Oakland

Oakland bans the box for housing

March 12, 2020 by Alfred King

Oakland is the first city in the state to ban landlords from using criminal convictions to reject renters applying for private or public housing.

The City Council unanimously passed the Fair Chance Housing Ordinance that prohibits landlords asking about a previous criminal conviction or denying an applicant with such a record.

“This is incredibly timely, given our collective commitment and my personal commitment to addressing homelessness and housing in our city,” said Councilwoman Nikki Fortunato Bas, a co-sponsor of the ordinance.

It is routine for anyone applying to rent an apartment to have a background check conducted and often people with criminal convictions are denied. This makes it difficult if not impossible for a formerly incarcerated person to find housing, the Bay Area News Group reported.

Wayne Rowland, president of the East Bay Rental Housing Association expressed concern about the new ordinance.

“As rental housing providers, we have responsibility to provide a safe environment to residents, and a huge part of that is knowing the background of each applicant,” Rowland said in a written statement.

San Francisco and Richmond have similar ordinances, but those measures apply only to subsidized housing. Berkeley City Council is poised to vote on a similar ordinance banning tenant background checks, with similar measure being proposed for Emeryville and Alameda County, the story reported.

A supporter of these type ordinances, Margaretta Lin, executive director of Just Cities, said landlords still have access to credit reports, references and employment information – all things needed to determine if an applicant will make a good renter.

The Oakland ordinance does not apply to single-family homes, duplexes, triplexes and in-law units if the owner is living on the property. Roommates seeking to replace a roommate can use background checks to exclude a potential tenant.

A landlord can still look up a prospective tenant on the states sex-offender registry, but only after providing a conditional offer to the potential renter.

The new ordinance also exempts owners of government subsidized affordable housing like Section 8 to continue to use criminal background checks to comply with federal law. At this time, federal law requires landlords to reject potential tenants who have been convicted of manufacturing methamphetamine or are on a lifetime sex-offender registry.

Oakland can fine landlords up to $1,000 for each violation of the ordinance.

Personnel Spotlight: Former Counselor T. Dunckley

May 15, 2019 by Kevin.Sawyer

Many correctional officers have long, interesting careers. Some remain nameless and their stories untold. Counselor T. Dunckley worked for the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) more than two and a half decades. He worked in many capacities and retired in late 2016.

Dunckley was a counselor for 23 years; 21 of those years were spent working in the prison reception center.

In 1990, Dunckley started his career in the department as a parole agent. He holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in psychology from the University of California at Berkeley and started work on a Master’s degree at San Jose State University but did not complete it.

“Being a parole agent was an interesting job,” said Dunckley. “It’s a job for a younger person,” he said with a laugh, explaining how there’s more law enforcement work involved, “like chasing someone or jumping over a fence.”

Early in his career, Dunckley worked for Richard A. McGee (1971-1973) evaluating programs and writing research papers. McGee was president of the American

Justice Institute and the first Director of the California Department of Corrections from 1944 to 1961. “McGee kind of standardized things,” said Dunckley.

As a parole agent, Dunckley was assigned to work cases in West Oakland and Berkeley.

He supervised some high- profile cases; ones that gained publicity because of the notoriety of individuals’ criminal backgrounds. He said some of the parolees were involved in the drug trade, selling cocaine.

“One guy ran a crew for Felix Mitchell,” said Dunckley. Mitchell was convicted on federal charges for his involvement in Oakland’s drug trade and sent to prison in the 1980s. Shortly after, he was found murdered in his cell.

In 1992, because of layoffs, Dunckley went to work at San Quentin State Prison as a correctional officer. “It was kind of a shock to me because it was a big change,” he said.

Yet at the same time, he conceded that, “Coming here (San Quentin) was kind of a relief for me,” adding that his family thought it was safer for him to work in the prison than on the street. “They knew where I was and that I was coming home.”

In 1993, Dunckley started working in San Quentin’s reception center. He said reception has not changed much since the 1990s. “It was the same as it is today because inmate behavior is about the same.”

