Opinion: What I learned about democracy walking the halls of Congress

After an arduous, 30-year slog through the manure of prison life, earlier this month I found myself walking the marble halls of Congress, knocking on the doors of senators and being ushered in by their chief aides. In the seven short months since my release, I had gone from being among the “dregs” of society to getting an audience with the people who help make this country’s laws. 

I come from a community in southeast D.C. where we only saw politicians when it was time to vote. After they won, nothing changed. Our schools were still dilapidated, our streets still had potholes, and crime still ran rampant. Is it any surprise, then, that most of the people from my community didn’t trust the system and chose not to engage with it? When I was sent to prison at the age of 16, I took that attitude with me.

Yet here I was, walking from office to office, using my lived experience to illustrate to senators and representatives how shortsighted it would be to pass the package of bills that would roll back the District’s progressive criminal-justice laws. And as I did, I had conflicting feelings: Can “ordinary” citizens — those without money to donate or powerful connections — really make a difference by speaking out to elected leaders? Does my voice matter in America? 

An Instagram post by a friend and ally who was lobbying along with me, Anthony Petty, captured our motivation: “I raise up my voice not so I can shout, but so that those without a voice can be heard.” To some extent I felt like we were successful: While we weren’t able to meet the senators and representatives themselves, their staff members appeared to listen and absorb our stories about why girls and boys who are incarcerated when they are still children should be given second chances — even after committing serious, violent crimes. These were offices considered “malleable” on this issue, and it felt like our personal narratives were helping to tip the balance. 

And that felt damn good. I know firsthand what the impact would be if D.C.’s second-look laws were repealed. The District allows incarcerated people convicted below the age of 25 to petition judges for early release. If that were taken away, so many of my brothers still in prison — now ready to start over as mature, changed men — would be left to die a virtual death. I know what the effects would be if more teenagers were to get tried as adults, because I myself was tried as an adult when I was an early teen. Shuttling young teenagers into high-security prisons just makes them better criminals.

I could tell that some of the individuals I spoke with “got it.” I felt like I got through to them.

It also feels good to share with my brothers and sisters in prison that I have not forgotten them. It feels good when they call home and thank me for advocating on their behalf. And most importantly, it feels good to see them begin to understand the value of civic engagement. Those bills being debated in Congress, and by the D.C. Council, are no longer abstract — and neither is the process that decides them. 

But at the same time, I realized that I was in those hallowed halls due to a fundamental lack of democracy. As a D.C. resident, there is no one I can talk to in Congress who can vote for my interests. The District’s only representative can only vote in committee, and we have no presence in the Senate. So, the offices where I made my petition owe their allegiance to residents of states as far away as Kentucky and Texas. They have no vested interest in D.C.’s 702,000 residents and our desire to govern ourselves. That is clearly not what democracy looks like. 

In 2020, the D.C. Council restored the right to vote to incarcerated residents. And through the organization I cofounded, More Than Our Crimes, I have worked to motivate my brothers and sisters behind the wall to develop and exercise their “civic muscle.” But how can I persuade them that it matters, when no one in Congress can or will fully represent us — yet they reserve the right to veto the policies we choose to enact? 

D.C. and its residents deserve freedom — and democracy.