To give a loving service,
that's what I've read;
these days to some--
that's a dread.

To take,
is the way most get by;
but in my heart I know that's a lie.

Jesus said, to give as a friend,
to a friend,
for a friend;
what then?

Do I expect something back?
Maybe something that I lack.

Thinking like that seems right to some;
not for me no,
I'm not the one.

What if that person has no way to honor
​the help that I gave?
Do I demand payment
and make them a slave?

Then I'd be like the loan shark;
my true intentions would be in the dark.

Rethinking the way I should give;
is to know how Jesus showed me how to live.

Going through life one day at a time;
keeping that one thing on mind.

Gift-giving is not inherently in our souls;
however, it's more precious than gold.

Some people would say when asked,
what? the nerve;
never knowing that blessings come
​when we learn how to serve.

If you or someone you know is a currently or formerly incarcerated person with creative content to offer, please submit your materials to admin@vote-nola.org and we'll be in touch! We'll share the content on social media and always give credit to the artist(s) involved. Any type of submission--whether stories, poems, illustrations, music, videos or something else--are welcome! Michael A. Videau is currently incarcerated at Angola State Penitentiary.

​When we passed Act 636, we restored voting rights to at least 40,000 Louisianans on probation on parole. We fought for the opportunity to prove that our votes and voices as formerly incarcerated people (FIP) are a force to be reckoned with. We hope you prove us right in Louisiana’s upcoming super-election, because more than 250 positions are up for reelection on Oct. 12. These positions have serious power over whether our criminal (in)justice system continues to work the way it was built--a revolving door to put mostly Black people behind bars--or is reformed to focus on real transformation. These are positions like the sheriff of your parish, your District Representative, your Senator, and the Governor of Louisiana. Each position has control over different parts of the system that have significantly impacted our lives, often for the worse. If you don’t quite believe in the power of your vote yet, we got you. Here are some of the many positions running and how they can either harm or help heal your future. 

Senators and Representatives (AKA The Legislature)

No matter where in Louisiana you live--whether in Spearsville or New Orleans--you have Representatives and Senators up for reelection in your area. They make up Louisiana’s House of Representatives and Senate, respectively. Together, the 105 Representatives and 39 Senators of Louisiana have the power to push forward, vote against, edit, or pass every state bill about mass incarceration that we are concerned with. Because they vote on every bill they receive, electing even a few more legislators who are on our side can be enough to sway the vote in favor of liberation, making statewide change. Just last year, we saw this working multiple times. For example, we fought to eliminate the death penalty. With a few extra supporters in the State Senate, the bill moved further along than ever before. This shows progress on a notoriously divisive topic. We also had success advocating for the Truth in Sentencing bill. Based on the fact that 95% of people who have faced a conviction in Louisiana take a plea deal, and the majority of them don’t know the full consequences taking this deal, this bill mandated transparency. It obliged the prosecution to explain the true punishment involved with pleading guilty, including how it affects a convicted person’s access to housing, employment, and higher education. Thanks to the hard work of our members and allies--some of who testified in front of their elected officials--this bill passed! On Oct. 12, we can make more wins like this possible by electing Senators and Representatives who have a history or platform that supports prison reform.  

Governor

The position of Louisiana Governor is also up for election on Oct. 12, which works closely with the state legislature. The governor can pass or veto any bill that the House and Senate has already approved. The governor also controls many other statewide institutions. For one, they appoint the Secretary of Corrections, who runs Louisiana’s Department of Corrections (DOC). They determine how facilities are managed, who’s hired, and total operations. Therefore, electing a governor who aligns with VOTE’s values allows us to trust they will appoint a Secretary that can reform the DOC from the inside out. Another important appointment the governor makes is each person on the  Board of Pardons and Parole. Once you’re incarcerated, appealing to the board is one of the only ways you can get out. We need  a board that is less punitive or more merciful, so we need to elect a governor who feels the same way.

**


The positions we’ve mentioned so far mostly have to do with statewide systemic change that affects people who have already been convicted. But, there are also positions up for election that determine whether or not someone is incarcerated in the first place. People on the school board, in policing systems, and in the court system all have seats open this election, and all influence whether someone is convicted and incarcerated. 