After leaving the reception center, Dunckley worked among general population inmates; then in intake for HIV positive inmates in the old M dormitory; on to administrative segregation as a counselor; and back to the reception center as a counselor.

“A counselor has a differ- ent role,” said Dunckley. “Officers deal with inmates more, but in a more structured way.” He said counselors interact differently with inmates than correctional officers because inmates voice different concerns with uniformed custody staff. He said, for example, in the housing units inmates may ask about a mattress, soap or a cell move. A counselor, how- ever, may have to field questions about transferring to an- other prison, a Board of Parole Hearings report or classification for a work assignment.

Dunckley says there are similarities working as a counselor and a parole agent, in that he sees the same inmates all the time as a counselor, and as a parole agent he saw the same parolees all the time.

Having worked as a local parole agent, Dunckley said he knew the families of some West Block inmates from Oakland and Berkeley. He said there was one inmate on his caseload who he used to supervise on parole. “He was a youngster back then,” he said. “He’s in his 50s now.”

While working for the department, Dunckley also served for 14 years as a job steward for his union, the California Correctional Peace Officers Association.

“I’ve probably read as many grievances as anyone in the state,” said Dunckley. He said union members raise many job-related issues ranging from safety concerns, workload, contracts, grievances and pay.

According to Dunckley, political and economic decisions create many of the changes in the CDCR. Some examples are Proposition 57, former Governor Brown’s response to a federal three-judge panel ordering the department to reduce its prison population, or the 1992 state budget cut that created the layoffs that caused him to shift from parole agent to working as a correctional officer.

Before retiring, Dunckley said his plans were to travel. He said he wanted to work out and take some college courses, perhaps focusing on Spanish and Italian. “I like to take language classes,” he said.

He’s no longer on the department’s payroll, but he’s not anonymous after wearing so many different hats during his long career.

A Mother’s Day never forgotten for Ayoola Mitchell

May 12, 2019 by Marcus Henderson

On Mother’s Day in 2010, Ayoola Mitchell’s middle son, D.V., was murdered in Oakland. His killer was never found.

Fifteen months before that incident, in January 2009, Mitchell’s oldest son survived 17 gunshot wounds. Again, the assailants were never prosecuted.

“After experiencing trauma and/or tragedy, you either become bitter or you become better. One thing for sure, you will not be the same,” said Mitchell, a long-time San Quentin volunteer.

Ayoola shares her experiences in various prison forums and rehabilitative programs directed at inmates who have committed similar crimes.

At San Quentin, she facilitates “Power Source,” a youth offender program, and “Making Time Count,” a program in Reception Center.

“Actually seeing a mother who lost a son to gun violence is impactful,” said Andrew Wadsworth, who heard Mitchell’s story when he attended a victim impact group meeting in the prison. “Now I understand what my victim’s mother is going through. I used to think that a mother would cry at the funeral, and that would be it.

“Now I know it’s hard for them to celebrate birthdays or holidays. I have to hold myself accountable for that,” said Wadsworth. “Just seeing Ayoola’s strength and ability to forgive is humbling. Her story helps me to be mindful that people you hurt are going through it.”

Mitchell has five surviving children, ranging in age from 15 to 40. She acknowledged that Mother’s Day will forever be a trigger for all of them.

“It’s a balancing act between the older and younger ones, when it comes to the manifestation of their trauma,” said Mitchell. “With the girls their trauma shows up in different ways. For example, my middle daughter does a lot of writing and Spoken Word.” For her sons, it’s a constant worry.

“I went through a period of time as a result of the trauma and tragedy where I was overly concerned with their wellbeing. This is called the trauma brain,” said Mitchell. “My whole world was changed, and how I perceived the world was different.

“I know 90 percent of the time that they are safe, but a tape in my head starts to play if they are out with their friends and I text and they don’t respond right away”.

“It’s even harder with my sons because they are Black men. They could get pulled over by the police and you start to wonder how are they going to deal with that? It’s a challenge,” she added.

