Berta Garcia Discusses Fighting for Her Son Danny Trevino's Freedom Serving 16-Year Sentence for Cannabis

Stephanie Shepard • March 6, 2024

Berta Garcia emerges as a beacon of resilience, courage, and unwavering love. Her life took an unexpected turn when her son, Danny Trevino, found himself in the unjust web of federal cannabis charges, leading to a staggering 16-year sentence. Berta's journey is not just a personal struggle but a testament to the broader impact of outdated drug laws that continue to affect countless lives.


As we discuss Berta's life raising her son and now as a caregiver to his daughter, her granddaughter, we uncover a narrative that goes even beyond a mother's love. It's yet another story that challenges the very foundation of cannabis laws in our society and should continue to force us to question a  justice system that perpetuates such lengthy sentences for non-violent offenses.


Don't turn a blind eye to this emotional journey as we shine a light on Berta Garcia's fight for justice, her advocacy for reform, and the impact of draconian drug policies on families across the nation. This is not just Danny's story; it's a call to examine the structures that have led to the incarceration of tens of thousands of individuals for crimes that are increasingly being reconsidered, reevaluated, and rejected by this country as incarceration-worthy.


In the following pages, we'll explore Berta's unwavering determination for the release of her son, the secret to keeping the faith to continue to fight, and the hope she carries for a future where families aren't torn apart by outdated laws. Berta Garcia's story is a testament to the strength of a mother's love and the urgent need for change in our justice system.


Last Prisoner Project: Thank you Mrs. Garcia for taking the time to speak with me and sharing your heartbreaking journey. Your advocacy for your son Danny Trevino has been such an inspiration. Could you introduce yourself and share what you have been fighting for? 


Berta Garcia: My name is Berta Garcia. I am the mother of Danny Trevino, who is serving a 16-year sentence in federal prison for cannabis charges.


Last Prisoner Project: When did you realize that the boy you raised was somewhat of a legacy legend in Lansing? Some even referred to him as the “Professor of Pot”. At what point did you realize how influential Danny was in the community?


Berta Garcia: I was not aware of my son’s influence, passion, and legacy for the cannabis industry until I started to see such a huge following in his social media network, as well as other media outlets.  I would only be made more aware when my son was charged, tried, and convicted that I realized what a huge role my son played in the cannabis industry.


Last Prisoner Project: Danny was very involved in the fight for legalization in Michigan. It’s important to remind the legal industry that If it weren't for people like Danny, there would be no legal industry.


Berta Garcia: Danny was very involved in the fight for legalization. He was a tremendous part of the rallies, not just organizing and speaking, but also funding out of pocket. Billboards that he paid for promoting the industry and working to pass the cannabis referendum in 2008 to make it legal. My son, Danny saw the medical needs of the people who came from all walks of life. When it became legal and passed overwhelmingly he was enthusiastic to share his knowledge with the people who believed in and would benefit from the medical plant. Years later, when he was in federal court I sat there in horror as they persecuted my son. The prosecutor presented to the jury a sandwich size baggie with marijuana that allegedly was seized in one of the over 30+raids and now 5 years after the fact a story recently published article heading GIANT POT FARM JUST A MISDEMEANOR, COURT SAYS. Where is the justice in that? Aren’t we one country, with one set of rules?


Last Prisoner Project: You called Danny one of the most honest people you know, while he was going through the legal process, did you have any advice for him?


Berta Garcia: I advised him to have faith in the judicial system, to let his attorney tell his, my son’s truth. A challenge presented itself, my son had to personally tell his truth and take the stand to defend himself. In retrospect, I wish I could say I gave him sound advice. Our judicial system, I feel is in theory only. Not everyone is treated equally.


Last Prisoner Project: Danny is your only son and the oldest of three children. Can you share a bit about how you raised Danny and his sisters?


