The Milwaukee metro area has one of the highest rates of incarceration in the country.
But, there’s a lesser-known impact of serving time behind bars — what happens when you get out of jail or prison and find yourself on community supervision.
WUWM Eric Von Fellow Maria Peralta-Arellano participated in a U.S. Justice Department-based simulation about what it’s like to start from scratch when you get out of custody. It was hosted at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee by a local nonprofit, The Community.
The goal was to help participants understand the revolving door between incarceration and community supervision.
Here's Maria.
I’m usually Maria Peralta-Arellano, but today, I’m playing the role of "Barron" — an identity given to me for this re-entry simulation. I’ve gotten an envelope telling me who I am and what I’ve been released from incarceration with.
In this pretend scenario, I’m 21 years old. I have a high school diploma. I'm unemployed, with $200 to my name, and I'm currently living at a halfway house. I also have a criminal record.
My WUWM colleague Maayan Silver is recording me as I find out the details.
"Your jaw dropped to the floor," Maayan says.
"Yeah. It says I served three years in state prison for child pornography, for two convictions. Oh, my God. Oh, OK, sorry. I'm like, actively reading this for you guys, 'you were 18 at the time, and the victim your high school girlfriend since you were 14, was 15 at the time of the incident.' OK, so this is, I don't know, I'm a little nervous," I say.
Even though this is a simulation, carrying the label of child pornography still feels heavy. And I don't know what's ahead of me.
This simulation was organized by The Community. It’s a local nonprofit that advocates for people with criminal records.
We're in a big room at UWM's Lubar Center. About 18 tables around the room signify stops along the re-entry journey.
"All right, so this is how our stations are gonna go. So, week one we have to go to probation, treatment, food, we got rent, GPS charge, AA, and then we don't have to go to the registry this time," I share.
For me and the other participants, the next hour is divided into four 15-minute rounds.
Each round signifies a week in our lives.
Some rules I didn’t tell you about? I’m wearing four beaded necklaces — meaning I’m deemed a high risk to my community. I have a red ribbon, which shows I'm on the sex offender registry. I have a wrist band — reflecting that I’m on GPS monitoring. And I’m carrying a five-pound weight — symbolizing the heaviness of re-entering society.
I also start out with only three transportation tickets and lots of stops to make.
From the start, it’s tough to get around. My probation officer needs to see three IDs, but I only have my social security card.
“Where do we... Wait. So where would we even get... Ok, hold on. Took my bus ticket. Couldn't help me... I have to find my birth certificate and a state ID. No direction on where to get those. OK, um,” I share.
As I try to track down other forms of ID, I struggle with transportation. Several 15-minute rounds go by, representing several unsuccessful weeks.
When I finally get help, I go to the wrong probation office.
I needed to check in with the branch that monitors sex offenders.
When I arrive, my agent scolds me for not charging my GPS ankle bracelet.
"OK, you haven't charged your bracelet, though, right? Okay, I need you to fill this out and report to jail because I'm gonna send you out for revocation," the agent says.
Charging the bracelet hadn’t even been on my radar because I was still stuck on the basic first steps of my release.
I’m headed back into custody — just as the simulation organizers call time.
Afterwards, there was a lot to unpack.
"The whole reason why I was sent back was because I couldn't get transportation. So I couldn't go to the registry, probation, and then I couldn't get my risk my GPS charged, and that's what sent me back. So it was like, great. No matter how hard I tried, there was always something that was dragging me, quite literally, like dragging me," I say.
The U.S. Department of Justice first started running a simulation like this in 2023. The Community used that as a template and built upon it.
Organizer Shannon Ross says it’s a way to challenge peoples’ assumptions about re-entering society after incarceration.
“So, there’s this unfortunate element of putting this very simplistic label on a human being based on something they did wrong and thinking that that then is going to be able to tell you who they are for the rest of their life. And you’re sabotaging yourself from knowing some really powerful people if you do that," he says.
Ross says The Community chose to hold the simulation at UWM with the hope that it’ll foster understanding in the next generation of leaders.
