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On a November afternoon in Merrill Hall, six women walk into a ����ԭ�� classroom. They're not guest lecturers with advanced degrees. They're currently incarcerated at the Northeast Reintegration Center (NERC) in downtown Cleveland. And for the next couple hours, they'll share their stories—unfiltered, unflinching and deeply human—with students who are beginning to imagine careers in law, corrections, social work and justice reform.

It's the kind of learning experience you can't get from a textbook. And for Professor Susan Kunkle, Ph.D., who spent 35 years working inside the justice system before joining ����ԭ��'s Department of Sociology and Criminology, it's exactly the point.

"These guest speakers bring lived experience and insight that challenge assumptions and deepen our understanding of the justice system," Kunkle said. "When we engage directly with justice-involved populations, we begin to dismantle the myths—often judgmental and misleading—that obscure the realities of incarceration. This program offers students an unfiltered understanding of what the loss of freedom truly entails."

From Inside the System to Inside the Classroom
Kunkle knows the justice system from every angle. A ����ԭ�� graduate herself, she worked in corrections before accepting an opportunity to teach in the very department where her own sociology education began. "It just seems like such a full circle," she said. "I started here and now I'm ending my career here."

Her expertise is corrections—and her passion is showing students that the work isn't about punishment, it's about rehabilitation and reintegration. Each semester, she collaborates with the Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Corrections to bring women from the Northeast Reintegration Center to campus. Students in her Women in Crime & Justice course design the brochure, promote the event, moderate the discussion and participate fully in what becomes a powerful exchange.

The women who visit share their crimes, their sentences, their regrets and their aspirations for life after custody. Some are mothers who gave birth in prison. Some came from two-parent households and made choices they never imagined making. Some survived domestic violence, addiction or poverty that created pathways to incarceration they couldn't escape.

"Don't think that you have it under control," Teresa said. She is incarcerated for felonious assault after years of drinking escalated into violence. "When you're drinking, your life is over. Prison has saved my life."

What Students See—And What Changes
For Sydney Jacobson, a criminology major who graduated in December, the event shattered assumptions she didn't even know she was carrying.

"Inmates are humans and we make mistakes, and it's not fair to be like, 'Oh, they're an inmate and a terrible person,'" Jacobson said. "Unfortunately, some of them were brought into a bad situation and unfortunately, they got incarcerated."

What surprised her most was how much contact the women maintained with their families—phone calls, video visits, family nights at the facility, even special programs like Angel Tree and Christmas Miracle that allow incarcerated mothers to wrap gifts for their children and celebrate together.

"I couldn't imagine being a parent or a kid having a parent in prison," Jacobson said. "I would want to be with them all the time. Hearing their experiences with how frequent they get to talk with their kids and the events they have—I was surprised, but very happy with how much they do."

Elena Sevinsky, a senior double majoring in criminology and psychology, served as the event's emcee after attending the previous year as a student.

"It taught me about myself, that I can get up in front of the class and do that,” Sevinsky said. “I've never done anything like that.”

But what struck her most was hearing the women discuss sentencing disparities.

"Listening to them talk about how their sentencing would have been different if they were a man or a different race—that was validating what we're learning in class," Sevinsky said.

In small-group conversations after the formal panel, students sat at tables with the incarcerated women, sharing pizza and building connections that humanized a system often understood only in the abstract.

"It was really interesting," Jacobson said. "Hearing their story one-on-one, getting to know them personally and knowing what their situation was and how much prison has impacted them and helped them improve on themselves—that kind of made me think. Prison isn't exactly a bad thing for people. It could help people go on the right path."

A Partnership Built on Respect
The event wouldn't be possible without Deputy Warden Dionne Eslick, herself a 1993 graduate of ����ԭ��'s sociology program, who has organized this partnership with Kunkle for a decade. NERC is a minimum-security facility housing 450-600 women who have worked their way down from higher security levels—some starting with sentences of 50 years or more.

"I think it gives the students a new perspective, unlike what they may see on television," Eslick said. 

"I tried to bring people who had crimes like DUIs because some college students like to drink," Eslick said. "So, it's basically to give them the idea that they don't want to be here. But also, they might have family members in prison and I want them to know that you don't have to treat everybody bad. We're here to make people better."

Eslick's advice for students considering corrections careers is direct: "If you are pursuing a career in corrections then you should want to help rehabilitate, not to punish people. You should know that it could be you. And know that when they get out, they could be your neighbor. So, you want to treat people the right way and you want to give them all the resources that they need to be successful."

Stories That Stay With You
The women who spoke represented a spectrum of experiences. Summer, who has been incarcerated for over seven years, started at a maximum-security prison and earned her way down to NERC, where she obtained a culinary arts certification, CDLs and HVAC credentials. She said she will be going home in a few days to reunite with the daughter she gave birth to in prison—now seven years old.

Gloria, serving four years for arson, credits incarceration with helping her escape a violent ten-year relationship. She completed a recycling apprenticeship, works as a senior dog handler, plays violin in the prison music program and is halfway through a paralegal course.

Shanika, nearly a year into a three-year sentence for drug trafficking, serves as a liaison in NERC's Compass Way normalcy unit—a program unique to NERC that features refrigerators, Keurig machines, contemporary furniture, street signs instead of hallway numbers and doors on bathrooms.

Their advice to students was consistent: Know your gut. Leave when something doesn't feel right. Don't use drinking or drugs to mask pain. Respect your own boundaries. It could be you.

"Just know that if we had the chance to change things, we would," one woman said in closing. "Nothing we've done, no amount of money, the thrill or whatever was worth where we are now away from our loved ones."

The Lesson Kunkle Wants Students to Remember
For Kunkle, the event is about more than exposure—it's about transformation.

"This is an opportunity to engage in a neutral setting with people who at some point in time, if they continue their career, they're going to have to interface with," Kunkle said. "I hope that they were able to recognize that there are a lot of different personalities that we deal with inside the system. They all have a uniqueness about them. We have to tap into their uniqueness and learn how to work and communicate with them if we want results."

After the formal program, students, corrections officers and the incarcerated women gathered in a conference room to share food and conversation—a moment of connection that, Kunkle emphasizes, highlights the dignity and humanity of those impacted by the justice system.

"It reminds us that education, rooted in empathy and truth, has the capacity to reshape perspectives," she said.

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Media Contact: 
Jim Maxwell, JMAXWEL2@kent.edu, 330-672-8028