Program sets Arkansas inmates on new path; Christianity-based effort aims to reduce recidivism – Arkansas Online

WRIGHTSVILLE -- Kenneth Janski, after spending about 15 of the past 17 years in Arkansas prisons, said he volunteered to extend his current sentence.

Janski opted to remain in a faith-based program aimed at preventing repeat prison stays. He could have withdrawn to complete a substance-abuse course, which the Arkansas Board of Parole ruled in July 2016 was the last prerequisite for his release.

"I chose to stay here until I graduate," said Janski, who is in his fourth prison stint since early 2000, according to prison records. His most recent conviction was on domestic battery and drug charges in 2013, records show.

Janski is one of about 200 male inmates participating in Pathway to Freedom, an 18-month Christianity-focused rehabilitation program at the Arkansas Department of Correction's Hawkins Unit on its Wrightsville campus.

People who graduate from the program have been shown to be less likely to return to prison, Department of Correction spokesman Solomon Graves said.

A Little Rock-based nonprofit administers the pre-release program, one of several aimed at preparing prisoners to re-enter society and thus reduce the number of them who return to prison after their releases. The state's 51.8 percent recidivism rate, according to Graves, means more than one of two people released from prison returns within three years.

Pathway to Freedom does not have comparable recidivism data from its six-year run. Of 115 program graduates released from prison, about 15 percent were jailed again, which is far lower than the statewide average, program director Scott McLean said. However, McLean noted, not all of those graduates have been out for three years.

The Arkansas Democrat-Gazette was allowed to observe the program in action, on a day when a group of men from multiple Northwest Arkansas churches traveled to the prison unit for a regular seminar. Officials did not restrict access to the prisoners or their living spaces.

Walter E. Hussman Jr., the newspaper's publisher, serves on the nonprofit's board of directors. When the program was on the cusp of folding last year because of a lack of funding, Hussman led efforts to save it after reading an article in the newspaper, McLean said.

Many inmates, including Janski, spoke before and after a worship leader gave a prisoner-targeted sermon, part of a tightly packed schedule structured around the theme of the day, reconciliation.

Pathway to Freedom, which the state sanctions but does not fund, is one of multiple pre-release programs in Arkansas aimed at curbing recidivism. McLean said he would like to add a stronger workforce-based component to the program to increase its appeal for inmates.

Janski, whose body bears tattoos of swastikas and a White Aryan Resistance pyramid, according to Department of Correction records, said the culture in the Hawkins unit is far more subdued than in general population prisons.

"It's like life on the streets times 100," Janski said of the typical prison experience. "Everybody is trying to get over on one another."

Minutes later, Janski danced while a visiting Christian band performed songs of worship. He stood, smiling, in the front row.

"I wanted more," said Janski, who applied five times for the program before he was accepted. "[There is] not much rehabilitation in ADC except what you take advantage of yourself."

McLean formed the nonprofit in 2011 after the national Prison Fellowship shut down its InnerChange Freedom Initiative in Arkansas and other states as funding declined. McLean had moved to Arkansas from Kansas to run that program.

Formerly a work-release site, the low-security unit includes three barrack-style living areas. Cots and bunk beds are clustered together, away from a bank of toilets that have no privacy dividers.

Two of the 75-member barracks are dedicated to inmates actively participating in the program. The third is for new enrollees, as well as graduates awaiting transfer to other programs or other units. A computer lab, library, cafeteria and health care station are spread throughout the facility.

Pathway to Freedom leases the site at no cost, McLean said.

In the fiscal year that ended June 30, 2015, Pathway to Freedom spent $444,000 to run the program, according to its tax filing. About $280,000 of that was spent on salaries, including the $82,000 McLean received.

The Department of Correction covers the costs to feed, house and provide health care to inmates in the program, just as it does for all state prisoners, at a rate of roughly $60 per day, Graves said.

Costs to run the program -- which includes educational lessons on entrepreneurship, anger management, finances, parenting and other topics -- fall to the nonprofit.

Pathway to Freedom picks its enrollees from volunteer applicants. People from all religious backgrounds can enroll, but classes are taught -- and the broader messaging stems from -- a Christ-focused perspective, McLean said.

Since its inception, 893 inmates have enrolled in Pathway to Freedom -- including those currently in the program -- and 291 have completed all 18 months, McLean said.

"We don't make it easy," he said. "You have to give up a lot."

About one in three program participants drop out or are kicked out shortly after they arrive, McLean said.

Inmates who participate must make sacrifices -- such as losing television-viewing privileges until they graduate -- and all must hold jobs of some sort.

