MINNEAPOLIS -- Marla Thao has a binder of diplomas and a criminal record.
There's her associate of science degree, an office support certificate and her paralegal degree. She got them while serving seven years for promoting prostitution of teenage runaways.
Some of her classes in the Shakopee prison cost just $10. But those cheaper opportunities are drying up, and soon the funding behind them will be gone.
Congress didn't renew the "Specter" funds, named for correctional education advocate and former Sen. Arlen Specter, for 2011 or 2012. As the leftover money runs out over the next year, some prisons will lose a chunk of their courses; others will have to turn away more inmates. With tight budgets, college for convicts is often an easy cut to make.
Numbers show that college education makes an ex-convict less likely to wind up back in prison. Corrections officials and sociologists say the long-term gain of fewer criminals outweighs the cost of educating convicts. But with the Specter cuts, prisons nationwide have to look at other options, The Minnesota Daily reported ( http://bit.ly/Azt6nl ).
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"I'm not a pessimistic person, but I don't see this one coming back any time soon," said Stephen Steurer, executive director of the national Correctional Education Association.
"We're cutting our own throats."
Minnesota prisons got about $150,000 a year in Specter funds for inmates to take college courses over the past decade. Most of that went to partnerships with Minnesota State Colleges and Universities, which provided class materials and teachers. When that funding was cut, the state's Department of Corrections had carryover from previous years to get through this year.
But the DOC doesn't know where the money will come from for next year.
"It's an important program, and we're going to do what we can to try and keep it continuing," said George Kimball, director of adult education for Minnesota prisons. Spokeswoman Sarah Berg said the DOC is looking at alternatives.
The same is true for prisons around the nation.
In West Virginia, courses will be cut in half or worse, said Fran Warsing, superintendent of the Office of Institutional Education Programs there. West Virginia used to get about $100,000 a year in Specter funds.
"There's no money," Warsing said. "They did away with Pell grants and now they've done away with this."
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Pell Grants -- federal financial aid based on student need -- were once available for inmates. Back then, inmates could study much more extensively -- some even worked toward doctorate degrees. But Congress ended prisoner eligibility to those grants in 1994 as part of the "tough on crime" era.
About a third of state prisons nationwide offer post-secondary education, according to a 2009 study.
"I'm not a bleeding heart liberal. Some people need to be locked up," said Don Kiffin, president of the Correctional Education Association. "But a lot of these individuals, they can return to society and be very productive in society."
Kiffin also oversees education at an Oklahoma prison, and he's down to his last semester of funds. His prison got $7,000 to $10,000 a year during the Specter era. He had about $3,500 left over for this semester. Next semester, he'll have pennies -- if anything.
"I have a lot of people coming to me that want to go to school and (are) wondering why I can't give them money to go," Kiffin said. "I have to pick, choose and refuse."
In Minnesota, Marla Thao, 29, took history of rock and roll, principles of psychology, math, interpersonal communication and other courses during her seven years behind bars. She had given birth to her daughter three months before going to prison and knew that an education would help turn her life around once she got out.
"Education was a really big piece of my journey," she said. Thao now studies social science at Metropolitan State University in Minneapolis.
"If I hadn't taken the classes I probably wouldn't have any goals."
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In many ways, taking classes behind bars is like any other college. Students must apply to get in. Professors come each week to teach. There's homework to do and papers to write.
But getting in is partly based on an applicant's discipline or behavior record, and papers are often handwritten.
Right now, eight of Minnesota's nine facilities offer 11 total courses. The classes are full with about 25 students each, Berg said.
"You're getting these people that are way less likely to go to college; they're obviously undereducated," said Shannon Watson, who has taught courses at the Stillwater prison.
Minnesota prisons give colleges about $5,000 to bring in a professor and class materials.
Restrictions on inmates who can use Specter funding reflect the purpose: helping former inmates fit back into society when they're released. Specter money isn't used for people imprisoned for serious sex crimes or "lifers," like murderers. Offenders must be 35 years or younger and within seven years of release.
A big argument in favor of college in prison is economic. It costs $83 a day to keep an inmate locked up in Minnesota, and studies show that classes have reduced re-incarceration rates.
"It's common sense that we would like the individuals that are released to become tax-payers instead of tax-takers," Kiffin said.
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And it does more than get offenders jobs, experts say -- it can change their outlook on life. Kiffin said that prisoners' behavior often improves if they're taking classes.
He let one inmate take two classes this semester. The man is well-behaved in the prison and had a good academic record.
He was so grateful, he told Kiffin, "Man, I'll give you a kiss."
Many of the prison education programs have carryover funds from previous years to keep classes afloat as they look for alternatives for next year.
Classes will still be available for some, but more prisoners will soon have to pay full tuition themselves. Many won't be able to afford it.
"If you don't provide that kind of stuff for them," Thao said, "then they're just going to go back out there and go back to what they know and commit more crimes."