My dad was a poor man of color raised in the smallest city in Los Angeles County. He served long sentences for drug-related crimes and parole violations. Being locked up exacerbated his existing physical and mental health issues. There were no services to greet him at the gate when he was released, and so imprisonment became law enforcement’s version of treatment. When he tried to find a job and a home, he was rejected at every turn because of his felony record.
At a meeting in Sacramento earlier this month, the Board of State and Community Corrections (BSCC), a small board dominated by law-enforcement officials, appointed the chairs of the committee who will recommend where to spend the millions of dollars of savings generated through Proposition 47, the law passed one year ago that reclassifies certain low-level crimes from felonies to misdemeanors. Sixty five percent of this money must be allocated to diversion, mental health, and substance use treatment programs, giving California an opportunity to improve health outcomes for thousands of families.
But at that same meeting, despite testimonials from dozens of community members like myself whose lives have been harmed by incarceration, the BSCC voted to allocate $500 million in jail construction funds to counties across the state. Given that many of these new jail projects are being promoted as mental health treatment centers, sheriffs may soon be lining up to make the case for needing Prop. 47 funds to run these facilities. Awarding funds to expand jails makes no sense when national conversations have turned toward reducing jail populations.
The committee appointed by the BSCC to direct spending of Prop. 47 funds has the power to ensure that those savings go to treatment and care in the community, changing the culture surrounding substance use and mental health. This is the approach that finally worked for my dad.
When my dad was released for the last time in 2007, it was support from other formerly incarcerated people also grappling with substance-use and mental health conditions that helped him stay out of jail. He found his way to Homes for Life, a community-based organization in Southern California providing affordable housing and counseling for homeless and mentally-ill people. Living in a caring community empowered him to enroll in Long Beach City College’s Substance Abuse and Addiction Counseling degree program. It is bittersweet knowing that my dad didn’t find the resources he needed until he was 50 because society prioritizes punishment over healing.
Driving home to Southern California from Oakland this past spring, I prepared myself to see my dad for the first time in 20 years. It would also be the last time. I wept reflecting on 20 years of lost opportunities for our family because a poor brown man’s health conditions made him a criminal.
The real crime is the failure of law enforcement to know the difference between health care and incarceration. There is no happy ending to our story. My dad died without realizing his capacity to be a father and contribute to his community. I only find solace knowing he left this world trying to be the best person he could be.
My dad’s story is not exceptional. Families and neighborhoods continue to be torn apart by the same system that claims keeping communities safe means building more cages for people, when what they really need is comprehensive health care not administered by law enforcement.
Instead of accepting money for new jails, counties should reject the funding and give people with mental health and substance use conditions what my dad didn’t get: a fair chance at health, and a fair chance at life.
Angela Aguilar is a masters in public health candidate and a doctoral student in ethnic studies at the University of California, Berkeley.
Via: http://www.dailynews.com/opinion/20151124/heres-how-jail-based-health-treatment-failed-my-family-guest-commentary