Eligibility is not solely based on an inmate's crime. A medium- or lower-custody classification -- which is based on factors such as disciplinary records, length of stay and escape history -- is one of the primary requirements to join.

"A guy who tried to kill a policeman can be here and be part of this program," said Mark Warner, deputy warden of the Wrightsville prison.

For one year after their release, graduates are connected with churches, program volunteers and mentors who try to help them re-enter society.

Last July, the Parole Board told Janski that he would earn release after finishing a 12-month program focused on drug and alcohol abuse, said John Felts, chairman of the Board.

Janski's decision to remain in Pathway to Freedom delayed him from taking that course. He can request that the Parole Board reconsider its decision after he completes the faith-based program -- which includes substance abuse education in its curriculum -- but there is no guarantee the program will be accepted as a substitute.

If not, when Janski graduates in April, he'll still face having to take that yearlong class.

"The reason that is the case is because it's a religious-based program, and we've been advised by the [attorney general's] office and [Department of Correction] folks that we cannot mandate a program like that," Felts said. "Even though they request it, we cannot mandate that."

Multiple inmates in the program have informed parole officers that they wish to complete Pathway to Freedom before being paroled, McLean said.

Tyrone Hampton, in his eighth prison stay since February 1991, said he recently told a parole officer of his wish to complete the program before he's released. The Parole Board hasn't decided his case yet.

"I don't think the way that I thought," Hampton said of how the program influenced him. "It took me from being a gang-banger to a disciple of Christ."

Hampton is serving a 25-year prison sentence stemming from a 2010 conviction of possessing a controlled substance. He was sentenced as a habitual offender. Hampton said the substance was methamphetamine and that he intended to sell it.

Dating to the early 1990s, Hampton has been convicted on carnal abuse, and several burglary and theft charges, according to his inmate records.

"I wanted things quick and easy," Hampton said.

Northwest Arkansas churchgoers toured the unit during the March 10 seminar and helped lead religion-based sessions. Volunteers facilitate the seminars eight times a year, McLean said.

"We all need a second chance in life" said 56-year-old Steve Sanchez, a first-time volunteer who worships at Harvest Time church in Fort Smith. "I've done a lot of wrong in my life. I just was lucky and didn't get caught."

Grant Nesbit, a part-time worship leader at Harvest Time, led a half-hour sermon. "I'm surprised they let me come back [to speak] because I'm liable to say anything," he said before removing the microphone from its stand and beginning his session.

Nesbit drew from Revelation 3:16, which in the King James Bible says, "So then because thou art lukewarm ... I will spue thee out of my mouth."

Nesbit urged his audience to not be "lukewarm" or "apathetic" and to fully embrace God.

At times, he used humor to connect, such as when he asked members of the group to raise their hands if they cry.

"If you lie, you fry," he said to laughter. "Get your hands up, babies."

Nesbit, who said he was imprisoned at one point in his life, told members of his audience that he wanted to update them on what's going on in the world.

He said he is disgusted by politics, protesters, modern music and the way young people seem to be attached to their cellphones. He then shared his displeasure about teenagers congregating at malls, saying they sometimes bump into him as a form of intimidation.

"I love God, and I will lay hands on you," he said in mock response before joking about striking the teenagers -- whom he called "little punks" -- in their faces with his knee.

Nesbit told the prisoners that he didn't travel from Fort Smith to "patronize" or "baby" them during his session.

"You need me to kick you in the ask, not what your country can do for you but what you can do for your country," Nesbit said, adding about his flirtation with profanity: "That scared the leaders."

He later repeated the famous line from President John F. Kennedy's inaugural address with the word "God" in place of "country" before closing the talk with a prayer.

Graves, who said he heard portions of the sermon, said a "greater level of frankness" is required when addressing inmates who don't want to listen to someone they feel is manipulating them.

"That's what makes the program successful," he said.

McLean said jailhouse sermons must strike a balance between being "firm and loving."

"You're not going to come in here and play patty-cake," he said. "They're not going to hear you."

Nesbit's audience laughed, clapped and was responsive throughout the talk. They then moved into smaller groups for a discussion about reconciliation.

An inmate in one of the sessions volunteered that he had recently written a letter to his son, whom he had abandoned, and asked for forgiveness. He said he also sent a letter to his father, asking to know why he was abandoned as a child -- "What was wrong with me?" -- but he did not receive a response.

The church volunteer leading the discussion praised the inmate for reaching out to his son and breaking a multigenerational pattern.

A Section on 03/19/2017

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Program sets Arkansas inmates on new path; Christianity-based effort aims to reduce recidivism - Arkansas Online