**


School Board

On Oct. 12, seven seats of Louisiana’s top school board are up for election. To figure out why this matters, let’s follow the life of Devon, a Black, 17-year-old high school student living and learning in Jefferson Parish. Because of chronic stressors related to racism, a lack of financial resources, and more, Devon has depression and anxiety. Because he’s still learning to cope with these mental health struggles, he’s missed a lot of school. After two warnings for bad attendance, he’s called into the Principal's office and is put on a 3-day suspension, thus beginning the school-to-prison pipeline. While the school board doesn’t directly decide the fate of Devon, they do set the culture of the schools in their district, which indirectly affects him in a big way. The board makes decisions like whether or not there are police officers at a school, if there are time-out rooms that function like solitary confinement cells. They can encourage the administrators of the school to be more punishing, or use their resources to promote a positive learning environment, such as effective counseling programs, and restorative justice practices. 

Sheriffs

As Devon is walking home from his grandma’s house, a deputy working for the Sheriff of Jefferson Parish pulls up to check his ID. He let him know he’s out past curfew, which he didn’t know. Because of a long-history of racial bias and subsequent profiling in policing as well as other institutions, the deputy thinks Devon looks suspicious. He searches him for drugs. Already having a stressful week, Devon tries to explain to the deputy that he doesn’t have anything and just wants to go home. The deputy arrests Devon for what he perceives as resisting arrest. Devon gets brought to the local jail, where he is put behind bars for simply trying to get home. The sheriff who this deputy works for was elected. Like the school board, he can decide how punitive the people who work for him are--the very people who are often the first point of contact for those experiencing the (in)justice system. Sheriffs can decide how much they will follow or resist the history of stop-and-frisk. They can decide if their staff goes through implicit bias training. Since they also determine the number of beds in the local jail, Louisiana sheriffs have a clear stake in the number of arrests made. Some have taken pride in filling their jail to the brim, and our hope is that every sheriff elected on Oct. 12 feels the opposite. We want every sheriff to fight for change, as we do with the Orleans Parish Prison Reform Coalition. In the Coalition, we demand that the city makes good on its promise not to expand local jails and to remove people from the temporary detention center. If we elect sheriffs who are also committed to not filling all jail beds or building more facilities, we can decrease the amount of people who go on to be incarcerated. Finally, sheriffs also have the power to end pretrial detention, which is when innocent people are sitting in jail awaiting their trial because they are too poor to afford bail. This election, our Baton Rouge chapter is keeping our eye specifically on the sheriff races in East Baton Rouge, because right now their office jails people at a rate of 381 for every 100,000 residents. Almost 90% of those in jail are locked up because they are too poor to afford bail, yet  the sheriff has the power to change that. Of course, while you aren’t able to vote on a sheriff outside of your parish, the sheriffs all over the state still matter to all of us. After all, where you get arrested is where you’re going to be put in jail, regardless of where you live or vote, so if you have any friends or family in nearby parishes, please encourage them to go vote, too. 

Judges

After spending several nights in the Jefferson Parish Jail, a deputy handcuffs Devon and drives him to the courthouse where a local judge will decide his court date and bail amount. Whether Devon goes to trial or takes a plea deal, the judge will decide his sentence. The judges in Jefferson Parish are notoriously harsh, so Devon doesn’t have high hopes for having a bail amount to be able to pay, which would allow him to go home. He also doesn’t want to plead guilty since he doesn’t believe he did anything wrong, and as a 17-year-old, he doesn’t want to be in prison with adults. No matter the judge Devon faces, that person has been elected. It’s no secret that corruption has been a big part of the judge races in Louisiana, and Oct. 12 is a chance to change that reality. We should be electing trustworthy judges who work towards a more just Louisiana, not a more punitive one. 

Because of all of the above and more, we want to make sure people all over the state are voting with mass incarceration reform on their minds on Oct. 12. 

There are people running for office who will make the lives of people like Devon much better, or much worse. This is not because of the personal choices of the individuals involved, but because of the way the system works. There are people currently in office who don’t want to see people in our communities thrive. With our votes in unison, we can  replace those people with elected officials who understand our value and will do their jobs based on our interests. Unlike the Electoral College in a presidential election, in local and statewide elections, your vote is one vote. It weighs the same as everyone else’s, no matter who you are. In other words, our vote is our voice. For more information on who’s running in your area, visit our partners, Know Your Vote. 

