Jerry “JD” Mathis on Reentry, Shame, and Finding a Voice On this episode of the Everyday Injustice podcast, host David Greenwald speaks with Jerry “JD” Mathis, an award-winning author, PEN America Writing for Justice Fellow, and formerly incarcerated writer whose work centers on mass incarceration, reentry, and the redemptive power of storytelling. Mathis’ life arc—from decorated National Guard soldier to federal prison camp to acclaimed writer—offers a stark case study in how a single mistake can permanently alter a life, and how narrative becomes a way to survive what comes after. Mathis recounts how, at age 20, he was convicted in federal court for his role in covering up the theft of a machine gun from his National Guard unit, a crime that resulted in a two-year prison sentence while the primary offender was never charged. Once celebrated as a top gunner and model soldier, Mathis found himself publicly branded, prosecuted as a dangerous figure, and thrust into a criminal legal system that treated him not as a young person who made a grave error, but as a permanent threat. The punishment, he explains, did not end with his release. The conversation centers on reentry as what Mathis calls the “hidden punishment” of incarceration: the long afterlife of stigma, unemployment, restricted housing, and social exclusion that follows people long after they leave custody. Drawing on his own struggles—and comparative models like Norway’s—Mathis argues that the United States systematically undermines public safety by making successful reentry nearly impossible. Rather than addressing trauma, addiction, or the structural causes of harm, the system relies on exclusion and moral judgment, pushing people further to the margins. Ultimately, Mathis describes how writing became a way to reclaim a stolen narrative. Through the PEN America Writing for Justice Fellowship, he finally found the language to tell his story without shame—first to the public, and then to his daughters. That act of storytelling, he says, was not only personal catharsis but political intervention: a refusal to let prosecutors, headlines, or stigma define who he is. The episode is a powerful meditation on punishment, identity, and what it actually takes to rebuild a life after prison.

In this episode of the Everyday Injustice Podcast, host David Greenwald is joined by Jeffrey Deskovic, Oscar Michelen, and Andre Brown for an unvarnished conversation about a wrongful conviction case that nearly resulted in a second, devastating return to prison. Brown, who spent 23 years incarcerated for a crime he maintains he did not commit, had his conviction vacated in 2022, only to face the threat of being sent back to prison after the appellate court reversed that ruling nearly two years later . The discussion traces the extraordinary procedural twists of the case, including last-minute surrender orders, emergency motions, a denied appeal to New York’s highest court, and a clemency petition left undecided. Ultimately, a resentencing motion based on ineffective assistance of counsel resulted in Brown being resentenced to concurrent terms that recognized the time he had already served, allowing him to remain free. The episode lays bare how appellate courts’ deference to “finality” can override compelling evidence and how narrowly justice can turn on timing, discretion, and institutional posture . Brown speaks candidly about living in legal limbo—free but never secure—describing sleepless nights, the strain on his family, and the psychological toll of knowing he could be returned to prison at any moment. At the same time, he reflects on the community, legal advocates, and family members who sustained him, and on the work he undertook while free: mentoring youth, participating in education programs, and becoming an advocate within the wrongful conviction community . The conversation broadens into a systemic critique, with Deskovic and Michelen examining how courts handle claims of innocence, ineffective counsel, and newly discovered evidence, particularly in non-DNA cases. The episode underscores how rare corrections remain, how much persistence they require, and how much depends on actors willing to look beyond the record toward real-world justice. It is a sobering reminder that even when freedom is regained, the fight for exoneration—and for a more accountable legal system—often continues .

On this episode of Everyday Injustice, host David Greenwald speaks with Tracy Miller, a veteran prosecutor whose career inside one of the nation’s largest district attorney’s offices ended not with honors, but with retaliation, isolation, and a landmark lawsuit. Miller spent 25 years at the Orange County District Attorney’s Office, rising to senior leadership and building one of the country’s largest gang prevention programs, before becoming one of several employees who reported sexual harassment by a politically powerful insider. What followed, Miller explains, was not institutional self-correction but institutional protection. Despite multiple reports, a county investigation, and widespread internal knowledge of the misconduct, the alleged harasser was promoted while those who spoke out faced marginalization. Miller recounts being stripped of her office, pushed into a conference room during the final days of her career, and denied the basic dignity routinely afforded to departing senior staff. The experience, she says, revealed how easily stated commitments to justice collapse when power is threatened. Miller ultimately filed suit against Orange County, a decision she describes as deeply painful and disorienting, akin to “suing herself” after a lifetime of public service. When the case finally went to trial in 2025, the sitting district attorney spent days on the witness stand, an extraordinary public reckoning for an office tasked with enforcing the law. For Miller, the trial was not just about damages, but about forcing the truth into the open in a system accustomed to silence and deference. In the conversation, Miller reflects on vulnerability, courage, and the double standard prosecutors impose on victims while often failing to protect their own. She frames her case as part of a larger struggle over accountability inside the criminal legal system, where misconduct persists not only because of bad actors, but because too many others look away. Now working as an executive coach and consultant, Miller sees truth-telling as both a professional obligation and a form of resistance—and hopes her story helps others understand they are not alone.

