The Issue
More than seven million people move through America’s jail system each year, and on any given day about 660,000 are detained, many awaiting trial or sentencing. One in four lives with a serious mental illness, and nearly two-thirds struggle with substance abuse. As average jail stays have lengthened, especially after pandemic-related court delays, these environments have grown increasingly volatile for both inmates and staff.
For decades, solitary confinement has long been used to control violence inside jails. Yet research shows that isolation often worsens mental health, fuels aggression, and increases the likelihood of reoffending. Roughly 4.4 percent of incarcerated individuals are held in solitary confinement at any given time—a practice that often deepens harm instead of fostering rehabilitation.
Partnering with the Lubbock County Detention Center in Texas, LEO researchers are evaluating a program called Step Up—a therapeutic intervention that’s helping people in custody learn new ways to manage emotions, build community, and prepare for life after release.
A New Way Forward
Step Up is a voluntary waitlisted therapeutic program. It is an intense but short 14-to-21-week program focusing on therapy, structure, community, and accountability. Grounded in Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy (REBT), it aims to reduce acts of violence and bring substantive changes to individuals' behavior.
“Every morning at 8 a.m., our guys come out to a community room to prepare for class, work on their therapy homework or projects, and socialize with one another through games, art, and conversation,” says Kristina Luera, Rehabilitation Coordinator at the Lubbock County Detention Center.
One young man spent two years in solitary confinement. He was disruptive, angry, and always causing trouble. Step Up gave him a choice: join the program using a Behavioral Management Contract or go back to solitary. He joined. When he graduated from the program and later left for prison, he had become one of the most respectful people to live inside of the jail walls. The officers noticed it. Other inmates noticed it. Later, Step Up staff heard from people in prison that he’s still practicing what he learned.
Another participant in his forties didn’t speak much when he came to the Lubbock County Detention Center. He had been through other mandatory “checklist programs,” as he called them. When he started Step Up voluntarily, something shifted.
He had been in a toxic relationship with someone who used drugs, and this ultimately was what landed him in jail. Through the program, he started learning how to set boundaries. When he got out of jail, he used them. He had learned to love himself. He found work landscaping. He reconnected with his kids. Recently, he invited his rehabilitation coordinator to attend his two-year sobriety check-in as his support since no one else he invited was able to attend. He hasn’t been back to jail.
This handwritten letter by one of the graduates, from the prison he is now in, may sum it up best:
“I learned to understand why I acted out when I was young, and how learning how to forgive myself and others was just the beginning. Changing my way of thinking was challenging, but you never gave up on me. I try to teach others what I have learned, and many are interested. People want help but have nowhere to turn. Is there any way I could get an outline of your curriculum to help me teach others? Please, I know that if I can change, others can too. Your program was a blessing to me. Even my victim forgave me.”
Stories like these show that the saying “once a criminal, always a criminal” simply isn’t true. Many participants come from poverty, or they were abandoned by their families, or they were stuck raising their siblings, or they fell into the wrong crowd at an early age. In any other setting, they would receive therapy. Step Up brings that treatment inside the walls, and in doing so, changes what justice can mean.
What the Research Shows and Why It Matters
LEO’s evaluation of Step Up includes both a retrospective quasi-experimental study and a randomized controlled trial. The research compares behavioral and recidivism outcomes between inmates who participate in Step Up and those who do not.
Early results are striking. Step Up participants saw a 49 percent drop in behavioral incidents and a 50 percent decrease in assaults on inmates or officers. The greatest improvements appeared among younger participants, ages 18 to 30—those most at risk for violent infractions.
“The underlying philosophy is that although individuals experience negative events, it’s their interpretation of those events—not the events themselves—that leads to anger and violence,” says Mary Kate Batistich, one of the study’s lead researchers. “When people learn to reframe their thinking, violence decreases and pro-social behavior begins.”
The findings also reveal that rehabilitation can be both effective and efficient. The program costs about $618 per participant, while a single assault inside a jail carries an estimated public cost of $37,000.
If Step Up continues to show strong results, it could reshape how the nation thinks about incarceration: how people in custody are treated, what we expect from rehabilitation, and how communities build safety.
“Step Up is helping inmates transform themselves so that they have an exit strategy that works and a support system to hold them accountable,” says Luera. “By walking them to the door with skills, techniques, and the power of choice to live differently, they don’t ever have to come back.”
LEO’s work seeks to illuminate what works so others can follow. Because when people are given the tools to change their thinking, they can change their lives—and, in doing so, change the world around them.