Protests Amidst Pandemic Create Opportunities for Reform

Soo Bin Ahn • June 16, 2020
In the midst of a global pandemic the state-sanctioned murder of George Floyd reignited protests and calls for racial justice in municipalities across the nation. While systemic racism permeates every American institution, mass incarceration, fueled by the War on Drugs, is perhaps the most troubling example of the deep-rooted anti-Blackness that pervades the justice system decried by the current protests.


The War on Drugs started during the Nixon administration in the 1970’s and was messaged to the public as a push for safety and a means to reduce crime rates. However, the War on Drugs and the ensuing laws and tough on crime policies were targeted at the Black community. Although this underlying racial animus was evident by the disproportionate effect drug laws had on the Black community, this nefarious intent was made explicit by Nixon aid, John Ehrlichman – who outright stated: “We knew we couldn’t make it illegal to be either against the [Vietnam] war or black, but by getting the public to associate the hippies with marijuana and the blacks with heroin, and then criminalizing both heavily, we could disrupt those communities. We could arrest their leaders, raid their homes, break up their meetings, and vilify them night after night on the evening news. Did we know we were lying about the drugs? Of course we did.”


The rhetoric voiced by Ehrlichman has carried through to the year 2020 and the “mythology of Black criminology” still stands. At the same time that wealthy, white Americans are profiting off of the legal marijuana industry, the criminalization of cannabis is simultaneously being used as a pretext to harass people of color, and in many cases to kill them. In 2018, 40% of the 1.65 million total drug arrests in the U.S. that year were for marijuana. Of those marijuana arrests, 92% were for possession and 8% were for selling or manufacturing. The ACLU has estimated that Black people are 3.73 times more likely to be arrested than their white counterparts for marijuana despite roughly the same usage. Meanwhile in 2018, Washington State alone made $317 million dollars in taxes from the same exact drug. Even with the legalization of weed in many states, enforcing marijuana laws cost about 3.6 billion dollars a year. The United States is spending billions of dollars a year to enforce laws to eliminate weed use despite the upward trend in legalization.


At the same time that our country is reckoning with the racism entrenched in our justice system, the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic is forcing the United States to grapple with mitigating the spread of an infectious disease among the largest incarcerated population globally. With the coronavirus exposing the deep inadequacies of the social safety net, the intersections of race, socioeconomic status, gender, age, etc. coalesce and implode within the realm of the criminal justice system. Specifically, incarceration facilities serve as hotbeds of the pandemic. Prone to overcrowding, with inaccessibility to healthcare and hygiene, the high foot traffic throughout such facilities serve to exacerbate the spread of the virus—now with the additional influx of mass arrests from the protests for Black lives.


Though COVID-19 response measures have been taken to decrease populations in incarcerated facilities, the arrests of protestors are serving as a counteractive force. Both the protesters and the public at large are placed at grave risk by police tactics that oppose the expertise of public health officials. Detained by the masses, “kettling” and detention, in general, forces protesters into confined areas that make social distancing an impossibility. Additionally, the violent uses of tear gas and pepper spray cause coughing in such spaces and create conditions in which people may need to take their masks off to breathe or to receive immediate medical treatment.


In the last weeks, over 10,000 protesters—many non-violent—have been held in detention, without access to running water or proper sanitation. Many are arguing that all low-level and non-violent offenders should be given a citation rather than be placed in detention during a viral outbreak, creating dire risks for public health. However, even before the latest mass protests and calls for reform, advocates have been calling for reform. Although varied, with state facilities trailing the response and results of their local counterparts, efforts such as statewide emergency bail schedules (eliminating bail for low-level felony offenses and misdemeanors); authorization of the release of people in pretrial detention for nonviolent offenses; conducting special hearings to release more people from local jails; among others, have brought about the reform that activists have long pushed for. Now, the added calls for broader, systemic reform in light of continued police brutality and killings of Black Americans, may represent the greatest opportunity for real change to our justice system in our lifetime.