Missed the registration deadline for Oct. 12? You can still register in time for the Nov. 16 run-off elections! Register by  Oct. 15 in person or by mail, or online by Oct. 25 with a Louisiana ID. Remember, you CAN vote if: 

1. You’re off probation or parole
2. You’ve been on parole for at least 5 years
3. You’re currently on probation

If you have a conviction, you will need to submit additional paperwork from the probation and parole office to the registrar’s office, even if you register online.

Approximately six million Americans are denied the right to vote because they have a conviction. This is called felony disenfranchisement and it is one of the many tactics of systemic racism. For many years, formerly incarcerated people--like the majority of us at VOTE-- have been stripped of our right to vote, which is essentially the right to speak up and see true justice. Without our voting rights, we’ve had to watch as people who don’t understand or care about us make decisions for our future. But, as of March 1, many of us no longer have to watch from the sidelines. Thanks to the dedication and successes of formerly incarcerated leaders, on that day about 40,000 Louisianans with convictions became eligible to vote. Under this new law--Act 636--anyone who: is off probation and parole, is on probation, or has been on parole for at least 5 years can vote. Now that many of us have our voting rights back, we need to hit the polls. We need to vote on behalf of those who still can’t, who are still behind bars. We need to be modern-day mythbusters, knocking down every argument we hear about why voting doesn’t matter. Because it really, truly does. By voting, we can elect leaders who will help us create a world without mass incarceration.
​
Louisiana has a super-election in less than 60 days. In addition to local elections for sheriffs and judges, we have elections for the Governor, Attorney General, Lieutenant Governor, Secretary of State, Treasurer, all 105 State Representatives, all 39 State Senators, and more. Every one of these positions has a say in the fate of mass incarceration in our state. In other words, the time to use your vote to help us fight the criminal (in)justice system is Oct. 12. The deadline to register in person is Sept. 11--less than a month away--and the online deadline is close behind on Sept. 21. Please vote because the system will only work for us if we change it to be that way.

No candidate is perfect, and that fact shouldn’t discourage us from voting for the one who most closely aligns with our beliefs. It’s better to have someone in office who agrees with two or three of the core issues we are working to reform, rather than someone who will actively support mass incarceration. Choosing someone who checks off some of our boxes is still a step in the right direction. ​

The criminal (in)justice system we’re living under isn't broken, it works perfectly. It does exactly what it was made to do. But the way it’s made is not for our people. What makes our system work this way one might ask? People. People are the ones who create and maintain the system. A way to change the system is to change the people who influence the system, and that’s where voting comes in. We need to vote for the people who make sure the system is in our best interest, and not vote for the people who perpetuate corruption. ​

The Electoral College only applies to presidential elections, which are every 4 years. There are so many other important elections between then, however, that affect our daily lives and do not use the Electoral College. Local and state elections are based on a simple popular vote win and influence issues closer to home, such as housing, employment, reproductive rights, and criminal (in)justice reform. Our votes have even more power locally than they do at the federal level because, on average, far less people vote locally than they do nationally. Because the Governor, Lieutenant Governor, Attorney General, Secretary of State, Treasurer, all 105 House Representatives, and all 39 State Senators have their seats open on Oct. 12, Louisiana has a chance to “reset” the state on that day. In other words, we can elect officials who will create and change laws and policies that directly affect us. ​

As of March 1, if you are off probation or parole; have been on parole for at least five years; or on probation, you CAN vote! If you’ve been to jail but never received a conviction, you can vote, too. Finally, if you have a misdemeanor charge, you never lost your voting rights! Disenfranchisement is only based on felony convictions, and we fight to end this practice every day. Don’t assume you or your loved ones can’t vote! If you’re unsure, please call us at 504-571-9599 or email us at vote@vote-nola.org. There are a lot of myths out there about who can and can’t vote and what you need to do to get registered, but we’re here to help you figure it all out. 

​

The force moved me. 

