In its earliest form, in 1829, the “modern American'' prison’s stated goal was for inmates to experience repentance. Within 10 years it became a mechanism to criminalize the poor, and by the late 19th century our current system began taking form. The elite began using the criminal justice system, legislature, courts and prisons to continue a system that maintained power and oppression. A series of laws criminalized being a person of color, being poor, having an addiction or holding political views contrary to those in power. Yet, as recently as the 1970s, fewer than 200,000 people were in prison. Since then, the prison population has exploded to nearly 1.5 million. Our prison system continues to disproportionately lock up Black and Brown people (Black men are 5.8 times as likely to be incarcerated as white men). Despite recent reductions in crime and prison populations, the U.S. maintains the highest incarceration rates and the largest incarcerated population in the world. 

Today, our systems ostensibly have the goal of rehabilitation and release, as written in the CDCR mission statement. But how the system tracks and defines “rehabilitation” is opaque. There is no consistent standard for parole boards to assess an individual's redeemability. And we pay little attention to how we as a society reintegrate people who have served their sentence and are deemed ready for release back into our communities. 

Damon Cooke has worked as a paralegal, a master computer programmer, the founder of an award-winning Toastmasters leadership team, a podcast host and a newspaper editor. Recently, he co-founded a nonprofit organization called The Uncuffed Project, that assists people released from prison after a lengthy sentence transition back into free society. Damon accomplished all of these things while serving more than 30 years in California prisons. In 1993, at the age of 23, Damon was convicted of attempted murder after shooting a friend during an argument. Though his victim recovered and Damon had no prior criminal history, he was sentenced to 11 years to life. Had he accepted the plea bargain offered to him, he would have been released after 11 years with no parole, but 31 years later, Damon remains in prison. Why? 

“It's about the work that I put in to get a parole date. 10 years. Nothing. And then some guy drops a note…”  —Damon Cooke 

Damon has gone before the parole board 14 times, armed with his accomplishments and pages of support letters from CDCR guards, program leaders, inmates and his family. He has had no gang involvement or serious violations while in prison. His since-retired prosecutor has personally appeared at every hearing to oppose his release, and “confidential informants” have provided injurious information only to have it withdrawn following the hearings. Not until December 2021 was Damon deemed suitable for parole. But he continues to live behind bars, awaiting the governor’s approval of the decision — the same governor who recently vetoed bill SB1064, which would have disallowed using “confidential informants” in parole hearings. Damon’s experience begs the larger questions: Namely, how does his continued incarceration serve us as a society? How are the decisions about parole being made and who is making them? 

Crime rates have decreased over the last two decades, yet the number of people serving life sentences has significantly increased. Life with the Possibility of Parole allows offenders to become eligible for parole on paper, yet they are rarely granted their freedom. Parole boards are tasked with assessing each individual’s risk to society and more often than not find offenders unsuitable for release. A lack of transparency in the process makes it difficult to know exactly what factors were considered in specific instances, but in Damon's case, rather than assessing his growth and rehabilitation, the board reassessed the original offense and relied on a "public safety" argument to deny parole. Were they motivated by the politics of being soft on crime? Recidivism data shows that those who serve long sentences for violent crimes are the least likely to reoffend. Often those who commit the most serious offenses are youthful offenders, and after aging for years in prison, less than 1% of people released will recommit a violent crime. Yet those who are shown to be least likely to reoffend are the most scrutinized, face the most opaque parole process and are the least likely to be released from prison. 

How we make decisions about who can parole is critical. The Prison Policy Initiative assessed the fairness and transparency of the parole processes in all 50 states and gave scores of F or F- to 36 U.S. states, rating only one state with a B and no states earning an A. Imprisoned people can spend decades with few to no new infractions, successfully engage in rehabilitation programs, gain numerous accolades and develop high-level educational and job skills, yet still not be considered redeemed year after year. We as a society must ask, to what end? Are there clear markers or indicators we can apply fairly to each person in order to determine if they have been redeemed through serving their prison time? 

