What actually helps people rebuild their lives after entering the criminal justice system?
BYU Law School professors Jane Mitchell and Shima Baradaran Baughman are working to find out. Through interviews with people who have spent time incarcerated, they are studying how values, community support, and institutional structures interact with human agency to foster personal transformation that helps people desist from crime.
We spoke with Professor Jane Mitchell to discuss the research. Before entering academia, Professor Mitchell founded and led The Reset Foundation, a nationally acclaimed nonprofit dedicated to dismantling the poverty-to-prison pipeline. Based in the Bay Area, Reset provided a humane, restorative alternative to prison for young adult men. Professor Mitchell practiced law earlier in her career and worked for the NYC Department of Education. She has taught in jails in San Francisco, Utah County, and NYC’s Rikers Island. Professor Mitchell holds a BA from Stanford University, a JD from Columbia Law School, an EdM from Columbia Teachers College, and a PhD in the learning sciences and leadership from NYU. She is the mother of three boys.
Editor’s Note: This interview has been edited and condensed for readability. Jane Mitchell has approved the edits.
AB: Jane, I’m so excited to chat with you today.
JM: Thanks for having me.
From Rehabilitation to Transformation
AB: As I understand it, your work includes research on criminal rehabilitation. Could you explain what rehabilitation looks like if it happens the way we hope?
JM: Rehabilitation is a bit of a loaded term. In criminal law, we teach four main theories of punishment:
- Deterrence: Deterring people from committing future crimes.
- Incapacitation: Removing their ability to commit additional crimes.
- Retribution: Punishing because it’s considered the moral thing to do.
- Rehabilitation: Helping people make positive changes in their lives.
Rehabilitation was the dominant form of punishment for much of the 20th century, until the mid-1970s. Back then, many viewed it through a medical perspective, treating people in the criminal justice system like “patients” who needed to be rehabilitated, as if they had a disease.
What I dislike about the medical model is that it removes agency—it is something done forcibly to another person through psychological treatments and the like. While some historical approaches respected agency, introductory criminal law textbooks often describe traditional rehabilitation as somewhat coercive in nature.
For that reason, Shima Baughman and I focus less on “rehabilitation” and more on “change” or “transformation”—similar to the personal transformation experienced in a journey of discipleship. We are all at different points, and it’s all a similar process.
AB: What characterizes true transformation as opposed to temporarily fixing one problematic behavior?
JM: Fixing one problematic behavior isn’t the same thing as experiencing identity change. There’s a term in the academic literature called “desistance”—meaning how people stop committing crimes. It is a process influenced by structural and individual factors. Scholars have identified three different stages of desistance:
- Primary Desistance: A lull in criminal activity (e.g., staying clean while going through drug court).
- Secondary Desistance: Identity transformation, where a person no longer identifies with their past criminal behavior.
- Tertiary Desistance: A sense of belonging in the community where others recognize and validate a person’s change, viewing the person as a restored member of the community (“one of us now”).
For the last year and a half, I’ve been interviewing people in Utah who have gone through the criminal justice system and tried to change their lives. People in the primary desistance stage are in a very different place than those in the secondary or tertiary stages. It takes a lot more work and time to change an identity than it does to fix a single behavior.
The Path to Desistance
AB: What core factors lead to desistance? How do values, habits, and personal identity fit into this process?
JM: Desistance occurs through a combination of individual agency and environmental factors. If I want to change, my personal motivation obviously matters. My personal skill set matters. But so does the social environment around me. So does my physical environment. And so does my institutional environment. People don’t always realize how powerful an effect their social environment has on their change process.
Different institutional structures lead to very different outcomes when it comes to transformation. If you’ve committed a serious drug crime, for example, we can send you to prison for several years—and you probably won’t change for the better very much. Eighty percent of our sample said that incarceration was not an environment conducive to positive change. Or you might qualify for an intensive recovery program or drug court. Drug courts have a very different feel to them than incarceration. They offer very different types of support and very different opportunities. Seventy-four percent of the people we spoke to who were attending a particular drug court said the experience motivated them to make positive changes. That’s very different from prison.
One institutional factor that really matters is the values the institution espouses. Every organization perpetuates a certain set of values, whether explicitly or implicitly. In our interviews, people spoke about being very affected by values like love, accountability, honesty, integrity, humility, and service to others. Those are values that lead to desistance. Shima and I call these “transformative virtues.” Other values, like efficiency or stability or toughness, may serve an organizational purpose, but they don’t facilitate desistance.