The overpopulated criminal justice system has disproportionately affected Black Americans and people of color. The successful carceral reform, in response to the pandemic, can serve as empirical support in envisioning incarceration in a post-COVID world. Lucy Lang, former Manhattan assistant district attorney and current head of the Institute for Innovation in Prosecution at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice, remarked that the “emergency could be the spark that leads to innovation.” Looking toward a post-pandemic America, like-minded activists are proposing to capitalize on this moment in time to establish a new system that emphasizes the approach of restorative justice. With recommendations such as community policing, violence interrupters, reduced sentencing, bail reform, fairer parole policies, and decreased usage of solitary confinement, the future of criminal justice reform holds tremendous capacity for change.
By Stephen Post July 4, 2025
This Independence Day, as people across the country celebrate with fireworks and cookouts, the Last Prisoner Project is honoring those still waiting for their freedom: the individuals incarcerated for cannabis. While corporations profit from legal cannabis—an industry worth billions—thousands remain behind bars for doing the very same thing. People are serving egregious sentences as a result of an outdated and unforgiving legal system. Even after release, many still carry the burden of a criminal record that makes it nearly impossible to secure jobs, housing, or a second chance at life. They served their time, yet continue to pay the price for conduct that is now legal in over half the country. Independence Day is meant to celebrate freedom, democracy, and justice. But this holiday also presents an opportunity to confront how our government continues to fall short of those ideals. Hector Ruben McGurk , currently serving a life sentence for a non-violent cannabis offense, reflects on the injustice of his case: “Most inmates and staff who interact with me are surprised by my demeanor and social skills, especially considering I’m serving a life sentence for cannabis. I have zero security points and am classified as minimum risk. The person I’ve always been is clearly reflected in my prison record—but not at all in my PSI report. If you placed the two side by side, it would seem like they describe two entirely different people.” “Justice, to me, would mean a truly fair federal trial process—one where the courts do not allow the intentional use of misleading or false information, including in Pre-sentence Investigation reports, to distort the outcome. In conspiracy cases, circumstantial evidence should be backed by tangible proof—not just the testimony of government cooperating witnesses who have something to gain, especially when the consequences can be decades-long sentences.” Daniel Martinez , who has served 14 years of a 30-year cannabis sentence, offers this vision of justice: “First and foremost, justice would mean being released from prison immediately. Beyond that, it would mean having the opportunity to rebuild my life by doing what I love—growing cannabis—through a government grant or small business loan. I can’t get back the years I’ve already lost behind bars, so I choose to focus on my future. That, to me, would be justice.” Rafael Hernandez Carillo , who has already served 17 years of a life sentence in a maximum-security federal prison for cannabis, shares the heavy toll of his incarceration: “I’ve missed my children growing up. Now they have children of their own. That’s 17 years of missed birthdays, Christmases, and milestones. The pain, the anxiety, the depression I’ve endured—and still endure every day—can’t be erased. When I try to imagine what could possibly make up for all of that, I come up blank. I’ve lost an entire lifetime. What’s hardest is opening a magazine like Entrepreneur and seeing so-called ‘pioneers’ of the cannabis industry being praised for doing exactly what I’m serving a life sentence for. That’s a hard pill to swallow. I know I made mistakes. I take full ownership of that. My only prayer now is that the courts, the public—everyone—will recognize that 17 years is enough. Nothing can give me back the time I’ve lost. But being allowed to go home to my family would be a good place to start. It might not be full justice, but if I can be there for my grandchildren in ways I couldn’t be for my kids, that would be a blessing. I just pray that one day I’ll be given a second chance—to be seen for who I am now, not just the mistakes I made as a younger man trying to survive. And if sharing my story can help change laws or bring freedom to others living through the same injustice, then that would mean even more to me than my own freedom. A life lost behind bars is a tragedy. But a life spent in prison for a non-violent marijuana offense—that’s not just lost, it’s stolen.” Robert Deals , another incarcerated individual, emphasizes the need for accountability: “Justice to me, personally, would mean immediate release from this bondage—and at least ten years of reparations for my family. We’ve been cheated out of tens of thousands of dollars by at least five dishonest lawyers, and it’s time for some form of accountability and repair. One thing I want people to know is about the vicious and unethical tactics allowed here in Arizona—entrapment being one of them. There’s a big difference between selling something to undercover cops and the cops bringing drugs to sell to you—then abducting, capturing, and arresting you. From what I understand, this kind of tactic is illegal in most other states. I also want people to understand just how unjust and cruel the Arizona courts have been toward me—and others. The judge who sentenced me did so twice, even though I had already signed a plea deal. They did that just to create a prior conviction they could use against me. That same judge then refused to give me credit for 21 months I had already served in county jail. That kind of denial is virtually unheard of.” While America celebrates its independence, we also call attention to the veterans who remain incarcerated for cannabis. These four veterans served 31 years in the military. Now, they are serving a combined 55 years behind bars for a plant that is legal in 24 states and the District of Columbia: Deshawn Reilly , 46, served eight years in the Marines. He is now serving a 17-year sentence for cannabis-related offenses in Georgia. Robert Deals , 57, served 11 years in the Air Force. He is now serving an 18-year sentence in Arizona. Brent Crawford , 41, served six years in the Air Force. He is now serving a 15-year federal sentence for a victimless cannabis offense. Kristopher Fetter , 37, served six years in the Army. He is now serving a 5-year sentence for marijuana possession with intent to distribute in New York. Deshawn Reilly shared from behind bars: “I would like to thank Last Prisoner Project for all the support. This eleven-year journey was a learning experience. I want to express it as a part of my life path—meaning I had to go through these terrible times as a crest in a wave going down. Prior to my incarceration, I was on the crest of the upside of the wave. Marijuana will eventually become legal. The plant has so many cures and powers to it the powers that be want to suppress it. To make a long story short, I use universal laws to train my mind to stay on the positive side and turn this terrible situation into something positive. Your help is greatly appreciated.” These are the stories that expose the hypocrisy of cannabis prohibition. These are the people the Last Prisoner Project fights for every day. Freedom must be more than a slogan. It must be a reality for everyone—including those still incarcerated for cannabis and those struggling to rebuild their lives after prison. This 4th of July, we renew our call... FREE THEM ALL!
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