Powerful memories of the death of her son can rush in, even while doing regular tasks such as shopping or driving past certain areas.

“I was taking my son shopping one day, we were laughing and having fun and we drove past Children’s Hospital of the East Bay, the hospital that saved my oldest son’s life. All these memories starting flooding in – I remembered sitting in the waiting room, waiting to hear the news,” Mitchell said, reflecting.

“I didn’t focus on arrests — my focus has always been on the healing of my family. I have been working within the criminal justice system since 1981. Because I know the system is flawed, I didn’t focus on arrest. However, that does not translate to condoning violence,” Mitchell added.

“Actually seeing a mother who lost a son to gun violence is impactful”

“It’s difficult because people don’t know what happened,” said Mitchell. “They just say ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ and ask, ‘so what did the kids get for you?’ I’m forced to decide if I should be transparent–which could, in turn, traumatize the person asking.

“Those who cause harm don’t think about the ripple effect of what they do,” continued Mitchell. “They weren’t thinking it was Mother’s Day and how that’s going to affect someone’s life forever.

“You have some people who say they are for prison reform until they get impacted. I have been doing this work long before I was personally impacted,” said Mitchell. “But I know for others who have been impacted it’s more complex.”

Mitchell said she grew up around law enforcement. Her father was a police officer with the San Francisco Police Department for 38 years. Her uncle worked for the same department for 40 years.

Ayoola on the board teaching a youth offender program

But it was her reading about activist and former UC Santa Cruz Professor Angela Davis that shaped Mitchell’s passion for social justice.

“I started thinking: what is this system really about if this educated, middle-class Black woman can get persecuted and prosecuted?” said Mitchell. “So I went to San Jose State and obtained a degree in Criminal Justice.”

Mitchell has had a long career working in the Criminal Justice System. She first came to San Quentin in 1984 when her church brought a group of teens to the SQUIRES Youth Program.

In 1987, she worked on her first Death Penalty case as an Investigator with the Santa Clara County Public Defender’s Office. In more than 35 years, Ayoola Mitchell has worked in many capacities.

Her goal is to reform the flawed system, to decrease the number of people America incarcerates and to reduce the length of time they serve.

“This is my ministry, working behind these walls, ” said Mitchell, who is a Christian. “God called me to do this work.”

Lifer: A play about former SQ resident Glenn Bailey

May 1, 2019 by San Quentin News Contributer

Playwright Dr. Ayodele Nzinga was already collect- ing stories of communities impacted by the carceral system when she met Glenn Bailey, in 2014.

She had just started work on “Beyond Bars: Growing Home,” a performance that explored how returning citizens processed the trauma of coming home, inspired by interviews with men recently released from San Quentin Prison.

Bailey had just come home himself, after serving 52 years inside.

His tale is remarkable in its own right. But Nzinga was quick to see how it fit into the larger story of a unique and mostly invisible demographic: Lifers, those Nzinga describes as “hav[ing] spent half a century, a quarter of a century, in the belly of the beast.”

Out of conversations be- tween Bailey and Nzinga, a book project began to take shape, as well as a play based on Bailey’s experiences called “Lifer.” The Lower Bottom Playaz, an Oakland-based theater company co-founded by Nzinga, first performed the play in January 2018.

For a group interested in exploring “what creates the potential for thriving in marginalized spaces,” “Lifer” was a natural fit. Nzinga said she’s invested in bringing

The cast of Life after the performance right way. It wasn’t easy. The pressures of prison are hard. I was blessed to have Bailey as a mentor.” He add- ed, “I graduated from college because of this man.”

The same lessons, they said, applied for returning home.

James, who now works as a reentry coordinator for Ta’leef Collective in Freemont and for San Francisco’s Bayview Senior Services ex-offender program, summed up the shared wis- dom. “People need support coming home,” he said with life changes large and small.

“They need to know how to work a cell phone. I just learned how to work an iPad, and I’m a case man- ager. I’ve been out for years, and I’m still learning how to come back after being away a long period of time.”