In our study, we came across several great programs in Utah that model and teach transformative virtues to their participants:
- Latter-day Saint Transition Branches: These are specialized congregations for individuals exiting prison. They’re especially meant for those with parole restrictions (like not being around minors) who can’t attend regular branches. In our interviews, we heard that people attending these branches feel so, so loved by the volunteers running the branches. That love rubs off on people, and it affects how they in turn treat others.
- The Other Side Academy (TOSA): TOSA preaches accountability and impeccable honesty all the time. They have signs on the walls about it. They have dedicated evening meetings where they hold people accountable for their behavior. And from our interviews, it became very clear that their students develop a very strong sense of accountability because it’s preached so much.
- Utah County Recovery Court: We studied a drug court where the judge was so filled with concern and care for the people in his court. He would shake defendants’ hands as they came in front of him if they fulfilled their obligations for the week. Audience members would break out into applause when people stayed sober or got a job. Even the prosecutor was working to help people succeed. The court staff really modeled what respect, compassion, and care looked like, and that was passed on to the people in the court.
It’s not enough for a program to say they believe in love or accountability. To facilitate desistance, they’ve got to really model it, and live it consistently. There has to be a high degree of congruence between an institution’s “espoused values” and its “values in practice”; otherwise, the organization risks sending mixed messages, which may not facilitate desistance as well.
Unfortunately, when we asked our interviewees about their time incarcerated, they said that the values transmitted in those spaces are often the opposite of the values required for desistance. The culture of carceral settings can foster dishonesty. There’s a strict “no snitching” code, which makes real accountability very difficult. Hostility and permissiveness are fostered more than love and self-discipline. Ego is prized over humility. It seems like our jails and prisons sometimes teach the exact opposite set of values needed for desistance.
So seeing examples like the Latter-day Saint Transition Branch, The Other Side Academy, or the Recovery Court in Utah County is exciting because those institutions are advancing and modeling values that lead to healthy, fulfilling lives—such as love, trust, accountability, honesty, humility, and so on. Those environments make a difference. But that is not the norm in our criminal justice system, which is unfortunate.
Faith’s Role in Transformation
AB: What role do religious communities play in fostering these transformative values?
JM: I personally have felt very supported in my own change process by my religious community, and it can be similar for someone who’s going through the system. Religious communities support desistance in three main ways:
- Community of Belonging: Churches offer a community of belonging. Congregations put people in each other’s lives and then ask them to care about each other. That is one of the key things the desistance literature says supports people in staying out of the system: having a community of belonging.
- Financial Assistance: People coming out of incarceration face a dizzying array of obstacles. It’s hard to find a job. It’s hard to find housing. It’s hard to put food on the table. It is really helpful to have a bishop who can step in and say, “I’m going to help you make this month’s rent,” or, “Here’s a food order. We’ll help you with your food for the next three months,” or whatever it might be. That kind of practical support makes a big difference.
- Doctrinal Foundation: Christian doctrines emphasize a Savior and the idea of redemption, which we’ve found can lead people to place greater value on themselves and others.
This doctrinal piece is profound. In Latter-day Saint theology, we have this belief that a Savior died for my sins. It’s a very powerful narrative: we think that the most powerful being in the universe, who created our world, came and suffered so that I could be redeemed.
And we found in our interviews that when people really believe that, it inspires a sense of self-worth. So much of the justice system lessens people’s sense of self-worth. In interview after interview after interview, we heard people talking about having very low self-worth as a result of a lifetime of incarceration, addiction, poverty, trauma, victimization, and stigma.
But then several interviewees talked about gaining a sense of self-worth through this doctrine, regardless of whether they felt like they belonged in a particular congregation. They realized, “I have a Savior who’s incredible, this incredibly powerful being who helped create the universe, who died for me, and therefore I am worth something if He gave His life for me.”
And as they start to value themselves more, they also start valuing other people more. They start to believe their lives are worth something—they’re worth the effort to change. And that can kickstart desistance.
Transforming Identity with Redemption Scripts
AB: Are there other insights regarding religion’s role in transformative change?
JM: I’ll mention two other concepts.
Identity Transformation
Identity transformation is a big part of desistance. When you start to see yourself differently, you know you’re changing. And seeing that identity change can then fuel your change process further. Take people who try to quit smoking. That’s a very difficult change to make. But at some point in the process, when a person starts thinking, “I’m no longer a smoker,” the change starts to feel very real. When the behavior is no longer part of your identity, it becomes so much easier to stay away from the temptation to smoke again.
Religion can really help with identity transformation. As Latter-day Saints, we talk a lot about identity change—taking on Christ’s name, putting off the natural man, taking on the characteristics of Christ. That’s a huge change, working to become a different person. The whole faith is oriented around making that change possible.
