San Quentin News’ fifth Forum featured San Mateo County District Attorney Stephen M. Wagstaffe. Wagstaffe and his assistant, Al Serrato, discussed criminal justice policy with about a dozen convicted criminals.
Introducing themselves, each inmate described his crime, county of conviction and sentence. Crimes ranged from burglary to first-degree murder.
“In December of 1997 I killed someone, and when I first came to prison, racism was widespread,” said Erin O’Connor, 42. “I bought into that idea and even went further into a racist ideology. I bought into these morbid ideas.”
O’Connor added, “It wasn’t until 2004 when I was in the hole for starting a race riot that got me thinking that I wasn’t the person my mother expected me to be. I decided to turn my life around. Then I came to San Quentin and got into programs.”
“I started at level four,” said Thompson Isaiah, 53. “When I became a member of the level four community, I learned racism. It was hard for me to take the racism in prison based on my background in college and the military. On a level four, hyper-vigilance is a survival technique,” he said. “I’ve learned to value life.”
“It turned out to be an eye-opening experience,” said Wagstaffe, who has 37 years of experience as a district attorney. He became San Mateo’s lead DA in 2011.
Serrato said at the April 9 event he was interested in the types of rehabilitative opportunities offered at San Quentin.
Serrato asked the men how long it took them to gain the insight they were reflecting during the forum. “Was it a lack of education, or did you need the time?” he asked.
“My greatest opponent was my rage,” said Beltranchuc Tare, 41. “It took me six months to see that I can turn my life around. I saw my friend change, and then I had a role model. Restorative Justice Roundtable allowed me to hear other people open up, and I learned about the pain that I caused. I knew that the victims deserved better. It helped me see my crime as what it is. I saw the ripple effect of my crimes.”
Miles Vaughn, 40, said, “It would [not] have worked when I was younger. I can see now how easy it is. When I was younger, I didn’t know how to express myself. It is hard to understand empathy when you’re in a negative environment. It wasn’t until I got to San Quentin that I had a chance to change.”
“When I came to prison in 1973, Tracy was known as the gladiator school,” said Robin Guillen, 60. “Being in Rome, I did as the Romans did. I adapted to that environment.”
However, Guillen said, “The pivotal point for me was right in the beginning of my 41 years of incarceration. A man I knew was stabbed in his heart right in front of me. I had to watch him die. It registered for me, the value of human life,” he added. “That was when Jerry Brown was governor the first time. There have to be opportunities for change.”
“Sitting with these men always is a flooring experience,” said Sonya Shah, lead facilitator for San Quentin’s Victim/Offender Education Group (VOEG). VOEG is designed to bring crime victims and offenders together in dialogue for the purpose of aiding victim healing.
“What makes a person thrive is being safe,” Shah said, referring to San Quentin’s prosocial programs. She added, “From sports to religion to college, these programs are what helps create the changes and opens the mind of the offender, which makes the community safer.”
Wagstaffe asked the men about the availability of programs throughout the prison system.
Miguel Quezada, 33, said he committed murder at 17. “I was sent to county jail. They didn’t know what to do with me, so I ended up in solitary confinement. When I turned 18, I was sent to a level four, maximum-security prison.”
“There were no programs there, just basic education,” said Quezada. “There were a lot of lockdowns. I did this for five and a half years. The only self-help program available was Alternatives to Violence.” He added, “Even though what led to my incarceration was a matter of choice, I needed the chance to change.”
Thou Nou, 38, said he committed a murder as a juvenile and ended up on a level four prison at 17.
“I came into prison not knowing my identity or who I was,” Nou said. “When I was young, I didn’t have someone to help me learn identity. I was disconnected, and after I got to level four, I was further disconnected.”
While in administrative segregation, Nou said his sister sent him a letter with his niece’s footprint on it. He said the sight of the footprint made him feel connected to his family. “That was the first time I felt what the victims went through,” he said.
Lee Jaspar, 57, said that after a long period of reflection and denial, he began to understand his role in the neglect to his family and community.
“I had a choice to either look at the ugliness that was going on around me or look at myself,” Jaspar said. “The only thing I had was to look at myself. I realized that life is not about me. It is about the people I owed, my community and family.”
Jaspar said what was helpful to his rehabilitation was when people from the community came inside the prison to interact in the programs he took.
“I made a commitment to take all my time and efforts in the service of my community,” Jaspar said.
“I don’t know the other 120,000 men in California prisons, but having the chance to listen to you is very meaningful,” Wagstaffe told the inmates. “I’d love to hear more from you. I’d like to come to any of the groups. I would love to hear about the programs. The time today was of extreme value.”