A powerful one beyond my conscious control--it pushed me through the torrential rainstorm darkening the landscape of my consciousness. Walk upstairs, the force compelled. Turn right. Three shadowy, indistinguishable figures were to my right, standing just outside of my mom’s apartment door. Go inside. Another dark figure inside--keep moving. Somehow, someway, as I moved past the figure inside, a slurry jumble of sounds coalesced into a recognizable expression: “What’s up, Rico?” But I was powerless to respond to it. Keep moving. Then all of a sudden, as if teleported, I found myself standing at the foot of my mother’s bed, trembling uncontrollably as I looked down at her napping. About two feet to the left of her head, a night stand held a small, rectangular alarm clock. In red, computerized digits, the clock read 2:53 p.m. 

Just an hour earlier, I had been playing Nintendo at my friend Kevin’s house. 
“I’m tired of beating you,” I said to Kevin, playfully. 

“It’s three-to-one,” he responded. “You said the same thing last time and I came back on you.”

We were playing a Nintendo basketball game called Double Dribble. Kevin, who was fourteen, thought he was always supposed to beat me in any competition since he was a year older than I was. 

“Let’s go by Lil Robert’s house and shoot a game of twenty-one. I might let you win a game,” I said.

“Let’s go,” he said. 

Lil Robert was a friend of ours who lived in a section of our neighborhood called ‘’Cross The Canal.’ To get to his house, we’d literally have to cross over a canal that divided The Loop--our neighborhood--into two almost symmetrical sections. The canal divided The Loop in other ways as well. ‘Cross the Canal was the more crime ridden section of The Loop. Once happy homes where large family gatherings had taken place, where childish squeals had erupted from little kids playing hide-and-seek, where love, laughter, and life had vibrated like a pleasant hum, soothing and welcoming--most of those homes ‘Cross The Canal had been reduced to barely habitable dwellings. Some were crackhouses in front of which stood any number of drugs dealers plying their trade. Sometimes when we’d pass them, the younger ones close to our age--Kevin and mine--would stare at us with provocative intensity, daring either of us to respond to their unspoken challenge. Beware, their eyes said to us in warning. Beware! 
​
Nevertheless, whenever we wanted to play basketball, we’d go to Lil Robert’s. His house was a refuge of sorts ‘Cross The Canal. His dad had bought him an adjustable basketball goal for his thirteenth birthday and set it up in their driveway to keep Lil Robert close to home and out of trouble. All of the neighborhood kids loved to play ball over there since they could adjust the goal to its lowest notch and mimic the slam dunks of their favorite basketball players. 

The sun hugged me when I stepped outside of Kevin’s house. I greeted it with me eyes closed, smiling as it delicately embraced me with its warmth, a sensation which reminded me of the loving, good-bye hugs my mother gave to me just before she’d send me off to stay with my dad for the holidays. A lot of people will be there today, I thought, as Kevin and I skipped down the street. In our neighborhood, everybody liked to play basketball on beautiful summer days. 

But to my surprise, when we made it to Lil Robert’s house, Shane was the only person there. Shane was another friend of ours who lived ‘Cross The Canal. We often played basketball with him whenever we met up at Lil Robert’s house. You could count on him being there any time the sun was out. 

“Where’s everyone at?” Kevin asked him.

“I don’t know,” Shane replied. “I was just sitting here waiting for somebody to show up so I could beat ‘em in a game of twenty-one,” he added tauntingly. 
“Take out,” I said.

Shane took off a black backpack that he always carried with him and laid it in the grass right beside the driveway. Then he took the ball out. 
Just as he usually did, Shane completely dominated the game. He was sixteen years old, five feet ten inches tall, athletic, and very strong. He was also very aggressive. Neither Kevin (standing at about five feet even) nor I (standing slightly under that) could compete against his physical or athletic advantages. We tried though.
One play during the second game, as Shane drove hard to the basket, Kevin, laughing, jumped on his back to prevent him from dunking. After shaking Kevin off his back, Shane immediately spun around. His presence had completely transformed; it radiated with violent energy. It was there like atomic energy, present but not visible, unstable and highly charged--explosive. 

