On an unseasonably rainy August afternoon, Carolyn Brown—who,
at 47, has only a few traces of gray in her tightly braided
hair—unpacks a pair of red rubber galoshes that were donated to Justice Works! Thrift and Gift shop on Ranier
Avenue South, which she manages. “I thought I’d make them a fashion
statement,” she says, putting them on a shelf. In the late 1990s, Brown
was released from a state prison in Gig Harbor, where she had served 14
and a half years for second-degree murder. Once she got out, she says,
an officer simply gave her a check and directions to the nearest bank.
“They took me by the hand because they could see I was crying,” she
says. “It was like being a kid all over again. I didn’t know what to
do. I was in culture shock.”
Without any social network, Brown fell back into a criminal rut. She
lived on the streets of downtown Seattle and was arrested “countless
times” on drug and theft charges. But then, a few years ago, she began
to transform her life with the help of a supportive judge, a trip to
detox, mental-health counseling, and the Justice Works! program.
Without the help, Brown says, “Most likely, I would be back into my
addiction, committing crimes, and homeless.”
The glass-front thrift store, which will hold a grand opening on
Saturday, August 23, is the first step in the nonprofit’s recently
inaugurated “business send-off project,” an eight-stage program
designed to teach formerly incarcerated people how to manage their own
businesses. “It’s hands-on experience so that I can open up my own
thrift store some day,” Brown says.
It’s not easy to manage the flood of donated inventory, which
includes wooden toys carved by prisoners, giant ceramic salt and pepper
shakers, little television sets, and clothes. “Sometime I just get
overwhelmed because it is new to me,” she says.
Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of the program is not just that
the nonprofit is helping people like Brown become entrepreneurs, but
that their work is helping the nonprofit become financially
independent. “We decided that the organization should also be
self-sufficient, as opposed to relying on foundations and funders,”
says Justice Works! director Lea Zengage. The all-volunteer group,
founded in 2001, will use some of the proceeds from the store’s sales
to fund two apartment units for released prisoners above the shop, its
court-watch program, and other prisoner outreach work. Zengage says
Justice Works! plans to start three more businesses run by former
prisoners: a barbershop (they already have seven chairs), a painting
business, and a carpet-cleaning company. When Brown completes the final
stage of the project, she can start her own thrift store, which she
wants to call Carolyn’s Closet. Then another former prisoner will take
her place and learn the ropes.
Prisoner reentry programs regularly face skepticism from the
communities that surround them. In late July, for example, Sound Mental
Health—a nonprofit service organization that recently received
state funding to house former prisoners—canceled its lease on a
house for released felons in West Seattle in response to neighborhood
uproar.
Ray Akers, a board member of the Southeast Seattle Crime Prevention
Council, says Rainier Valley gets more than its share of social
services. “It’s been like the floodgates have opened down here,” he
says. “These are organizations we embrace, but… is there no other
neighborhood that needs a Union Gospel Mission or homeless
facility?”
“A thrift shop would appeal to a lot of other communities,” Akers
adds. “There are other eclectic neighborhoods.” On the other hand,
rents are relatively affordable in South Seattle, which makes the area
a magnet for social service programs.
Kenneth Stark, director of human services in Snohomish County and an
expert on reentry programs, says the Justice Works! program “isn’t
about ‘hug a thug.’ It reduces recidivism and criminal-justice
costs—not only future crimes, but also police, jail, and court
costs,” Stark says. According to a 2007 study by the Washington State
Institute for Public Policy, community-based employment and job
training saves society $4,359 per participant by reducing future
crimes, criminal-justice costs, and impacts on would-be victims. When
combined with drug-treatment programs, as in Brown’s case, the savings
increased by another $10,000.
Brown, of course, doesn’t measure her success in financial terms,
but rather her new relationships and self-reliance. “For the first time
in my life, I feel like I belong,” she says. “I am a part of this
society today.” 