Not long ago, I met Commissioner Catherine Purcell of the California Board of Parole. She was the first member I ever met, and I was intimidated. To many inside, parole board members are killers of hope with too much power to deny us a second chance at freedom. 

But she said something that struck me. 

“Everything I think, everything I feel, everything I say, [and] everything I do should make me someone who’s a safe neighbor, coworker and friend,” she said, modelling a certain mindset. “Repeat this and apply this every single moment of every single day, and one day you will be released from prison.” 

As I listened to her, I started to challenge my assumption that parole board members are simply out to deny us our freedom. Purcell seemed genuinely concerned with our prospects. The more I heard, the more I started to feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time: hope and motivation. 

But there were even more profound reasons to be hopeful. Purcell was accompanied by two former lifers who had returned to prison to help run a new program, a 12-week crash course on introspection called RISE, short for Rehabilitate, Implement, Succeed, Excel. I was astonished to learn that “ex-convicts” were now eligible to return to prisons as teachers. 

“I remember when one’s own mother could not even visit her son if she was on probation for misdemeanors,” said Dexter, a resident who’s been imprisoned for over 30 years.

This unlikely scene was the result of a transformation underway in the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation. Officially called the California Model, this effort aims to improve recidivism and rehabilitation for incarcerated people by providing more enrichment opportunities focused on education, employment and mentorship from peers with experience in prison. 

This last point — “former felons” returning to prison to enlighten us — has been especially important to me. These are people who may have been denied jobs and educational opportunities because of their indeterminate sentences — as I was prior to the California Model era. And now they can return to prison as freed educators themselves? To me, that’s proof that with a focus on positivity, I have a chance to possibly give back as they do.

After RISE commenced, I was added to another program called Avatar, which has nothing to do with blue aliens, like the movie, and everything to do with film producer Scott Budnick (of “The Hangover” and “Just Mercy”) and his advocacy program. Budnick is the founder of the Anti-Recidivism Coalition.

The facilitator of the program — a man named Johnny, from the Sacramento area, who was working with ARC  — said he served about 16 years of a life-without-parole sentence. He was released over a year ago. Now he’s a new dad who returns to the same prisons where he was sentenced to die, armed with a curriculum of parole readiness. To meet someone who was in our exact situation who is now free, advocating for those of us still behind bars, was a source of hope.

Then, in May, a talent show was held with contestants and presenters who were male, female, incarcerated, free and, yes, at least one person who was a former lifer. Among the mostly musical performances by both residents and staff was a rendition of the classic song “My Girl” by the 70-year-old winner (and lifer) Willie Ray. Other presentations that stood out included a dance by poet and dancer Amiee Zanitz, and a motivational speech by former lifer Dejuan Lewis. 

Lewis went from a CDCR resident to a University of San Francisco honorary doctorate recipient who works with the Golden State Community Foundation and the Thompson Family Foundation. With these organizations and other partners, Lewis has helped create jobs for formerly incarcerated citizens. During his presentation, he said: “Every revolution throughout history started with someone just like you and just like me.” 

CDCR is not the same prison system it once was. Incarcerated people are being supported by people of every walk of life. Gone are the days, it now seems, when “life meant life.” Today, esteemed parole board members enter the gates with messages of advice and inspiration, rather than with seemingly predetermined decisions of rejections. And rehabilitated and released people are welcomed back inside to enlighten and inspire incarcerated individuals who attend the enrichment groups they facilitate. 

We in California prisons must make every effort to maximize the benefits of this opportunity. In other words, we must prioritize our rehabilitation in everything we think, everything we feel, everything we say and, of course, everything we do.