Berta Garcia: When I was a child, I knew when I grew up and became a parent, I was not going to swear at or around my kids and I was not going to allow them to swear in my house. So that's why my kids don't swear…at least, not in my household. Not in my presence. I grew up going to church and raised my children in church. Before Danny went to prison, he taught his daughter to pray. She would kneel next to him and they’d pray. And even though he isn't with her, she still prays every night. I've worked all my life. My children did not work in the fields, but my family did. My dad had us work in the fields in the summertime, and he would say, “If you don't want to work in the fields all your life, you have to get your education. You have to go to school”. I instilled those values in my children. I got married right out of high school. I do have some college, but I don't have a degree, but both of my girls do. My son did some college but he never got his degree. He felt another path was right for him. I have 6 sisters and 3 brothers, family is all he has ever known. His surroundings were his aunts and uncles that have gone to college. So he knew his expectations. I always told the kids it's not IF you're going to college, it was you ARE going to college. That was not an option. My daughters graduated from Catholic schools. I had to work the Bingo games so that I could have a break on tuition. My son did not have an interest in that. To be honest, I don't know if I could have afforded three children in a Catholic school, but I would have managed. I would borrow money and then pay it off and borrow money, pay it off.


Last Prisoner Project: So being raised in the church with a good family, how did Danny's incarceration impact the family?


Berta Garcia: Danny has two sons, and a daughter eldest son is his son in every aspect, despite biological differences. His younger son was in his twenties when his daughter was born. My son was over the moon, as he always wanted a daughter to love and to spoil relentlessly. She was his princess and he was her “Papi”. He had 50/50 custody of his daughter and when he was incarcerated, I was given dual power of attorney over her. She is loved and I am always reminding her of how much her Papi loves her and how much I am fighting for him to come home to us. Our family has been fractured by my son being in prison. It has broken his family, creating issues that they are still unable to resolve.  Before he left he told them “I know you’re going to fight, but take turns apologizing. Don’t keep track of who did what, you have to stay together.” So yes, it has been extremely sad, and difficult.


Last Prisoner Project: So it's safe to say that your son was kind of the glue that kind of kept everybody together, and his incarceration has put a break in that closeness?


Berta Garcia: Oh! He's always asking me, “Mom, have you heard from my kids? Have you seen my kids?”  My son reserved Sunday to hang out with his daughter. He would take her to Macy’s department store and treat her to whatever clothes she wanted and then they would go to their favorite restaurant. He misses her tremendously. Now he has a fractured family and is helpless to do anything about it because of his incarceration.


Last Prisoner Project: Sentencing is one of the most difficult parts of the process, because you have yet to start your time, and you're just learning what your future or your proposed future will look like. So when Danny was sentenced, how old was his daughter?


Berta Garcia: My son was convicted in late August and had the weekend to get his affairs in order. His daughter was 3 and was turning  4 on September 11th, so we had an early birthday celebration for her so that her Papi could be part of it. We were driven to Grand Rapids where he would have to surrender. The media was there and there were photos of him saying goodbye to her. One is a picture of her running to her papi. She cried and cried and maybe she knew what was happening, maybe she didn’t. Perhaps she was reacting to my emotions. She understood something was happening, but at her age, I don’t know that she fully understood that her Papi was being taken away from her. Before surrendering, he held her in his arms and said “I’m going away and I won’t be here for a bit”, but what exactly does “a little bit” mean in the mind of a three-year-old? She didn’t know if that meant days, weeks, months, or years!


Last Prisoner Project: Now that she's gotten a little bit older, does she understand it more? Does she understand what prison is? Does she understand why he's there, and what does she say about that?


Berta Garcia: He explains to her that he did not do anything wrong, but they said he did. She told him she was writing a letter to President Biden and my son told me not to guide her letter writing, let it be her thoughts and words. In the letter, she wrote to President Biden. She wrote, "My dad had stores, but everybody else has stores too. He's sorry if he did something wrong”. She knows that prison is a place that keeps him apart from her life. She knows it’s unfair too.


Last Prisoner Project: The most effective letter is when it comes from the heart, no matter what it sounds like, and it sounds like she has made her mind up to advocate for her Dad.