The event attracted a full house, including students from Concord’s De La Salle and Carondelet high schools. Speaking directly to the young people in the audience, James said, “What we need [is for you to] go get those degrees, come into the system and support those who are coming home.”

Mike Aquino, who teaches a criminal justice class for the two high schools, was enthusiastic about the performance. He noticed that his students responded differently to the play and spoken word than they did to other kinds of public events, including the Barbershop Forum.

“I really love the question-posing that art does around criminal justice,” Aquino said, “[it] can be a way to get students to think about concepts that talking to a person or reading an interview alone can’t really capture.”

In the coming months, as Nzinga continues to write Bailey’s life story, the conversation will move from the stage to the page, bring- ing the possibility of a new, larger audience into the next round of dialogue.

Advocacy group for the incarcerated finds home in Oakland

March 9, 2019 by Timothy Hicks

An organization established 40 years ago to advocate for incarcerated and formerly incarcerated people recently relocated to Oakland, reports Carla Williams on oaklandnorth.net.

“If we don’t protect Oakland, we won’t have an urban community to call our own,” said Dorsey Nunn, executive director of Legal Services for Prisoners with Children (LSPC). He was referring to the fact that Black people now make up only 4 percent of the population in San Francisco.

“We lost San Francisco, but we have the opportunity to do something great here in Oakland,” Nunn said.

LSPC was based in San Francisco until the organization bought a building across the bay as its permanent location.

The organization is staffed with the formerly incarcerated and family members of those who are currently incarcerated. Nunn is also a formerly incarcerated man who served more than 10 years in prison for a robbery/ homicide committed at age 19.

One of the employees, Oscar Flores, said he thinks the reason why the group lasted these 40 years is its power in leadership.

According to Flores, the LSPC answers every letter it receives from inmates. The organization assists inmates with litigation or finds an attorney to help with legal affairs. Flores added that they also help people get information about child custody, divorce and, if people have children, parents or guardians who leave the country, they can help with locating them.

Williams reported that in 2017, the group helped sponsor the bill AB 412 that became law to help protect low-income people who fail to appear in court from a penalty fee that could have charged them more than $300.

“So much history takes place over 40 years,” Director Nunn said. “I think that LSPC is evolving in a good way.”

To celebrate their 40-year anniversary, the organization hosted a sold-out event at the Scottish Rite Center in Oakland. Guest speakers at the event included Marc Lamont Hill of BET News, Vonya Quarles of Starting Over, Inc. and Michelle Alexander, author of The New Jim Crow: MassIncarcerationintheAge of Colorblindness. All three advocate for alternatives to prison and say imprisonment is not the only form of punishment that can be used.

Journalist Hill emphasized, “We’ve got to get rid of this idea that justice means punishment…and for too many of us punishment means confinement.” He continued, “Our ultimate goal can’t be a world where cops get locked up for killing us. It has to be that cops are demilitarized and disarmed so they can’t kill us, so prison does not become our end goal.”

Law enforcement and prisoners come together in Barbershop Dialogue

November 15, 2018 by Juan Haines

Participants in the Barbershop Dialogue speaking in San Quentin’s Protestant Chapel

Law enforcement personnel and incarcerated men met in San Quentin’s Protestant Chapel on Sept. 21 for a first-of-its-kind forum. The idea came from the 2009 New Year’s Eve killing of Oscar Grant by a BART police officer.
Jack Bryson’s two sons were with Grant. “That incident made me become a community organizer,” Bryson said in an interview with San Quentin News. “But when I got into the community and met with the people call- ing themselves working to bring justice to Oscar’s death, I didn’t like what I was seeing. Everyone had their own agendas.”

Bryson became frustrated.
“They didn’t have Oscar Grant in mind; they had other kinds of grants on their minds,” Bryson said regarding people and organizations seeking to take advantage of Grant’s death.
Seeking a solution to the cankerous relationship between the police and community, Bryson sought people he knew in the police department—the first person was Lt. Bobby Hookfin. They built a level of trust. Then Captain Michael Carroll got involved.
Carroll wanted to do something about people of color committing crimes and ending up in prison. But he needed help.

