Formerly incarcerated women tackle employment barriers on Long Island with local support

Zarkaya Reavis spent nearly two decades trapped in a cycle of addiction, homelessness and incarceration. The 45-year-old Commack resident said she was "hanging around the wrong people and got caught up." 

She earned a patient care technician certification in 2015, she said, during a period of sobriety. But Reavis recalls her criminal record, with multiple arrests and convictions for offenses including burglary, theft and probation violations, following her like a shadow.

She couldn't land a job and eventually relapsed, Reavis said.

"My life was a mess," she said.

Grief moved her to seek help in 2021 after her eldest son died in a car crash. The loss taught her "that tomorrow isn't promised and to cherish every day," Reavis said.

She enrolled in a 12-week program at New Hour for Women and Children, a Brentwood nonprofit that supports formerly incarcerated women, and completed courses in conflict resolution, financial literacy, resume writing and life skills.

Now three years sober, Reavis works part time as a support staff member assisting homeless veterans at the Northport VA Medical Center.  

"Everybody deserves a second chance," she said.

But the path to stable, well-paying work is often blocked for women with criminal records — by stigma from employers, limited access to education and child care and realities of poverty that predate their convictions. Many return to communities that lack affordable housing, adequate public transit and robust social services to support them.

On Long Island, a patchwork of nonprofits and reentry programs tries to fill the void.

Organizations like New Hour offer trauma-informed programs that blend parenting classes, financial literacy and workforce training. This year, New Hour is launching a partnership with Adelphi University to provide free certification programs in the health care field to formerly incarcerated women, who often face deep-seated stigma that influences how employers and institutions see them.

New Hour co-founder and Executive Director Serena Martin said the program aims to provide a professional boost to people who "want that opportunity to work and prove themselves."

"Being able to just get your foot in the door so you can prove you’re a hard worker," she said, "is such a challenge."

Barriers beyond bars

During her job search in 2015, Reavis said she had applied for about five jobs and only got called in for one interview. The interviewer told Reavis she "was a liability" and that the employer couldn't take the risk of hiring her, Reavis recalled.

But about 77 million Americans have a criminal record, or one in three adults, according to the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau. Over 600,000 people are released from state and federal prisons each year, and more than 10 million are estimated to cycle through local jails in the United States annually.

While men make up the vast majority of people held in U.S. prisons and local jails — up to 90% — females are the fastest growing segment of the incarcerated population. More than 31,000 women are released from New York State prisons and jails each year, according to a 2024 analysis by the Brennan Center for Justice at New York University School of Law. Data shows many struggle in the workforce.

A 2018 analysis by the Prison Policy Initiative estimated the national unemployment rate for formerly incarcerated people was at 27%. That is nearly seven times higher than the general population, according to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics. 

A 2021 report by the U.S. Bureau of Justice Statistics found that one-third of people released from federal prison had no job at all four years later. Those who did work cycled through an average of more than three jobs in that time and earned just 53% of the national median wage, according to a Prison Policy Initiative’s analysis of BJS data.

"Most of our women lived below the poverty line before incarceration, and they live below the poverty line now," Martin said.

Race plays a major factor in who fills the nation’s jails and prisons, but it also informs their economic outlook after incarceration.

Formerly incarcerated Black women see the highest levels of unemployment, with an estimated 43.6% jobless rate, compared with a 23.2% unemployment rate for formerly incarcerated white women, a rate of 35.2% for Black men and 18.4% rate for white men with records of incarceration, according to the Prison Policy Initiative.

Incarceration can fray the personal connections a person has, making it harder for them to tap social networks for employment opportunities.

"When you go to prison, you’re out of your community for several years," said Wanda Bertram, communications strategist at the Prison Policy Initiative, a nonprofit research and advocacy group based in Northampton, Massachusetts. "Those connections wither."

That isolation is compounded by a job market that increasingly screens with background checks and digital tools, said Courtnie Drigo, staff attorney at the Legal Action Center, a Manhattan-based nonprofit that provides legal services to people with criminal records.

Suffolk County passed a "Ban the Box" law in 2020, barring employers from asking about criminal history early in the hiring process. But background checks often surface records anyway. Employers can still legally decline to hire someone because of them.

