TEEM EFFORT
OKC nonprofit helps inmates with bail
An alleged check forgery landed Pierre Wilson in the Oklahoma County jail last year, where he languished for months without the ability to pay a couple of hundred bucks in bail, and the question of whether a normal life would always be out of reach.
“I thought I’d see the judge and straighten it out,” he said. “It’s shocking to believe somebody could sit in county for $200.”
It was shocking enough that an Oklahoma City nonprofit replied to Wilson’s letters seeking help.
A program started by The Education and Employment Ministry and funded by private donors bailed out 89 inmates between September and December, giving them new beginnings through services aimed at breaking the cycle of incarceration.
More than 40 percent of the former inmates found jobs as they awaited their day in court. Some struggled, tallying 22 new technical charges such as driving without a license. But of the 89 inmates bailed out by TEEM, just one faced a new criminal charge after pretrial release, according to figures provided by the nonprofit.
Among the freed inmates was Wilson, a 46-year-old father who had been in jail since June. He walked out Nov. 4.
Wilson had never been apart from his 11-year-old daughter for more than two days. Softspoken as he is, the memory quiets him even more.
“It’s hard to explain being away for five months,” he said.
Wilson has found two new jobs — in maintenance at a golf course, and as a server in an upscale north Oklahoma City restaurant.
On a brisk Monday afternoon, he smoked a cigarette after work and waited for a friend to pick him up and take him to a sober living home where he serves as president. A former cellmate referred him to TEEM. Wilson reflected on his reversal of fortune.
“I’d probably still be sitting in county jail, waiting for a decision from the judge,” he said.
‘A really neat thing’
While people like Wilson looked for a break, TEEM was knocking on the doors of donors to get funding for the new pretrial release program.
With money secured, TEEM offers inmates training and skills for jobs, help finding work, placement in a sober living home and legal assistance. Many receive bus passes and fuel cards.
Case managers provide supervision, which includes regular drug testing, counseling and tracking court dates. They also help clients understand their court costs, which lead to new warrants if left unpaid.
TEEM operates out of a Classen Boulevard office, but case managers spend time in the homes of clients. Inmates who remain in jail often face a vastly different outcome.
“When they both show up to court to be sentenced, statistics show the person who was not able to bond out on the same charge, they will get a harsher sentence than the person who was able to bond out and get their life on track,” said Francie Ekwerekwu, an attorney and the program’s director. “They are people that could clean up too, but they just couldn’t bond out for the money.”
For those who do get out of jail pretrial through TEEM, many who faced prison time have had their sentences reduced to probation.
A couple have had their cases dismissed.
TEEM looks for inmates who have been rejected by court services. They receive phone calls daily from inmates. Referrals come through judges, defense attorneys and the District Attorney’s Office.
“It’s been a really neat thing to see all the leaders in our county come around to doing what’s right for people,” Ekwerekwu said.
Indeed, the program is a small part of the larger push locally for criminal justice reform. In 2016, the nonprofit Vera Institute of Justice released a sweeping report on the Oklahoma County jail, and called on the pretrial justice system to collaborate more to ensure the facility is being used judiciously.
Among those involved in reform work is Oklahoma County District Judge Cindy Truong, whom Ekwerekwu called “a champion” of the TEEM Pretrial Jail Release Initiative.
Truong has gained a reputation
as an advocate for pretrial releases, even going to the jail on weekends to release some inmates on their own recognizance. She lauded the TEEM program, saying otherwise, when the defendants arrive in court, all they would have to show for themselves is time in jail.
“Most of these are nonviolent offenders, but they have been in trouble before,” Truong said. “Rather than send them to prison, we give them a chance. If they don’t want to take the chance, it’s up to them. That’s what helps our community, is people getting back to work. If you put them in prison, when they get out they just become better criminals.”
But while some are pushing for expanded pretrial release programs, others are pushing back, citing flight risks and the potential for more crimes committed.
“When people don’t go to court, the bondsman has the responsibility to return people to the jail or the
court,” said Carol Knight, owner of Freedom Bail Bonds in Oklahoma City. “The bail bond industry costs the taxpayers nothing. Bondsmen are the only entity in the judicial system that pays for their mistakes. If I bond a guy out and he doesn’t go to court, I have to pay the court the full bond, or I have to see to it that the guy returns to court, so I pay a bounty hunter.”
While pretrial release programs are well-intentioned, Knight suggested they have pitfalls the public isn’t clearly made aware of.
“What happens when these people they are supervising go out and commit more offenses?” she said. “Are they liable for what they did? Can they be sued for what they did?”
Truong is familiar with the arguments.
“We put more restrictions on them,” she said. “They have to report, do urinalysis. If John Doe doesn’t have $200, he sits in jail. They should be treated the same regardless
if they have the $200 or not.”
‘Whatever it takes’
Donors to the TEEM program have asked for accountability. The nonprofit will follow up with clients for three years after their cases are resolved, documenting their experiences outside of jail and tallying the recidivism rate.
“We’ve been able to really change some lives so far,” Ekwerekwu said. “They’re doing all these things they can’t do in an orange jumpsuit in jail, and we’re reuniting them with their family.”
For people like Wilson, the reunions can rekindle hope for the future. Entrance into the soberliving home provided him a chance to take personal accountability. Skilled at woodworking, he wants to someday start a business.
“My freedom is too precious to me, to my family and I’m going to do whatever it takes to not go back to jail,” he said.