Berta Garcia: She wants to bring her dad home, and whatever it takes she will say. When we pray, we ask. God to bring her Papi home. That's what she calls him. Papi is Daddy in Spanish. She recently told me about an incident last year, when she was in the second grade. I guess somebody must have found out that her dad was in prison and a little girl that she hung out with took her aside, and she asked her if her daddy was in jail.  She told me "All of a sudden I just started crying and crying, so hard that my body was shaking.". Of course, I immediately wanted to protect my granddaughter and asked if the little girl was trying to be mean because I was going to speak to the teacher about it. She said she didn't know, but she didn't think so because the girl was her friend. I think she just wanted to comfort her after finding out about her dad. She said that she just cried and cried on the playground...and then she was okay. Things like that continue to impact her because it’s a reminder that she can’t be with her Dad. I don’t want her to think her dad did something wrong. 


Last Prisoner Project: Do you get to visit Danny? Is your communication mostly video chat, phone, or writing?


Berta Garcia: We've gone to see him a couple of times. The first time we drove five hours and when we got there they told us that visits were canceled because of covid. I had confirmed the visitation the previous day, but they just apologized. We went another time and we were able to visit for one hour because of COVID-19. It was his daughter’s first time seeing him since he’d been incarcerated, but he had to be six feet away, and we couldn't hug him. We went again recently and were able to visit longer and hug.


Last Prisoner Project: How did you feel having to leave the facility after the anticipation of finally being able to see your son, and you had to leave?


Berta Garcia: Disappointed!  And heart broken but my heart broke for my little granddaughter. She didn’t cry when we had to leave, she just covered her face with her hands.


Last Prisoner Project: Mrs. Garcia, you have become very active in speaking out for the release of your son. As a mother who did the best you could raising your son, who felt he was providing a service for those who needed it, what would you say to President Biden about the continued incarceration of people for cannabis?


Berta Garcia: I read that it costs the Federal Government $40,000 a year to house a person in prison. If there are roughly 2,900 people in Federal prison at $40,000 a year. It’s costing the federal government 116 million dollars a year to keep them in prison! We the people, the taxpayers, are funding this injustice. Distribute that money to schools and to teachers who deserve it, don’t use it to incarcerate victimless cannabis prisoners. As a parent, President Biden knows how it feels when your son is being targeted and what injustice feels like because of his own experiences. Why doesn't he reach out to the Doj and say “Let’s get these people home!”


Last Prisoner Project: He doesn't even have to reach out to the DOJ. He has the executive power to right this wrong himself. He doesn't have to ask anyone. He can sign an executive order releasing all Federal cannabis prisoners today if he wants to.


Berta Garcia: Oh, my gosh! I did not know that. Then I’d ask President Biden to please send my son home! Send everyone’s sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, and brothers home. Keep your promise that “Nobody should be in prison for marijuana.” Think of the thousands of families that you can reunite with just the stroke of a pen.


Last Prisoner Project: And that's the really sad part. Mrs. Garcia, thank you so much for opening up about the difficulties of keeping your family together in the face of such adversity. LPP will continue to support you in the fight to reunite your family.

