Post # 278
By Emily Stewart, Associate Editor and a Lead Researcher with the University of Alberta Prison Project
Within the System is a new blog series that shares the realities of people navigating courts, custody, and community release. Based on fieldwork from the University of Alberta Prison Project’s re-entry study – a multi-year project exploring how people experience incarceration and transition back to the community – the series centers the voices of those who move through the justice system, who are too often left out of public conversation. Through these stories, we hope to highlight broader patterns in how the system works and is experienced, helping bridge research and public understanding in ways that are accessible and grounded in everyday reality.
This first post follows Corey to explore what happens when we prioritize punishment without providing meaningful support – and what it really costs us.
Meet Corey, a 34-year-old man who, like many others I’ve spoken with, has been stuck in the revolving door of remand custody – cycling in and out of jail.
When we first spoke, Corey was serving a sentence of 45 days. He left prison with no plan, no housing, and no referrals. Like many others, he was put on a 10 pm shuttle that dropped him off downtown with a bus ticket and the items he had on him when he was arrested.
We caught up on the outs about a month or so later. He had reconnected with family, who helped him secure a spot in treatment – support that many don’t have access to. He seemed hopeful. “I’m ready to get my life together,” he told me.
When Hope Meets Reality
But adjusting wasn’t easy. A couple weeks later, he called me from the remand. “I’m in this time for stealing a pair of flip-flops,” he said as he laughed in disbelief. “Isn’t that crazy?”
When I asked what he found most challenging on the outs, he said, “Umm, do you want to know? Adjusting to normal routine and going to bed every night.”
He explained: “It was hard because I’m so used to like being up for four or five days straight, running around the streets smoking pint [meth], you know. […] Literally staying up for five days straight and sleeping for a day and doing it again. So, when I’m at my brother’s, everyone’s in bed at 10 o’clock. He’ll give me the remote, and everyone will say goodnight. I’ll be searching Netflix and chilling, and then it’ll be like 11 o’clock, and I’ll be like, ‘okay, I want to try to train myself to be like these, to be like normal people.’ I told myself, at midnight I’m going to bed. So, at midnight, I shut the TV off and I actually go to my bed – say my prayers and go to bed. But I’m lying there until 3 or 4 in the morning, until the sun comes up, and it’s hard. Like my mind doesn’t adjust. My body’s not compatible with it yet, you know? That’s the hardest part, going to sleep every night.”
This reality is often missed: it’s not just about making better choices. It’s about trying to unlearn habits and routines that come from substance misuse, instability, and time on the street.
Even something as seemingly simple as going to bed at night can feel impossible when your mind and body are accustomed to a different lifestyle. When basic routines don’t come easily, it’s hard not to feel like you’re failing, like you’re not normal, or like you’ll never be able to make it work.
When the Right Help Doesn’t Come
Corey said he lasted about two weeks in treatment before leaving. When asked what happened, he said, “It was a nice place […] but I’ve got demons. I was battling my demons… and I just, I went Awol.”
As we talked about what might have helped him, he paused and said, “If staff had pulled me aside, took me for a breather, sat with me, maybe smudged. I just needed more aggressive help at the start, you know?”
Then, adding something I wasn’t expecting, he said, “It’s kind of crazy now that you brought it up. I’m not mad that you did, but it’s crazy. Because now I’m kind of sadder that I did take off. At least that shows I care. That I still have a heart, you know?”
It was a rare moment of vulnerability. Corey knew the treatment centre was nice, that he had support, and that he tried. But when someone wants to get better but doesn’t have the right tools or support, it can become even more challenging.
He returned downtown, back to what he knew. Two weeks later, Corey was breached and charged with theft – for stealing a pair of flip-flops. After sitting in remand for two weeks, he was sentenced to 30 more days.
Now Here’s the Math:
According to Statistics Canada, in 2022-2023, it cost approximately $193 per day to incarcerate someone in Alberta’s provincial system – the lowest daily cost in the country. In comparison, British Columbia spent $401 per day and Ontario spent $367.
Two weeks in remand + 30-day sentence = 44 days total, or roughly $8,492.
His earlier 45-day stay? Another $8,685.
This means that in just a few months, we’ve spent over $17,000 incarcerating Corey.
Where does that money go? Yes, food, shelter, and a uniform, but that’s about it. There’s minimal programming and activities, no therapy, and little to no reintegration support.
So, when people like Corey are released, they often walk straight back into the instability that brought them in – back through that revolving door. And when that fails, we often only point the finger at him.
A System Built Without Support
None of this excuses the harms caused by some of Corey’s actions. However, how many times can we blame the individual before we ask ourselves: what is – and isn’t – the system doing to support individuals leaving provincial custody?
It also forces us to confront a hard truth: lasting change isn’t just about individual willpower. It requires real, consistent, and meaningful support – support that is often hard to find.
Across Canada, housing, addiction supports, and other programming exist, but they’re severely underfunded and largely inaccessible. While Corey was fortunate to have family that helped him access treatment, it wasn’t enough. He lacked the kind of individualized, trauma-informed support he needed to stay in treatment.
Corey’s not the exception – he’s the rule. A large proportion of individuals cycling through our remand centres aren’t there for serious or violent offences. They’re there because they’re poor. Charges are overwhelmingly linked to poverty, homelessness, and substance misuse. For too many, jail is the only place they can access a bed, food, or even detox – however temporary or limited that support might be.
The Reality is Hard to Ignore
We’ll spend $8,492 to jail someone for stealing flip-flops, but we won’t invest that same amount to help them stay out.
Until we invest in people instead of punishment, we’ll keep pouring public money – your money – into jail cells, one pair of flip-flops at a time.
This post is part of Within the System – a blog series sharing real experiences from people navigating the criminal justice system. Posts are based on fieldwork from the University of Alberta Prison Project’s re-entry study – research that is supported by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada and approved by the University of Alberta Research Ethics Board (Pro00152091).
About this blog: The John Howard Canada blog is intended to support greater public understanding of criminal justice issues. Blog content does not necessarily represent the views of the John Howard Society of Canada. All blog material may be reproduced freely for any non-profit purpose as long as the source is acknowledged. We welcome comments (moderated). Contact: blogeditor@johnhoward.ca.
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