Nowhere to go: since the early 1990s, more women than ever—most of them mothers—have served time in Illinois prisons. Now they're getting out. But what happens when they head home?

Chicago Reporter, The, Oct, 2003 by Leah Samuel

It 1982, Leslie Brown went to prison for conspiring to murder her husband.

"It was my second husband, and I was in a domestic violence situation for many years, and I just couldn't take any more of his abuse," said Brown, who served seven years in prison until she was granted clemency in late 1988 by then-Gov. James Thompson. At the time, the governor said he freed Brown and another woman because they were driven to their crimes by abusive husbands.

Once Brown got out, she found herself without many resources to start over-no food, no money-and a family to support.

"It was scary getting out of prison," she said. "I suddenly had custody of my six children. I didn't find a lot of assistance from any social service agencies."

What Brown had, however, was a large, two-story home with a finished basement that she shared with her mother. With help from her family and church groups, she was able to get back on her feet.

In 1992, inspired by her experience, Brown created Support Advocates for Women. Through the program, Brown arranged bus trips to downstate prisons for the children of incarcerated mothers. She also developed life skills classes for incarcerated women to help build their self-esteem and prepare them for life on the outside.

"Then in 1994, a lady wrote me and said she was getting out and had nowhere to go," she said. So Brown, who had always been troubled by the lack of housing options for female ex-offenders, invited the woman to come live with her.

It was the start of a mission. In December 1994, Brown officially transformed her home at 1014 N. Hamlin Ave. on Chicago's West Side to Leslie's Place, a recovery home for women ex-offenders. In April 2002, Brown opened a second house nearby, at 3250 W. Walnut St. In all, she has invited almost 300 women--and their children--to spend their first several months out of prison at her place. While there, the women get free clothing, food and help finding employment and housing.

"On the outside, they need a place they can go to that will accept their children," said Brown. "They need a safe haven, a structured environment."

According to researchers, more than 80 percent of women in prison are mothers. That fact, according to both prison officials and those working with ex-offenders, makes post-prison life for women particularly difficult to navigate. Every step, from finding housing to landing a job, is even more treacherous because they have children to care for.

While the prison population for women grew faster than it did for men during the 1990s, women are now leaving the state's prisons in record numbers and finding few resources that cater to their specific needs. And the programs that serve them are struggling to keep pace. A Chicago Reporter analysis of corrections data shows that first-time female offenders go back to prison twice as often as they did a decade ago.

Black women may have the greatest needs after prison. Blacks are the most likely of all women to return to prison, and they account for 62 percent of the state's female prison and parole population.

At Leslie's Place, women are required to help maintain the household, taking turns with cleaning and other duties. They also have weekly classes in parenting and life skills, along with Bible study. Those with addictions are required to attend regular Alcoholics Anonymous or Narcotics Anonymous meetings.

But the number of women leaving prison annually has grown by more than 130 percent since Brown opened Leslie's Place, according to Illinois Department of Corrections data.

The state has a contract with Leslie's Place, which has a total of 28 beds between its two facilities, to help pay for the mortgage, utilities, support group meetings, and other costs. The state pays about $40 a day for each client. But Brown said the amount is not enough. It's the same amount the program received when it first opened nine years ago, she said. "If it were a priority, [the state] would put more money in it."

Corrections officials said budget constraints have kept the state from paying more for transitional services. The cost to incarcerate an individual in Illinois increased from $15,988 in fiscal year 1991 to $23,812 in fiscal year 2002, the latest for which figures were available. Meanwhile, the state's adult prison population rose by nearly 54 percent.

The Illinois Department of Corrections is working with civic groups and others to identify grants to help aftercare programs like Leslie's Place. The state recently created "Faith in Transitions," a program designed to link incarcerated women to housing, counseling, job training and other resources before they leave prison. The state has finalized agreements with as many as 30 groups in Cook, Macon and Champaign counties that will provide the services. The project is slated to start in October with about 200 women at the Decatur Correctional Center.

TEN DOLLARS

In March, Gigi Jackson, 41, walked out of the downstate Dwight Correctional Center after serving two-and-a-half years for delivery of a controlled substance. All she had were the clothes on her back and $10, the amount all ex-offenders receive from the Illinois Department of Corrections when they're released.