In a region like Long Island, Martin said, financial instability can be more acute given the high costs of housing. Education can be a barrier, too. While more than half of formerly incarcerated individuals have a high school diploma or GED certificate, many jobs now demand more.

"These days you need, at the very least, a high school diploma to have any job," said Akua Amaning, director of Criminal Justice Reform at the Center for American Progress.

The educational requirements are increasing when it comes to the jobs available, she said.

It is projected that by 2027, an estimated 70% of jobs will require postsecondary education and training beyond a high school degree or equivalent, according to the  Vera  Institute of Justice, a Brooklyn-based nonprofit advocating for an end to mass incarceration.

Transportation is another employment hurdle, especially on Long Island. Lack of transportation options can hamper women's ability to hold a job, take care of personal needs and meet parole or probation requirements, according to the Vera Institute. 

"If you don’t have a car or a license, it is almost impossible to maintain life on Long Island," Martin said. She often refers women to city-based programs simply because public transit is more accessible there.

Women are more likely than men to have experienced trauma and to be primary caregivers. More than 70% of incarcerated women report being a victim of intimate partner violence, according to the Council on Criminal Justice.

Women who have been involved in the justice system consistently report higher levels of mental health and substance abuse issues than their male counterparts, according to the Council on Criminal Justice. An analysis from 2015 to 2019 showed that 31% of women on probation were diagnosed with a mental health disorder, compared with 16% of men on probation.

Motherhood adds yet another layer of complexity — and responsibility.

"Seventy-five percent of the women we work with who come home from incarceration or are detained are moms," Martin said. 

Reavis, who has a 13-year-old son, had previously lost and then regained custody of her children during her challenges with substance abuse and legal troubles. 

With the help of New Hour's parenting education program, she's become a better caregiver, she said. 

"I have learned to have patience and understanding," she said.

Pathways to job opportunities

This August, Adelphi University will launch a new program with New Hour to offer free health care job training to a small group of women. Funded by a $100,000 grant from the M&T Charitable Foundation, it will prepare participants for roles such as medical assistant or EKG technician, with starting salaries on Long Island between $40,000 and $55,000, according to the state Department of Labor.

"We know one of the biggest challenges they face is accessing careers," said Sandra Castro, interim dean at Adelphi's College of Professional and Continuing Studies.

New Hour has helped more than 15,000 people since 2015, connecting them to emergency housing, legal aid, job support and classes inside Suffolk jails. But demand outpaces capacity.

"We can’t keep up," Martin said.

Other programs try to fill the overwhelming need for reentry services.

In 2020, Suffolk County launched the Sheriff's Transition and Reentry Team, an initiative housed at the Yaphank Correctional Facility that offers job support, mental health services and essentials like clothing and food.

The START program has already helped drive recidivism among participants down to around 20%, compared to a national average of 68% within three years of release, officials said.

"I do feel like we are changing the paradigms of criminal justice in Suffolk County," Sheriff Errol Toulon Jr. said.

Jennifer Caggiano, 34, of Mastic, said START helped her rebuild after she served a prison sentence for assault.

After she struggled to find work that paid enough to support her four children, START counselors helped her land a job with New York Cancer and Blood Specialists. Today she coordinates hospital visits and earns over $26 an hour.

"I feel like everything is on track," she said.

Still, policy gaps remain.

State lawmakers have proposed a Reentry Assistance Bill that would provide newly released individuals up to $2,550 in stipends to help cover housing, food and transportation. Advocates say it could help bridge the vulnerable window between release and reintegration.

The bill, which was introduced in March, has the support of a coalition of criminal justice reform advocates, individuals impacted by the justice system, reentry service providers and organizations like the Brennan Center for Justice and the Legal Action Center. But the legislation remains in committee in both the state Senate and Assembly. 

Reavis, meanwhile, is still moving forward.

After years on the street, she now finds fulfillment helping homeless veterans.

She has one year left in her addiction studies program at Suffolk County Community College and hopes to become a substance-abuse counselor.

"It’s a beautiful feeling," she said. "I wouldn’t change it for nothing in the world."

Correction: A previous version of the story incorrectly stated that Zarkaya Reavis earned a certification in phlebotomy.