“So I brought in people impacted by crime,” he said. “People returning to the community—a variety of people working toward the goal of reducing crime.”
Two years ago, KTVU Channel-2 reporter Paul Chambers aired the first Barbershop Dialogue. Since then, seven San Francisco Bay Area cities, as well as Santa Rita Jail and two juvenile facilities, have held forums.
San Quentin’s forum had an audience of more than 100 inmates, about a dozen formerly incarcerated men and women, as well as several district attorneys and police officers.

Chambers made it clear, “everyone is not going to agree, but we’re going to be respectful.”
He opened with, “When law enforcement officers go home they are a part of a community. We’re all a part of the community.”
He added, “When you get out of San Quentin, we want you to be a part of that community.”
Chambers asked San Quentin News Executive Editor Richard Richardson, “Why is it important to have the San Quentin Barbershop Dialogue?”
Smiling, Richardson said, “Simple—to just set the record straight and address the importance of revealing our growth.”
Bryson began the dialogue by giving an emotional testimony as he named people murdered in Oakland—not by police officers. He was troubled that the only time there was outrage was when the police killed someone.

Barbershop forum co-founder Jack Bryson

“Why is that?” he questioned.
“I think that it’s important to have this conversation to move things forward,” Bryson said, regarding senseless killings in the community.
Several formerly incarcerated people gave their reasons for participating in the dialogue.
Darris Young, incarcerated 26 years, spent 10 years at San Quentin. He joined the Barbershop Dialogue to “bring some respect and clarity” to the conversation.
“I thought that it was inconceivable at first, but these people had a great amount of respect for me, because I had respect for myself,” Young said, referring to law enforcement personnel.
He suggested that people who return to the community should “get involved.”
“The young folks need our guidance,” he added.
Seventy four-year-old Glenn Bailey spent 52 years of his life incarcerated— more than a decade in San Quentin. Bailey released from prison in 2014, now spends Sunday evenings re- turning to San Quentin as a volunteer, mentoring lifers in how to present themselves to the parole board.

Bailey said he “felt very comfortable talking to law enforcement people at the Barbershop Dialogue.”
Bailey, however, admitted, “I was in the room for about an hour before I knew that I was in with law enforcement.” Chuckles followed the comment.
Trina Burton was incarcerated for 10 years .
“Thanks to Jack (Bryson), I was able to be involved in the community,” Burton said. “Getting resources is hard, especially for women.”
Aly Tamboura, formerly incarcerated, addressed the inmates:
“Rehabilitation starts with rebuilding your families out there,” Tamboura said. “Get involved with your community by taking the deep dive that you’ve taken in here.”

Demond Lewis speaking with Paul Chambers

Demond Lewis, currently incarcerated, asked, “How do we break the cycle of children following their parents to prison?”
Lewis said he recalled going to family visits, between the ages of five and nine, to see his incarcerated mother. He said that his daughter is “caught up in the criminal justice system.” She is charged with the same crime as her father and is facing 25 years to life.
Lewis is serving a sentence of 209 to life for assault with a deadly weapon.
“It’s not a mistake that we made to come to prison. We broke the law,” Richardson said. He added that the first step toward change is being accountable for your past actions.

Chambers said that he was impressed, “Everyone at San Quentin took responsibility for what they did. Everyone said, ‘I messed up and took responsibility.’”
Jill Klinge, a 31-year veteran assistant district attorney from Alameda County, talked about the county’s restorative justice program—it uses formerly incarcerated people as mentors. She said she wants to have a better understanding of how self- help programs work in order to make informed parole recommendations.

Alameda county Deputy DA Jill Klinge

“In order to know about inmates you have to come in- side to prison to get to know the person for who they are,” said Monique Thomas, a volunteer in one of the self-help programs at San Quentin.