By Stephen Post June 13, 2025
As families across the country come together this Father’s Day, thousands of children are spending the day without their dads—not because of violence or harm, but because their fathers remain locked away for cannabis-related convictions. In many cases, these men are serving long sentences for conduct that is now legal in much of the United States. Despite cannabis being decriminalized or fully legalized in the majority of states, the human cost of prohibition continues to devastate families—especially those in historically marginalized communities. These are fathers raising their children through prison phone calls and video visits, relying on letters and photographs to stay connected while missing birthdays, report cards, and everyday moments. Behind every sentence is a story. And behind every prison wall is a child wondering why their dad can’t come home. Daniel Longoria is one of those fathers. A U.S.-born, Hispanic man serving a 30-year sentence for a nonviolent cannabis offense, Daniel has not seen or held his children in years. The pain of distance, separation, and injustice weighs heavily on him. He shared the following: “When a Dad has not seen his kids, held his kids and who's son no longer speaks to him because I am over 1,000 miles away from home without a good cause puts such a heaviness in my heart that if I did not have God to turn to, I might have probably already ended my life. My son has now been diagnosed with Mental Behavior Disorder and has attempted suicide three different times. These things as a Father kill me inside because I was a great Dad and my kids loved me, and so Father’s Day is really hard to celebrate anymore. How can I celebrate this day, when I know my kids are struggling out there because of a plant that many states are now making millions, if not billions, of dollars off of it? I have also become a grandfather of two and have yet to meet them. I keep the faith and remain strong in the Lord. One day, I pray to be home and this nightmare be over.” Daniel’s experience is not an isolated one. At Last Prisoner Project, we work with dozens of fathers currently incarcerated for cannabis convictions—men who are missing milestones, parenting through prison walls, and holding on to hope for freedom. These dads include: Terrence Pittman – Father of five, serving a 30-year sentence Rollie Lamar – Father of six, serving an 18-year sentence Antoine Turner – Father of three, serving a 13-year sentence Malik Martin – Father of six, serving a 10-year sentence J’lyne Caldwell – Father of four, serving a 5-year sentence Vinh Nguyen – Father of two, serving a 6-year sentence Rendy Le – Father of two, serving a 5.5-year sentence Sean Scott – Father of one, serving a 5-year sentence Sean Scott’s story is particularly heartbreaking. A former Division I football player and successful real estate entrepreneur, Sean is serving over half a decade for a nonviolent marijuana offense involving nine kilograms and a legally owned firearm. While he remains proud of his past and hopeful for the future, he’s devastated to be missing out on his two-year-old son’s life. “This is my third time away,” Sean said. “And it’s extremely difficult to just watch my son grow and miss another holiday with him.” His fiancée is raising their son alone while also caring for Sean’s elderly mother. Sean is one of many fathers who should be home—not behind bars for something legal in so many parts of the country. Then there’s Rendy Le, a father of two, who reminds us what’s at stake. “You can always make money—but you can’t always make memories,” he said. “Cherish the good times.” It’s a sentiment echoed by every man we work with: time is the most precious thing they’re losing. Despite all this injustice, we also see the other side—stories of reunion, resilience, and redemption. Bryan Reid is one such example. After serving six years of a 12-year cannabis sentence, Bryan is now home and rebuilding his life with his children. “When I went in, my son was just one and my daughter was three,” Bryan told us. “I missed every first and last day of school. But now? Now I’m their sports dad, Santa, and biggest fan.” In the 15 months since his release, Bryan has made new memories—picking his kids up from school for the first time, visiting trampoline parks, and watching his oldest daughters graduate college. “Watching them grow into strong, independent women and seeing how hard they’ve worked for everything they have is nothing short of incredible,” he said. “It was an honor to stand beside them.” Bryan’s return to fatherhood, though hard-earned, is a reminder of why we fight. No one should be separated from their children over cannabis. No child should grow up wondering why their father is in prison for something now sold legally in dispensaries across the country. This Father’s Day, let’s do more than celebrate. Let’s commit to changing the laws, freeing the fathers, and reuniting families. Join us in advocating for clemency, resentencing, and restorative justice—for Daniel, Sean, Rendy, and the thousands of others still waiting to come home. Want to help this Father’s Day? Share their stories and donate to support our work! Bryan Reid Enjoying Freedom
June 12, 2025
Wednesday, October 15 at Sony Hall in New York City Notable Guests Include Carmelo Anthony, Calvin “Megatron” Johnson, Dr. Wendy & Eddie Osefo, Fab 5 Freddy, Keith Shocklee and Studdah Man of Public Enemy, and Guy Torry with a Performance by Joy Oladokun PURCHASE TICKETS & MORE INFORMATION
By Stephanie Shepard May 14, 2025
