I put hope on layaway 12 years ago when I was convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole. Since then, I have always been annoyed by people who tell me to “have hope” that one day I will get out of prison. The reality is that this almost never happens. Another term for a life-without-parole sentence is “death by incarceration.”
For that reason, I am skeptical of any rumors of laws that will change my circumstances. I’ve always said that this hearsay means nothing until I have documents confirming my freedom in my hand and signed by the governor. To me, no hope has always been better than false hope.
Which is to say, I almost didn’t show up to the most recent LWOP event at Richard J. Donovan Correctional Facility in California, hosted by Heidi Rummel, a former prosecutor turned LWOP advocate. However, my friend and fellow writer, Cooper, intervened. He urged me to go, suggesting the event would make for a good article to restart our defunct prison newsletter.
So at noon Nov. 6, I went to the gym to see for myself. Our gym is laden with murals of sports stars like Stephen Curry and team logos like the San Francisco 49ers and Dallas Cowboys. Among the sports art is a mural of Bob Marley, who doesn’t have much to do with athletics but has everything to do with perseverance.
There was a table full of single-serve bags of chips and cookies along with Gatorade and bottled water. The session was open to all individuals with an LWOP sentence; nearly 120 people turned out. The mood was focused and curious but still cautious. Hands shot up with legal questions as soon as the floor was opened.
“I’m standing here to tell you that you have a real chance at a second chance,” Rummel said. “I know it can be very difficult to hold on to hope, but I wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t real this time. The work is hard. It’s hard, it’s uncomfortable, but do it for yourself.”
Rummel is petite and blonde, and clearly an intellectual and a civilian. But during the event I noticed that she speaks like one of us. She utilizes our slang and references. She’s acquainted with old-school prison culture.
She referenced the “pine box days,” when the only way out of prison on a LWOP sentence was in the pine coffins used for prisoners. She acknowledged how far we’ve come.
“When I started, if you had a victim’s family show up to your hearing, you wouldn’t be granted parole. Now, if the victim’s family is there or not, it doesn’t change the rate,” she said.
Rummel has been around for a long time and this makes her easier to trust and believe. She’s not just some outsider.
That’s largely because she has run the Post-Conviction Justice Project at University of Southern California’s Gould School of Law for the last 20 years. In the Post-Conviction Justice Project, students represent people serving LWOP at parole board hearings and commutations. Since 1981, the project has helped more than 25 people sentenced to life without parole gain their freedom and helped another 200-plus get parole hearings.
During her talk, Rummel discussed a series of bills and laws aimed at creating a “second look” for incarcerated individuals. Many of them directly impact individuals who were sentenced or committed their crime as juveniles. One of these laws, California Penal Code 3051, made it so that any person who was under 18 at the time of their crime and sentenced to LWOP is eligible for a youth offender parole hearing during their 25th year of incarceration.
I did not commit my crime as a juvenile, but there is still a law that could apply to me. California Penal Code 1172.1 allows for a sentence to be “recalled” or modified based on postconviction factors like a clean disciplinary record, rehabilitative efforts and other “evidence that reflects that circumstances have changed since the original sentencing so that continued incarceration is no longer in the interest of justice.”
Ernesto V., who has been incarcerated for more than 20 years with an LWOP sentence, said Rummel’s talk was informative. “There were a lot of us who weren’t aware of the changes.”
Judge Steve White of Sacramento County Superior Court also spoke at the event, offering further hope. He was formerly the inspector general of California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation and the elected district attorney of Sacramento County.
“A lot of judges in the resentencing courts get so many requests that they automatically deny the request without looking at the merits of the submission,” White said. “I’m going to set up something in Sacramento where we at least review the file instead of just denying it without review.”
Richard J. Donovan Correctional Facility Warden Rafael Acevedo also spoke to the group. “When those charges happen, where do you want to be?” he asked. “Do you want to be ready to go through that door because you have everything ready to go or do you want to start late? The work starts with you, that’s where you have to find yourself.”
Frank P., who has been incarcerated for over 30 years, said he appreciated that the speakers displayed “a sense of responsibility and understanding.”
After the event, I thought perhaps it was time to throw off my mental chains of self-defeat. I left a little less cynical and with the intention to spread my newfound optimism.
