Prisoners who risk their lives during Calif. wildfires shouldn't be shut out of profession They are skilled. They sacrifice for $1 per hour. But once inmates finish their sentence, laws bar them from the job.

Katherine Katcher, Sonja Tonnesen and Neeraj Kumar | Opinion contributors

As some of the deadliest wildfires in California’s history scorched much of the state's northern territory last month, the nation was confronted with photos, videos and stories of devastation. Those of us in Northern California breathed in the smoke.

While most Americans praise the bravery of the incredible firefighters on the front lines, they likely don't know that up to 35% of the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection's employees are state prisoners, and they are risking their lives and well being for $1 an hour.

When they aren't fighting fires they make as little as $2 a day.

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Not only is it shocking that the men and women in our state prisons are paid pittance to do lifesaving work, even more alarming is that these same men and women are largely prevented from becoming firefighters, emergency medical technicians or any other emergency services professional after they are released.

Inside prison, fitness tests and adherence to rules can garner an inmate under minimum security a spot on a fire team. On the outside, almost every single California county requires its firefighters to possess an EMT certification and pass a background check. California's EMT certifying board restricts nearly any applicant with a criminal record from becoming certified.

The board disregards the intensive training and frontline experience that previously-incarcerated individuals, who are trained to fight fires, possess. The fact that these individuals put their lives on the line for their crew members and their community seems to have no influence on the EMT board.

In the extremely rare circumstances when a previously-incarcerated person trained as a firefighter can find a job, options for advancement are severely limited. Peace officer positions, such as fire marshals, bar nearly all applicants with a felony conviction, regardless of whether that conviction relates to the job.

This problem is not unique to firefighters.

Laws across the country stack the deck against all people with records seeking employment. In California, the law permits most employers to see convictions dating back seven years. State licensing agencies and more than 40 licensing boards also look at an applicant’s criminal record. About 20% of Californians and 30% of Americans nationwide need government permission to work.

While many boards are reluctant to share data on denials, anyone whose been through the process of applying for a job that requires certification knows: From doctors, lawyers, and teachers to tree-trimmers and farm labor contractors, your background is checked. And people with criminal records are generally kept out.

Across the country, people re-entering society from prison and jail face more than 48,000 barriers to successful reintegration. How can we expect them to succeed when our system structurally locks them out of opportunity?

In essence, we have designed a system that does the exact opposite of what makes moral and economic sense: Our world pushes people with criminal records, who are disproportionately poor and people of color, out of the legal job market right back into prisons and jails. It is no wonder we have a recidivism rate that hovers around 70% in this country.

To quote Michelle Alexander, author and civil rights advocate, the system is, without a doubt, "the new Jim Crow."



As a society, we can and must do better to live up to its highest ideals, to be a country that promotes opportunity to all, works toward racial justice and equality, and gives people who have made mistakes and want to do better with their lives that second chance.

Katherine Katcher is the founder and executive director of Root & Rebound, an organization that works to support men, women and families impacted by incarceration. Sonja Tonnesen the group's deputy director of programs, and Neeraj Kumar is a legal fellow for the organization.