Klinge responded, “We realize that people are more than their files. That’s why we’re trying to learn about programs. But, I don’t want to compromise what I do as a professional.”
Her overall message was to get into programs and stay hopeful.
Carroll brought up the Santa Rita Juvenile Youth Opportunity. The idea is to give youngsters a “real” experience of what it’s like inside of a jail. He said the program’s challenge is get- ting more children of color involved.
Chambers said positive contacts with law enforcement take away some of the stereotypical stigmas that young people of color have developed over generations.

Bryson said last year, the Richmond forum had the biggest impact.
“In the beginning, community members came in with an attitude of hating the police,” Bryson said. “But after talking, they began putting aside their differences, and by the end they were shaking hands and agreed that the meeting made the community better.”
The results after two years of the Barbershop Dialogue—27 people from Bay Area counties have applied to police academies, with eight patrolling the streets.

Paul Chambers speaking to prisoners and community members in the San Quentin Protestant Chapel

—Timothy Hicks contributed to this storyhttp://sanquentinnews.com/conference-restorative-justice/
http://sanquentinnews.com/optionb-org-support-group-overcoming-effects-incarceration/

Conference applies restorative justice principles

San Jose Earthquakes shake it up at Quentin, 4-1

San Quentin News & Wall City Merchandise

Raising awareness California’s ‘Life Without’

June 13, 2018 by Marcus Henderson

Audience of more than 100 at the CCWP rally in Oakland

More than 100 advocates, family members and friends chanted, “Drop LWOP, drop LWOP, commute all 5,000!” at an Oakland town hall on March 24, denouncing California’s use of life without parole sentences, also known as LWOP.

The California Coalition for Women Prisoners (CCWP) hosted the event to educate the general public and raise awareness about the state’s LWOP policies. California has approximately 5,000 prisoners serving life sentences without the chance for parole, according to the CCWP press release.

“We believe that all people in California serving the inhumane LWOP sentence should be commuted to parole-eligible, allowing people a chance to go before the parole board,” said Adrienne Roberts, who works for CCWP and led the discussion at the event. “Ultimately, LWOP is a living death sentence and needs to be eliminated from the penal code,” added Roberts.

In the penalty phase of cases involving “special circumstances,” the defendant sometimes is sentenced to life without parole instead of the death penalty. But CCWP members argue that LWOP is really worse than a death sentence. (The state presently has around 750 persons on Death Row.)

“Tennessee is 17.1 percent Black, but Blacks make up 69 percent of all drug-free school zone offenders…” REASON Magazine, January 2018

Terah “Sage” Lawyer, Ny Nourn and June Lee — all formerly incarcerated women — shared their prison experiences and gave insight into the LWOP community at Central California Women’s Facility (CCWF) in Chowchilla and California Institution for Women (CIW) in Corona.

“For me, to speak my truth is helpful,” Nourn told The Fire Inside, CCWP’s newsletter. “I just want to help the next person.”

“64% of California’s jail population is awaiting trial or sentencing as of December 2016.” Most remain in pretrial custody because they cannot afford bail. Jail Profile Survey, http://www.bscc.ca.gov/

Nourn was released May 2017 from CCWF after serving 16 years for a crime she said she did not commit, according to the newsletter. Nourn was convicted of first-degree murder and sentenced to life without parole. She appealed her case by submitting expert reports stating that she suffered from Battered Women’s Syndrome. Nourn was then resentenced to 15 years to life.

After Nourn paroled, her ordeal was not over. Upon release, she was immediately detained by the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and held in a detention center to face deportation proceedings. Nourn was born in a refugee camp in Thailand after her mother fled the war and genocide in Cambodia. They eventually came to the U.S. five years later as refugees.

At her deportation hearing, Nourn testified that her former boyfriend was still threatening to kill her, and with the state of corruption in Cambodia, he can have her killed there for about $100. Nourn and her supporters believe she will be much safer in the U.S.

