, I would have left my religion,” he writes. “Instead, I am pursuing an academic career in theology and religious studies and have become firm in my faith and thinking about gender diversity in Islam.”

Can Two Friends Agree to Disagree on Abortion in Post-Roe America?

By Joanne Samuel Goldblum and Colleen Shaddox

Joanne Samuel Goldblum and Colleen Shaddox found sisterhood raging about injustice—but they disagree about abortion. Read how they’ve worked to maintain their bond in post-Roe America. “Being truly pro-life or pro-choice requires us to knock down rhetorical barriers and focus on the areas where we wholeheartedly agree,” they write, “that every child has a right to be placed on a path to success and that no mother should have to sacrifice her own success to make that happen.”

Where I Go: The Candy Wrapper Museum

By Darlene Lacey

Darlene Lacey was 15 when she started collecting old candy wrappers. Eventually, she turned her hobby into an online museum. For our series “Where I Go,” she gives truth to the adage that one person’s trash is another person’s treasure, and shows the power of appointing ourselves as the curators of the things that matter to us the most.

Candy Wrapper Museum curator Darlene Lacey was 15 when she started collecting for her “roadside attraction.” Building the online museum has led to all kinds of surprises—including being sent a Necco scrapbook saved from a dumpster (pictured above). Courtesy of author.

Zócalo’s Diaspora Jukebox

As part of Zócalo Public Square’s 20th birthday celebration, we’ve been sharing the sounds of the Southland with “Diaspora Jukebox,” a series of playlists that celebrate the unique communities and musical traditions that represent greater Los Angeles. Our first “drop”—which had us moving to the rhythm of the city, dancing like it was 1982, and partying like a Zacatecano—culminated in an IRL dance party we threw at the Port of L.A. 

The Human Costs of Building a World-Class City

By Ankush Pal and Anubhav Kashyap

And, drumroll please: Our first-ever audience choice award goes to authors Ankush Pal and Anubhav Kashyap! They take a clear-eyed look at New Delhi’s effort to “polish” the city ahead of this year’s G20 summit, at the expense of poor and working-class people. “Rather than improving life in the city for everyone,” they write, “the beautification projects funnel public resources into creating a cosmopolitan bubble for a few.”

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The surprise hit song of the summer came from a Virginia singer-songwriter named Oliver Anthony.

I’ve been sellin’ my soul, workin’ all day
Overtime hours for bullshit pay…
…Young men are puttin’ themselves six feet in the ground
‘Cause all this damn country does is keep on kickin’ them down

“Rich Men North of Richmond” made Anthony the first unknown artist to debut at No. 1. He was singing for a young generation of outsiders with no way to break into the economy—and as an indictment of those profiting off them.

Young Americans are more frustrated than ever at their inability to access good jobs—and the rise of artificial intelligence will only compound the problem. To provide jobs and paths ahead for the largest number of people in today’s cutting-edge economy, the U.S. needs to revisit an old-fashioned way of training workers: apprenticeships.

For over half a century, college was the way for American kids to succeed—a socially accepted path to socioeconomic mobility that worked most of the time. From the 1960s to the turn of the century, America’s colleges were fairly affordable, costing students less than a new car. In turn, the vast majority of college grads got hired by good companies and learned on the job while making enough to afford a place to live and a car to commute. The cherry on top was that it felt good. The ethos of college—equipping young people to fulfill their potential, whatever direction it might take them—was the ethos of America.

But starting about 25 years ago, things began to change. Tuition and fees grew annually at double the rate of inflation. Digital technology transformed the economy. The good jobs college grads hoped to land were different than they had been a generation before. According to the National Skills Coalition, 92% of jobs now require digital skills—generalizable only inexactly. Employers want candidates to know how to work on platforms like HubSpot for marketing, Zendesk for customer service, NetSuite for finance, Workday for HR, and Salesforce for customer relationship management.

Few colleges incorporate training on these platforms into degree programs. To top it off, skills aren’t enough anymore. College grads can easily access Salesforce’s Trailhead courses to become certified Salesforce administrators, but not many organizations are excited about hiring a newly minted Salesforce admin without any experience. College graduates are now facing a skills gap and an experience gap, resulting in persistent underemployment; more than 40% of recent college graduates are underemployed—working in jobs they could have gotten without a degree or that don’t require the skills they gained in college.

Because underemployed grads have difficulty repaying student loans, national attention has focused on college’s crisis of affordability and student loan forgiveness. After the Biden Administration’s $400 billion plan to forgive student loans was struck down by the Supreme Court, the president announced a new effort to cancel loans, in addition to changes to income-driven repayment that could cost taxpayers as much as $475 billion. It’s a lot of money to try to mend a broken system.

Meanwhile, underemployment is about to get worse. By taking over menial work that entry-level college-educated workers used to do while they learned the job and industry, artificial intelligence will make it harder to get a good first job. IBM has predicted that while AI won’t replace people, people who use AI will replace people who don’t. That’s going to widen the experience gap and further complicate career launches for young Americans.

Think about a recent graduate trying to get a first job in the claims department of a health insurer. Today, new hires learn on the job while doing a good deal of menial work. But once the insurance company implements AI, new workers won’t review every claim. Only claims that trip one or more flags will warrant human intervention, and such work is more likely to involve problem-solving and troubleshooting—skills requiring some level of insurance claims experience. The same will be true across financial services, healthcare, technology, logistics—a wide array of sectors where new college graduates are seeking to launch careers.

The best and most complete solution to this conundrum: apprenticeships, which provide the skills and experience young workers are missing. Apprenticeships are full-time jobs where a company hires candidates with the express purpose of training them—both in a classroom and on the job. Wages are lower at first but rise as apprentices gain skills and become more productive.

There are about 500,000 apprentices in the U.S. today. That may sound like a lot, but represents only 0.3% of the workforce and puts the U.S. last among developed countries. Approximately 70% of U.S. apprentices work in the construction sector. Meanwhile, in the U.K. and Australia—where there are eight times as many apprentices per capita—it’s common to launch careers in software development, accounting, and healthcare via apprenticeship without a degree. And the Central European giants of apprenticeship—Germany, Switzerland, and Austria—do 10 to 15 times better. Germany has 323 occupations with national apprenticeship standards, including a raft of jobs in healthcare and services, like doctor’s assistant, dispensing optician, and banker.

If the U.S. hopes to catch up, we need to support and fund dedicated apprenticeship programs. Other countries have recognized the central role played by intermediaries: nonprofit, for-profit, and public enterprises that hire and pay students until they become productive. In the U.K., there are 850 apprenticeship intermediaries like Multiverse, founded by Euan Blair, son of former prime minister Tony Blair, knocking on the doors of virtually every large and mid-sized company to sell apprenticeship programs. (I’m a managing director of Achieve Partners, which invests in Multiverse.) In the U.S., there are only a handful.

Current funding for apprenticeship intermediaries and other programs is a fraction of what we spend on college classrooms: federal, state, and local governments continue to pour over $400 billion each year into college while total spending on apprenticeship is under $400 million. An apprentice receives about 2% of what taxpayers spend on a college student.

The only way to rekindle the American Dream is to make apprenticeships part and parcel of core educational programs in college and high school. If we don’t want the soundtrack of the Age of AI to be songs like “Rich Men North of Richmond,” let’s begin giving young people work experience while they’re still in school.

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