For one hour Friday morning, Rep. Eric Murphy, R-Grand Forks, was “Chelsea” — a formerly incarcerated woman trying to make ends meet on $320 a week.
He had to use his resources wisely to put food on the table, pay rent, go to work and attend mandatory appointments like probation meetings or treatment services. Falling behind on his responsibilities could land him in jail.
“My anxiety is going up because of all this,” he joked.
Murphy and other state lawmakers gathered in the Capitol’s Memorial Hall on Friday for a reentry simulation hosted by the Department of Rehabilitation and Corrections.
The program is meant to mirror the obstacles people face after leaving prison and jail, said Liza Taylor, a probation and parole officer.
“When I have someone come out of prison or incarceration, they are scared to death,” she told officials.
The exercise comes as lawmakers are expected to vote on proposals this legislative session for addressing issues like jail and prison overcrowding, sentencing, housing scarcity and behavioral health. During his State of the State Address last week, Gov. Kelly Armstrong also announced the creation of a new cabinet position, the commissioner of Recovery and Re-Entry.
During the program, each public official was given a packet assigning them a name and criminal history, as well as details on their employment and housing situation.
Every packet also contained a chart giving them tasks to complete — like going to treatment or support groups, getting groceries or paying rent. Tasks were timed, and neglecting to complete certain responsibilities could send them to jail, the hospital or the homeless shelter.
Some participants started off without stable housing or pay. Some were given packets without state IDs, Social Security cards or birth certificates, which were needed in order to get other basic resources.
A random selection of officials were declared sex offenders, which came with extra responsibilities.
Rep. Brandy Pyle, R-Casselton, had to attend Alcoholics Anonymous and treatment early in the simulation. She had to draw cards to figure out whether or not her sessions were successful.
Her AA card told her she was kicked out of her meeting for being disruptive, she said.
Area nonprofits helped the Department of Corrections run the event, including F5 Project, Ministry on the Margins, Seeds of Eden, Face it Together and Community Options. Their volunteers — who ran a pretend bank, grocery store, jail, treatment center and other services — were intentionally hard on participants.
Jail was a row of chairs on the west side of Memorial Hall, right next to the House chamber. It was guarded by Reentry Program Manager Robyn Schmalenberger, playing the role of an officer.
Sen. Randy Burckhard, R-Minot, was sent to jail for alleged drug possession. He tried to plead his case with Schmalenberger.
“Someone gave me drugs, but I didn’t know they were drugs,” he said.
Schmalenberger wasn’t convinced.
"Do you know how many times I’ve heard that story?” she replied.
As the simulation went on, some participants started to trade resources with one another under the table. At one point, Rep. Greg Stemen, R-Fargo, found an abandoned transportation ticket on the ground.
“Anybody need one? Ten bucks,” he called out to his colleagues.
A number of officials were given baby dolls to take care of. If a participant was caught holding their doll incorrectly, volunteers would pretend to call Child Protective Services and send them to jail.
Toward the end of the program, Sen. Tim Mathern, D-Fargo, ended up with a doll in each arm.
“The state said the adoption center was full, so they put another baby in my arms,” he said.
Murphy eventually robbed the pretend bank, running down the hall with a wad of fake cash. After returning the money, he was sent to jail.
Jason Komrosky, unit manager for James River Correctional Center, ran the “chance” table.
Participants could go up to Komrosky and agree to commit a pretend crime if they were desperate for money.
Once they picked a crime card from his pile, they flipped it over to see whether their crime was successful. Unbeknownst to the participants, most of the cards said “jail” on the back, Komrosky said.
Unable to work with the cards they were dealt, many lawmakers ended up behind bars at least once.
The point is to get participants to realize why people end up caught in cycles of recidivism, said Kayli Richards, public information officer for the Department of Corrections.
“Your mind does kind of shift toward that mentality of, what do I need to do to survive.” she said.