It’s already understood that in the criminal legal system, people are hurting. What people may not realize, is that it doesn’t stop at the incarcerated or the families fighting for their loved ones. It bleeds over onto the advocates, organizers, system-impacted parents, survivors, and community members who are trying to hold everything together while navigating trauma, poverty, bureaucracy, and burnout the size of a courthouse.
It’s a crisis I’ve been discussing at length with friends also doing the work in the community. One that I don’t necessarily have answers to, but see carried out everyday.
And here’s the ugly truth: so many people and organizations desperately need help not just navigating, but doing work within the criminal legal system and they simply cannot afford it. There often isn’t money laying around for consulting, strategy, writing, research, case-prep, advocacy training, policy guidance, media help, or any of the professional-level support that could keep them from drowning.
Far too many people in the reform space are drowning quietly. Sometimes people are accused of not being committed to the cause, rather than understanding that their world has to keep spinning to survive.
People aren’t struggling because they’re “not trying.”
They’re struggling because criminal legal reform is based entirely on correcting a system built to tire you out, confuse you, and financially bleed you until you can’t fight back anymore.
The Reform Space Runs on Unpaid Labor (and It’s Backward)
We as advocates fight for living wages for teachers, nurses, public defenders, returning citizens, and frontline workers. We proudly preach economic justice. We talk about dignity in labor.
But inside the criminal justice reform movement, we have a direct little secret: we often expect talent to carry the entire load for free.
It’s backward, and if I’m being honest, hypocritical. But worst of all, it’s harming the very people we claim to protect.
Survivors are asked to share their stories at events for no compensation. Formerly incarcerated people are asked to “consult” on reentry issues without pay. Families are expected to organize, advocate, fundraise, and fight with zero financial support. And grassroots advocates are told to stay passionate while quietly drowning in sky-high bills in a world where everything is getting more expensive by the minute.
This movement is full of brilliant people who are broke. And it’s not at all because their work isn’t valuable, but because the reform space is structured in a way that is devaluing that work.
People Need Help — But They’ve Been Priced Out of Survival
When someone’s child is facing decades in prison, they don’t just need moral support.
They need help understanding (and paying for) transcripts, compiling records, filing FOIAs, drafting statements, contacting media, navigating public defenders, requesting video, writing complaints, advocating in Lansing, building timelines, documenting misconduct, and staying emotionally regulated through trauma.
That’s real work. Professional work. Time-intensive work.
But 90% of people who need it are already financially devastated by fines, fees, court costs, bail, travel, lost wages, and predatory systems designed to keep them unstable.
So what happens?
They get stuck. Their cases suffer. Their mental health collapses. Their children struggle. And their fight becomes a daily emergency.
The Reality Advocates Don’t Say Out Loud
This is the part that makes people uncomfortable: reform work is labor. Real labor. And it deserves real compensation.
When we pretend this movement can operate on volunteer energy forever, we create:
- A direct burnout pipeline
- A trauma pipeline
- A poverty pipeline
- A system where the loudest voices belong only to the people who can afford to work for free or are well-compensated.
That isn’t justice. It’s exploitation repackaged as activism.
We Absolutely CANNOT Talk About Justice Without Talking About Sustainability
If we want families to survive the system, if we want advocates to remain effective, and
if we want strong, safe, trauma-informed communities, then we MUST build reform work that doesn’t require people to bankrupt themselves or destroy their health to keep fighting.
Yes, it may be a noble fight, but it shouldn’t come at the cost of one’s ability to live and provide for their families. Even if you feed someone for volunteering, or offer an exchange of services or goods, that can be enough. Simply finding a way to return the favor and let people know they are valued.
No matter what, justice requires structure, resources, investment.
But more importantly, justice requires paying people, somehow, someway, for the work that keeps this movement alive.