Once released, how do past offenders move beyond the mental and emotional walls of the prison? In some systems, newly released prisoners received $50 and a set of new clothes. Who will be there to receive them, to help them reintegrate, to help them find a job and housing? To help with the often overwhelming transition of being completely under the control of the prison system to making all their own decisions again? Those on parole also face formidable structural barriers or legal disabilities imposed by the law as a result of a criminal conviction. Also known as collateral consequences, there are thousands of limitations imposed, from social services to restrictions on employment, educational resources and housing. So we ask our OZY Community, how should people receive redemption? Once we are satisfied they have paid their debt, what do we as a society owe them? Shakespeare’s eloquent monologue in The Merchant of Venice about “the quality of mercy” comes to mind. How much room for mercy exists in today’s penal system?

Several Scandinavian countries take a very different approach to justice and prisons from the United States. Norway, Finland and Sweden leave politics largely out of the discussion and place reform in the hands of professionals. Many (but not all) prisons in these countries are loosely policed and take a more humane approach to treatment, even with serious offenders. Yet their crime and recidivism rates have been drastically lower than those of the United States. Prison guards in Finland actively participate in rehabilitative programs. In the U.S., “North Dakota and Oregon have been front-runners in implementing Norwegian-style reforms,” said Brie Williams, director of Amend: Changing Correctional Culture, a nonprofit based at the University of California San Francisco. It appears to be working, as North Dakota has successfully lowered its recidivism rates.  

Redemption is defined as the action of gaining or regaining possession of something in exchange for payment or otherwise clearing a debt. Imprisonment is meant to square that debt. But at  what point has that debt been paid? We have no consistent societal or judicial parameters to make that threshold clear. Parole is often simply words on paper, and release from prison offers only partial redemption: The debt is still paid through lack of rights, support and social services. So how do we decide who is redeemable and what redemption entails?

The question of who is redeemable requires a larger community conversation with a number of stakeholders. We should consider how much influence each stakeholder has in deciding if and when a serious offender should be released. Worthy of discussion are some of these important questions:

The system is the beast that it is, but it is our society, our communities and our families that need to consider redemption. Are there acts so heinous they are irredeemable? Or are we giving in to fear and vengeance?

Some argue that sexual predators are irredeemable. Is Bill Cosby, who used his power, celebrity and wealth to sexually exploit women less redeemable than the local pimp who uses his charisma, control and money to sexually exploit women? Is a child molestor ever redeemable? What if she was 12 when she molested a baby? What if he is diagnosed with a mental illness or a developmental disorder?

And what about murderers? Can a killer be redeemed and how do we decide?

Cyntoia Brown killed a man who was sexually exploiting her when she was 16 years old. She was sentenced to life and her first parole hearing would have been 50 years later, when she would have been 67. But the community rallied around her and her sentence was commuted after 15 years. Is that fair? Who decides?

Central to the discussion of forgiveness lies root questions of justice and the impact on the victims and victim’s family. It can be surprising (and even inspiring) to hear  the stories of those who have committed serious crimes and are forgiven by their victims or their victims’ families. 

This is a complicated — and costly issue — one that asks us to think deeply about our personal and societal values, the social constructs that lead to incarceration — including institutionalized poverty and racism — the impact of violence on communities and individual families and not just the victim’s family. But we should also consider what we know about human nature, the potential for people to change, the power of forgiveness and grace. Perhaps it’s time for a paradigm shift in how we view incarceration and those who commit crimes.

A community-psychologist who focuses on connecting faculty and students with community, justice and social issues, Dr. Deanna Cooke has 20 years of experience working toward educational advancement, health, wellbeing and reducing mass incarceration.

A retired big city police sergeant, Cynthia Cooke St. Ange is currently a university Civil Rights Investigator. She recently joined the consulting consortium Equity Rising as they work to influence law enforcement agencies to reimagine how policing is done through a lens of social justice and equity.

Cynthia and Deanna have been working to support their cousin Damon Cooke’s effort to be released from the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation.

We want to hear from you! How do you think we should measure successful rehabilitation? Join the conversation and share with us on FB, IG, Twitter with the hashtag #ElevatetheConversation #OZY #Redemption #CriminalJusticeReform. Write to us at: OzyCommunity@ozy.com and take our poll.