Redemption Scripts
We believe strongly in redemptive experiences that turn negative pasts into good through God.
They basically tell themselves, “That used to be who I was, but now I’ve changed, and I can use my past self to do good and serve others in these new ways.” They talk about their lives as if their past has been redeemed and consecrated, so they can now do good to others because of what they’ve been through.
“Persisters,” on the other hand, or those who persist in committing crimes, don’t tell themselves redemption scripts. They tell themselves condemnation scripts, where they condemn themselves for their behavior without a sense of redemption.
Some articles have looked at that framework of redemption and condemnation scripts in religious settings. It’s probably not a surprise to hear: religious settings support redemption scripts.
As Latter-day Saints, we have a narrative that whatever you’ve been through can be consecrated for your good if you love God. And that includes dark paths. We believe strongly in redemptive experiences that turn negative pasts into good through God.
Focusing on Relational Accountability
AB: We’ve talked about how, as Latter-day Saints, we believe that everyone is a child of God and that we have a Savior who provided a universal Atonement. How can this shape the way we support incarcerated or formerly incarcerated individuals and how we perceive them?
How do we still grapple with the difficulty that there are often real victims who’ve suffered deeply and the need to provide accountability? How does the gospel of Jesus Christ influence how we might think about all of that?
JM: I love Bryan Stevenson’s encouragement to get proximate to people. It’s sad to me that we have a good swath of the population here in Utah who have no clue what a jail is like or what it’s like to be behind bars. So I would encourage people to start volunteering for re-entry organizations, or community-based alternatives, or education programs in jail. Get to know people who’ve been in the system. And when you get close to people going through the system, you see that they’re wrestling with all the same things as people who are on the “outside.”
Their addiction might look different from my addiction, or their struggles might look different logistically from my struggles. But the root of it is all the same: we’re all on a journey to put off the natural man and try to become a saint. I feel like the division and stigma that sometimes separates people who’ve been involved in the system is tragic. We’re all brothers and sisters. We’re all on this journey to move from our animal nature to our human nature, and from our human nature to our divine nature.
And that process of change involves the same set of principles, regardless of whether you’re a person of faith or you’re not, regardless of whether you’ve been incarcerated or not. That trajectory, that process, involves the same kinds of behaviors and learnings and truths, regardless of the life circumstances you face.
Fifty percent of our sample said that being held accountable helped them change.
The number one thing they say helps them change is love. Seventy-one percent of our sample said love helped them change.
The second most common response we heard is accountability. Fifty percent of our sample said that being held accountable helped them change.
And for some reason, we have this thought that we can’t be loving if we’re holding them accountable, and we can’t hold them accountable if we’re being loving. That is not how they experience it. That’s also not how God works with us. He holds us totally accountable, and He is perfectly loving.
There are a lot of misconceptions about what accountability requires. The kinds of accountability that foster change do not damage people.
The most effective consequences we found in our study were things like cleaning hours or community service. You broke a rule? You’ve got to do three hours of cleaning. You didn’t show up for your drug test when you were supposed to? You’ve got to go spend all day Saturday serving the community.
Those are the types of consequences that motivate people to change. They don’t leave you scarred or further traumatized in the way that some experiences behind bars do, but these more formative consequences are an imposition on your time, and they’re consequences you don’t want to do. They do deter people from breaking the rules again. They hold people accountable.
I think there’s a perception that if we are to hold you accountable, we need to do something terrible to you. So let’s throw you in a prison, where you’ll most likely come home worse off emotionally, professionally, and physically than when you entered. Lots of terrible things can happen in carceral settings. In one sense we may be holding them accountable, because they’ve broken a rule and are therefore getting a punishment.
But that’s not the kind of accountability that the people we interviewed said changed them. For many people, they didn’t learn to be accountable until they experienced what we’re calling a relational form of accountability, where they were simultaneously held accountable and cared for. You have to demonstrate concern and love—an enduring commitment to their well-being and progress—when you hold someone accountable, so it prompts transformation.
Accountability often motivates people to change. We can’t let go of that. But what we need is a relational accountability—an accountability that is loving, that sees the other person without contempt, that sees their potential, that sees the whole reality of their life, and that sees them as humans, not as cases or statistics or objects.
And so what this research has really emphasized for me is the need to infuse love alongside consistent consequences for rule-breaking. That’s what helps propel people’s growth and progress.
It’s the same with my own transformation as I work to be a better neighbor and mother and teacher. I need to account for my behavior, and I need to be loved. God offers us a perfect form of relational accountability. It’s what really helps us grow.
