I was in a room with four men whose crimes many would consider unforgivable. Yet what I will remember most isn’t what they did, but the way their voices trembled and eyes watered as they spoke of their past.
I was struck by how raw their emotion was, how genuine their apologies appeared. It felt like these inmates at California’s oldest prison were telling these stories for the first time, although they had likely retold their crimes countless times.
They were inmates at San Quentin Rehabilitation Center, had spent 20-plus years behind bars and doubled as tour guides for prison visitors.
On this day, the men had a captive audience of international journalists, many of us nearly brought to tears – myself included.
Jorge Lopez told us how he wanted to make a name for himself when he participated in a gang retaliatory murder as a 19-year-old in 2007.
He was so heartless afterward that “in court, I didn’t hear their cries,” he said of the victim’s loved ones.
That’s changed now. “Today, I hear their cries, I hear when they mourn,” he said.
Loi Vo was 18 years old when he murdered someone.
He’s spent 29 years on death row, but no longer. His fate only changed because he said the victim’s family didn’t want him executed.
“For them to have mercy on me, it changed my life,” he said.
Carrington Russelle said it wasn’t until he read a transcript of his court case, years later, that he realized the seriousness of his decision to break into a home and sexually assault a woman as a young man in 2007.
He acknowledged the “endless ripple effect” of his actions, as he told us he regrets the pain he caused the victim’s family, first responders, even the person handling the rape kit.
He started crying when he addressed the women in the room, saying he’d excuse himself from the prison tour if anybody felt uncomfortable with his presence.
Some of my female colleagues approached him afterward, during the tour, for a conversation. A remarkable moment in its own right.
San Quentin Warden Chance Andes said the remorse we were hearing isn’t common in high-security prisons. In those facilities, he said, some inmates would still be claiming their innocence.
We also heard how California is shifting its tough-on-crime prison system toward rehabilitation. San Quentin is perhaps among the best examples of this. In 2023, the facility began its transformation into a rehabilitation center, and now contains more than 70 self-help groups for inmates, ranging from sessions on childhood trauma and empathy to working as tour guides or journalists.
It seems to work. In saying that, I understand people who commit heinous crimes deserve to be punished severely. But it’s hard not to consider that, after 20-plus years, these men may already be rehabilitated.
Early in my journalism career, I covered a small city’s courtroom and quickly came to realize the lives of the accused were complicated. They faced hardships. It doesn’t excuse their actions, but it’s an explanation – one I wished the angry Facebook commenters demanding life sentences for a range of crimes would hear.
I recall walking through the prison with Lopez as we discussed his hope for release. He gently pushed back on the common expression that he was seeking to “get out” of prison.
“I see it as going back into society,” he said. “I’d finally get the opportunity.”
Through this fellowship, I’ve met many people at meetings, tours and public events I’ll likely never see again. But I hope that’s not true for these four men. I’m rooting for them.