“Black and Brown people are disproportionately sentenced to LWOP, revealing prosecutorial bias and racial discrimination,” said Ivette Alé of Californians United for a Responsible Budget (CURB). “Of the nearly 200 people serving LWOP in California’s women’s prisons, the overwhelming majority are survivors of abuse, including intimate partner battering, childhood abuse, sexual violence and sex trafficking.”

In addition to speakers, the audience heard audio clips from women serving LWOP produced by CCWP’s “A Living Chance” storytelling project. There was a question and answer period with the panel.

The audience then broke into smaller groups that focused on topics such as Strategies to Influence the Governor and Using Social Media in the Campaign.

73 percent of Alabama is within a drug-free zone, defined as extending three miles from schools, colleges and housing complexes and resulting in a five- year enhancement. REASON Magazine, January 2018

“People took away ideas for how to plug into the work and where their place is in the fight against LWOP,” said Roberts. “I think people were moved by seeing and feeling the emotional impact that LWOP has on individuals, families and communities.

“I think people took away a better understanding of what it means to be sentenced to LWOP and the very limited options that people have for possibilities of freedom,” added Roberts.

At the event, CCWP and CURB advocates commended Gov. Jerry Brown for commuting the sentences of 14 people and pardoning 56 to mark the Easter holiday. Among them were seven serving life without parole. The commutations included three people in women’s” prisons, two serving LWOP.

“These unprecedented commutations indicate that the governor recognizes that people have the capacity to change, grow and be rehabilitated, which an LWOP sentence denies,” said Roberts. “We are hopeful that over the course of his last year in office, Brown will continue to grant pardons and commutations, especially to the thousands of people serving LWOP sentences. Such a bold stance could serve as a model for commutation and sentencing reform throughout the country.”

Hearing the news of the Easter commutations, advocates became hopeful that LWOP sentences in California could be dropped for good, said the press release.

“We are extremely humbled by Governor Brown’s act of grace,” said a group of women at CCWF, said the press release. “We have believed and persevered through despair, and now we feel that a miracle of hope is transforming our lives.”

After the event, guests took commutation postcards to distribute and many others committed to joining letter-writings campaigns of the Drop LWOP and A Living Chance Storytelling to End Life Without Parole.

“if y’all think I did it…just give me a lawyer, dawg, ‘cause this is not what’s up.”Warren Demesme said during police questioning.The Louisiana Supreme Court held that this reference was too ambiguous to count as a request for counsel.REASON Magazine, January 2018

http://sanquentinnews.com/optionb-org-support-group-overcoming-effects-incarceration/

LWOP – life without the possibility of parole

https://sanquentinnews.com/game-theory/

Retired NFL Player Devon Still visits SQ

March 20, 2018 by Rahsaan Thomas

Just weeks after Defensive Lineman Devon Still retired from the National Football League at 28 years old, he visited San Quentin State Prison to record an episode for his new podcast, Undefeated.

Undefeated features the stories of people who overcame huge obstacles.

Alexandra Diaz, Charlie Todd, Anna Pons, Devon Still, Corey Pinkney and Tamara Reyes

Scheduled for the first season is Curtis “Wall Street” Carroll, whose TED talk received more than 2.8 million views.

“His TED talk caught my attention,” Still said. “I work with a lot of people who are trapped mentally. To see someone in prison so free—you can always find the good in any situation as long as you change how you think.”

Still proceeded to interview Carroll, digging into his upbringing on the streets of Oakland.

Carroll shared that his mother and grandmother were addicted to drugs, so no one held him accountable as he ran the streets. His peers praised him for committing crimes, and he eventually landed in prison. Once incarcerated, he took an interest in the stock market. He was motivated to learn to read in order to study the market. After making money on his first successful trade, he began to see himself as a financial wizard and so became one. His focus evolved to teaching financial empowerment and emotional literacy to others.

On Jan. 12, Still walked through the Lower Yard with Charlie Todd and Corey Pinkney—two friends of his from Wilmington, Del., where Still was raised, to visit Carroll’s class.

