Pedro Collazo says he was denied a rental apartment because the landlord had a ban against people with criminal records. (Pedro Collazo selfie)

There’s been a lot of bipartisan talk lately about criminal justice reform. But action is slow.

Too slow for Pedro Collazo, dangling in a web of collateral consequences.

He did 12 years in New York’s Sing Sing prison on manslaughter charges after a beef went bad at a bar where he was a bouncer. He was 22. He has been home nine months and has a good job that allows him to care for his 16-year-old son and 12-year-old daughter.

But “home” is an elusive concept for Collazo, who sleeps on a relative’s couch.

Although he completed his incarceration while earning an associate’s and bachelor’s degree, Collazo is serving a life sentence. Like millions of others, he is bound by a multitude of laws and regulations prohibiting ex-felons from a broad range of activities, notably many employment and housing opportunities.

“The most recent attempt to secure an apartment was the most overt form of discrimination I have experienced thus far,” he said, recalling his attempt to get a place in Queens. The landlord told Collazo that “he does not rent to anyone with a criminal history. I asked if there were any types of acts or if it was all, and he replied that if there was any form of criminal history he would not rent. I … did not return.”

There are more than 48,000 prohibitions, mostly among the states, but almost 1,200 at the federal level, according to an American Bar Association database. They form what Marc Mauer, executive director of the Sentencing Project, calls “invisible punishment.”

This everlasting retribution is particularly hard on African Americans. Studies show black people are treated more harshly than white people at every stage of the criminal justice process. To its shame, the United States has less than 5 percent of the planet’s population and but almost 25 percent of the incarcerated. More than a third of the prisoners are black, more than a fifth Hispanic. Every year, more than 600,000 inmates are released, according to the Justice Department, many not realizing that their punishment continues.

These bans “harm the life prospects of individuals with a criminal conviction long after they’ve completed serving their sentences,” said Mauer, co-author of “Invisible Punishment: The Collateral Consequences of Mass Imprisonment.”

“The limitations posed through barriers to employment, housing, public benefits, and the right to vote in effect mark these people as second-class citizens,” he added. “Not only does that harm their life prospects, but it’s counterproductive for our overall public safety goals.”