When Alexander Kirk walked out of prison on December 10th, he stepped into a world that had shifted beneath his feet. But the shift wasn’t universal. In Iowa, where he lives, cannabis is still fully illegal. Drive two minutes across the bridge into Illinois, and that same plant, once the root of his decade-long incarceration, is not only legal but a booming, billion-dollar industry. That contradiction sits at the center of Alex’s story. He’s a father, a mechanic, a reader, and a deep thinker. He’s also someone who spent more than ten years of his life behind bars for the same substance that dispensaries now sell with flashy packaging and tax revenue incentives. “It’s crazy,” he says. “One side of the bridge is legal, the other side isn’t. It’s hard to believe.” A Life Interrupted Alex’s most recent sentence—ten years in federal prison—started with a bust that was as much about timing and proximity as anything else. He was on federal probation for a previous cannabis offense. A raid at a residence he didn’t live in, but where his truck was parked, ended with a federal indictment. A tip from his child’s mother, who was angry about a disagreement over vacation plans, helped open the door for the investigation. “She made a call, gave them a tip,” Alex recalls, without bitterness, just clarity. “And that’s all it took.” The charges? Conspiracy to distribute less than 50 kilograms of marijuana—a charge that, while less than the quantities tied to large-scale trafficking operations, still carried weight under federal law. He received 80 months for the new charge and another 40 months for violating parole. The math added up to a lost decade. “I had already done ten and a half years the first time,” Alex says. “I was institutionalized. Prison became familiar. It’s where I knew how to move.” But even when you know the rules, prison isn’t easy. The hardest part for Alex wasn’t the food, the routines, or the guards—it was missing his children growing up. “I got five kids. Three of the older ones talked to me after and explained how I chose the streets over them. That was hard. But it was true.” He reflects on it now with a kind of painful honesty: “I didn’t want to pay for weed, so I started selling it. I smoked, and I hustled. Eventually, it got out of hand.” Knowledge Behind Bars Alex didn’t spend his time in prison passively. He worked in the prison garage, learning to fix cars—something he’d loved as a kid. He dove into books and self-help titles. One that stuck with him was The Voice of Knowledge by Don Miguel Ruiz. “That one changed things,” he says. “It helped me realize everyone’s got their own story they’re telling themselves. That helped me stop taking things so personally.” He also began thinking about the world beyond prison. He drafted a business plan for a youth program designed to keep teens from ending up like him. “I wanted to show them they had options,” he says. “You don’t always get that when you grow up in survival mode.” The Politics of Legalization What’s jarring about Alex’s story is not just the sentence—it’s the fact that it happened while the national conversation around cannabis was changing rapidly. By the time Alex was halfway through his sentence, multiple states had legalized recreational marijuana. Billion-dollar brands were being built. Politicians were posing for ribbon-cuttings at dispensaries. Celebrities were launching product lines. And people like Alex were still behind bars. “It’s unjust,” he says bluntly. “There’s no reason someone should be locked up for weed while companies are out here getting rich off it. The little guy got crushed. They legalized it after locking us up, but didn’t let us out.” The irony was never lost on him: that he was doing hard time for something that was now a tax revenue stream in neighboring Illinois. A Second Chance and Real Support Alex’s sentence was reduced under the First Step Act—a federal law aimed at correcting some of the harshest penalties in the justice system. Thanks to that and a longer placement in a halfway house, he was released earlier than expected. Through a friend, he reconnected with a woman from his past who introduced him to the Last Prisoner Project (LPP) . At first, he was skeptical. “We never heard about people helping folks like us. I didn’t think it was real.” But he gave it a chance—and found not just advocacy, but consistency. “Even getting emails, updates, hearing from people… that helped. It made me feel like someone gave a damn.” Through LPP, he learned that he qualifies as a social equity candidate in states with legalization programs. That means access to business licenses and support that could help him transition into the legal cannabis industry. He also learned he might qualify for early termination of his probation—a process he’s now pursuing. “I want to get into the legal side,” he says. “I know the game. I lived it. Now I want to do it right.” Life After Prison Alex is currently working in the halfway house kitchen. He’s trying to stay grounded, focused, and patient. Reentry is never easy. “You come out and everything is fast. You feel like you’re behind. But I remind myself: it’s not a race.” He’s rebuilding relationships with his kids. He’s focused on starting a business—maybe something in cannabis or something with cars. He hasn’t fully decided, but he knows he wants to help others, too.  “There’s still a lot of people inside,” he says. “And they shouldn’t be. Not for weed. If we’re really gonna legalize it, let’s legalize it for everybody. That means letting people go.” “Get to Know Their Story” Alex doesn’t want pity. He’s not asking for a handout. What he wants is what most people want: a chance to live free, to work, to be with his family. To matter. “Just because someone’s been to prison doesn’t make them violent. Doesn’t make them a bad person. Get to know their story.” Alex’s story is one of transformation, not because the system rehabilitated him, but because he did the work on his own. Now he wants to use his experience to change the system itself. He’s already started.