“What did you do that for?” he yelled angrily at Kevin . Then he grabbed the basketball with both hands and slammed it into Kevin’s face. Kevin staggered backwards, stunned. Shane then turned and glowered at me. “You want some, nigga?” he asked and started in my direction. At his approach, my reality seemed to speed into a streaking almost imperceptible blur: adrenaline rushed; time zoomed; sound muted. The minutes earlier screech… screech… screech… of athletic shoes gripping on concrete pavement; the loud CLANG of a vibrating rim; Kevin’s gleeful, childish exclaims of “Michael Jordan”--all of those 'summertime in The Loop' sounds--transformed into tragic silence seconds after I looked away from Shane’s stare and ran towards his black backpack where I knew he always kept a loaded handgun.

                                                          *    *    * 

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but at some point I raced home from ’cross the canal, shock subjugating my conscious thought, turning instead to instinctual drive. So it was with a vague sense of puzzlement that I read the time--2:53 p.m.--on the alarm clock beside my mother’s bed. After standing at the foot of her bed for a few seconds, my mind cleared up suddenly, like someone had blown a layer of settled dust from the surface of an old record. “Ma! Ma, wake up! Ma, wake up!” The words nervously rushed out of my mouth. I was just about to reach down and shake her, but she turned on her side and groggily looked up at me. I was her only child, her innocent, precious and only son. “I think I just killed Shane!” she heard me say in a panic.

Before that day, I didn’t know that taking someone’s life was something to be proud of. I had been a normal thirteen-year-old kid who loved to hang out with his friends and play videogames. Nor did I know that I was supposed to idolize the neighborhood drug dealers, gangsters, and killers; no one had ever taught me that what they did was a route to success. I certainly used to listen to gangsta rap music, but only because I liked the sound--before that day, I had not interpreted its messages as tutorials on how to live. But years later, after I had served two years and eight months in a juvenile prison, I had been reprogrammed to travel life in accordance to the rules of a new value system. I had crossed the canal. 

Jirrico McKee is currently incarcerated at Raymond LaBorde Correctional Center (RLCC). 
f you or someone you know is a currently or formerly incarcerated person with creative content to offer, please submit your materials to admin@vote-nola.org and we'll be in touch! We'll share the content on social media and always give credit to the artist(s) involved. Any type of submission--whether stories, poems, illustrations, music, videos or something else--are welcome!

“Each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done,” says Bryan Stevenson, Director of the Equal Justice Initiative and a feature on the Netflix movie, 13th. Stevenson shows how the current issues of the criminal (in)justice system by sharing his experience of working as a civil rights lawyer fighting for the rights of death row prisoners. This inspiring and powerful book about defending those who are incarcerated includes stories of those who are still on the inside. Stevenson epitomizes how one person can change many lives.
​

Woodfox, the aforementioned survivor of solitary confinement, is a Native New Orleanian who spent almost five decades in lockdown for a crime he did not commit. One would think that this experience would push him to be defeated, but those harsh years of enduring violence and deprivation have instead inspired him to demand an end to this form of torture.  As part of the Louisiana Stop Solitary Coalition, last month we hosted a press conference where Woodfox and other survivors of solitary spoke about their experiences. Their words align with a groundbreaking new report that includes testimonies from more than 700 people currently on lockdown--the largest ever of its kind. Watch the whole conference here, then come to our next coalition meeting!
​

We know that racial discrimination is one of the root causes of criminal (in)justice system. The Hate U Give is narrated by a 16-year-old girl whose life becomes public on a national level when she witnesses a white police officer fatally shoot her childhood friend, Khali, who is a Black teen. She is the only one who can share what really happened that night Khali was shot, and what she says has an effect on her community. Through fiction, this book attempts to teach readers what life is like for a young Black person in America.
​

Danielle Sered is a good friend of VOTE’s, but that’s not the only reason we chose this book for our list. Sered helps us see the possible future by offering insight into how we can address violence without relying on the inhumanity of mass incarceration. This book centers not just the stories, but also the desires of survivors of violence in terms of healing, accountability and interacting with the people who hurt them. She shows that people who commit violent crimes can accept responsibility and make meaningful amends to those they have hurt--something that the current process of trials, sentencing and incarceration doesn’t allow for.
​