The day ended with Carroll interviewing both Still and Todd before 70 students at the Financial Literacy class. Pinkney, of House of Visionz, helped video-record the events.

Still commented, “To see this kind of turnout at Wall Street’s class—that’s motivating to me. That changes the way I look at life.”

When Still was interviewed, he spoke of the pivotal event in his life: A week after he and his wife were baptized, doctors diagnosed his daughter with cancer.

Still gained notoriety when he walked away from the Cincinnati Bengals to be by his 4-year-old daughter’s side. The distraught 6-foot-5 man cried in front of his teammates and on camera. He couldn’t focus on football and had to break away.

In sharing his pain, he created a movement not only about his daughter’s life but also for other kids fighting cancer. Showing his vulnerability created an atmosphere where people felt safe enough to share their traumatic experiences on his social media pages.

Selling his jersey raised more than $1 million, and the Bengals re-signed him, just so he could have medical insurance for his daughter.

Ultimately Still received an Espy award for his work for children with cancer.

He returned to the football field as a Houston Texan while his daughter’s cancer was in remission. Early in the season, he ripped a ligament in his foot, which required screws. While healing, he contemplated his next move.

Injuries had haunted Still his whole career. At Penn State, he blew out his knee. Doctors thought he wouldn’t make it back, but he did. As a Bengal, he dislocated his elbow. Once healed, he then blew out his back in a game against the Steelers. Next, he suffered from blood clots.

“Nothing was going right,” Still said. “I worked hard to get to that level but never got to enjoy it.”

After he healed from his fifth major injury, he decided to retire and use what he learned as an athlete to be a motivational speaker with his own business called Still in the Game.

“I grew up thinking football was the only way to make money, but I don’t have to beat my body up,” Still said. “If I didn’t go through the injuries, I would still want to play. But with the injuries, how could I beat up my body living my dream and take away from my kid’s dreams?”

Still spoke about how football prepared him to be a motivational speaker and help save his daughter.

”Basically … every lesson we learned in sports we can apply in life,” Still said. “That’s what I taught my daughter. She didn’t know how to beat cancer. Football was conditioning me to think a certain way. I conditioned my girl to think like an athlete, and it worked.”

His daughter is in her third year of remission. The experience has brought Still closer to God.

He went on to say that you must prepare your mind for the success you want so when your chance comes, you will be prepared to accept and make the most of that chance.

“Don’t make these permanent decisions because of temporary circumstances,” Still said. “I had to put in 13 years of work for no money to make it to the league. Players play until the clock hits zero.”

Later Todd told his story:

While a college football player, Todd showed out at his pro-day before scouts. That night he celebrated by drinking at clubs in Philadelphia. When he left the party, a car flipped over and smashed into him, breaking his leg. It took him a year to recover, but the injury ended his NFL dreams.

He realized he couldn’t rehab with a typical resistance band because of his injury. Todd, a personal fitness trainer, designed his own attached to a vest, and he mass markets it under Total Resistance.

“Once I found what my true calling would be, I didn’t care about football,” the CEO/co-owner said. “After that, I put the same energy into the fitness lifestyle. People can make millions of dollars by selling water bottles, by convincing you that their water bottle is better than your water bottle.”

Todd mentioned that he Googled San Quentin before arriving.

“What you see on TV clearly ain’t real to me now,” Todd said. “Now that I kind of see what’s going on, I knew it. I met people 10 times smarter than me; I’m feeling stupid. I just want to listen.”

Still valued himself over the money he made playing football.

“Trump has said he made $600 mill one year and to all his friends that wasn’t a lot of money and I’m risking my body for $2 mill,” Still said. “We risking our body and it’s their entertainment.

“I grew up thinking football was the only way to make money, but I don’t have to beat my body up. We think football is a career, but it’s an opportunity. What can I do to make sure I’m making this kind of money when football is over? It’s believing in yourself.”

Addressing his audience, he urged, “You have to train your mind to be outside these walls. If you don’t have a plan, you are going to be right back here.”

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