DOING TIME - AND THEN SOME

A felony conviction in Oklahoma triggers not one but two kinds of
punishment -- one visible, the other hidden. First, a conviction often
means a prison term. But once that debt is paid, and just as the former
inmate begins piecing together a shattered life, barriers to finding a
place to live and getting a job kick in. Telling felons they are free to
rejoin civil life but then placing obstacles in their way is bad public
policy. For most inmates, prison means more than the loss of physical
freedom. Families are split up. Children lose a mother or father. Absent
wage earners and financial troubles go hand in hand. All of this breaks
down a person's place in his or her community.

Nevertheless, between 1986 and 1996, state-imposed post-prison punishments
surged. States permanently barring felons from voting increased from 11 to
14; states permitting termination of parental rights went from 16 to 19;
and states requiring felons to register with the local police shot up from
eight to 46. By 1996, a felony conviction was legal grounds for a divorce
in 29 states.

A new Legal Action Center study shows how prison restrictions continue to
make a felon's re-entry in Oklahoma rockier than it ought to be:

Jobs. Finding a job after jail is a challenge. Some states, including
Oklahoma, make matters worse by remaining silent on how employers can
handle an applicant's record. In Oklahoma, a felony record -- on its own --
may be used to deny employment in public agencies and private businesses.

Public housing. A felon can be denied public housing. The Public Housing
Authority in Oklahoma City, for example, may bar a felon for five years and
persons convicted of a misdemeanor for three years.

Public assistance. To its credit, Oklahoma has rejected the strict federal
drug felon ban. A drug-related felon is eligible to use Temporary
Assistance for Needy Families and food stamps.

Society must set rules and dish out just and constructive punishments. But
should state governments be in the business of promoting unemployment,
divorce and single-parent families? Once the prison time is done, the state
should help ex-convicts rebuild their lives.

Jeremy Travis of the Urban Institute in Washington says that we could
better judge the merits of these back-door punishments if states gave them
greater public exposure and debate. Unlike the operation of prisons,
according to Travis, civil punishments don't run up large administrative
costs and taxes. The result? These hidden punishments seldom get the public
airing they deserve.

If Oklahoma's re-entry barriers lead to a felon's failure to put together a
new life, the individual incurs a huge personal cost. But when that
person's troubles mount, the prospects for more crime mount. And if he or
she is sent back to jail for a technical parole infraction, as often
happens, or for a new crime resulting from a failed return to society, who
picks up the $44.62 a day room and board tab? Oklahoma taxpayers, of course.

In the end, these hidden punishments also have real hidden costs.

Fraser writes on public policy issues for the DKT Liberty Project, a
Washington-based civil liberties organization.