On this episode of Everyday Injustice, host David Greenwald speaks with Kate Chatfield, executive director of the California Public Defenders Association, about the mounting crisis in California’s public defense system and what it reveals about deeper structural failures in the criminal legal system. Chatfield explains that public defenders now represent roughly 90 percent of people charged with crimes, yet remain chronically underfunded and overwhelmed, a reality that directly undermines the constitutional promise of meaningful legal representation . Chatfield describes how excessive caseloads make it nearly impossible for defenders to provide the level of advocacy required even in so-called low-level cases. She notes that misdemeanors routinely carry severe collateral consequences, including loss of employment, housing instability, and immigration harm, and that many clients are navigating homelessness, mental illness, or substance use disorders. These underlying conditions, she argues, are routinely criminalized rather than addressed through social services, placing public defenders on the front lines of systemic neglect . The discussion also turns to SB 1437, the landmark 2018 reform that narrowed California’s felony murder rule. As the bill’s lead drafter, Chatfield recounts how survey and appellate research revealed that felony murder disproportionately impacted young people, particularly young Black and Latino men, and frequently sentenced accomplices who were not the actual killers to life terms. She emphasizes that resentencing data following SB 1437 show extremely low recidivism rates, undercutting claims that such reforms threaten public safety . Finally, Chatfield weighs in on Proposition 36 and broader claims that increased incarceration can be justified as “treatment.” She argues that such measures are disingenuous, expanding jail populations while diverting resources away from housing, health care, and voluntary treatment—the very investments proven to prevent harm. True public safety, she concludes, will not come from deeper entanglement with the criminal legal system, but from sustained commitment to meeting human needs before people ever enter it .

Choosing Yourself Before Life Forces the Choice On the latest episode of Everyday Injustice, host David Greenwald speaks with Hakeem McFarland, a motivational speaker, wellness coach, author, and the founder of the Choose Yourself Movement, a philosophy built around reclaiming identity, integrity, and purpose in a culture driven by external validation. McFarland’s message is direct and uncompromising: before chasing achievement, status, or approval, people must first confront who they are when no one is watching and take responsibility for the systems that shape their daily lives. McFarland traces the origins of his work to repeated personal breaking points marked by grief, loss, addiction, and incarceration, culminating in a period of enforced solitude that forced him to confront himself without distraction or numbing. Rather than framing transformation as a sudden epiphany, he describes it as a disciplined process built through small, repeatable actions—sleep routines, mindful consumption, accountability, and habits that prioritize delayed gratification over instant relief. Choosing oneself, he argues, is not an abstract affirmation but a measurable practice rooted in what a person consistently does for their own well-being. At the center of this philosophy is the Choose Yourself Movement, a community designed as what McFarland calls an “integrity loop,” where participants publicly commit to personal goals and support one another in following through. Through weekly meetings, challenges, retreats, and daily accountability, the movement seeks to disrupt cycles of self-neglect and avoidance by replacing them with structure, honesty, and shared responsibility. McFarland emphasizes that community is not about motivation alone, but about creating conditions where excuses become harder to sustain. In the conversation, McFarland also reflects on authenticity as the foundation of lasting change, arguing that people often struggle because they are living versions of themselves shaped by conditioning rather than conviction. The episode explores why guilt, fear of judgment, and consumption-driven habits keep people stuck, and how confronting discomfort—rather than avoiding it—is essential to reclaiming agency. For listeners navigating burnout, identity loss, or a sense of stagnation, the discussion offers a stark but grounded challenge: no one is coming to save you, but the tools to begin are already within reach.

On this episode of Everyday Injustice, host David Greenwald speaks with Shazad Carbaidwala, a longtime volunteer and board member with Prisoner Visitation and Support, a national organization that provides consistent, face-to-face visits to incarcerated people in federal facilities across the country. Carbaidwala has spent nearly a decade visiting people inside prisons, offering something both simple and rare in the modern correctional system: human connection. His work reflects a broader effort to counter isolation, neglect, and dehumanization within federal incarceration. Carbaidwala describes how he first became involved with Prisoner Visitation and Support while living in Philadelphia, answering a call to serve in a way that aligned with his belief in helping people wherever possible. What began as volunteer work grew into a long-term commitment that now includes board leadership and regular visits to federal institutions, most recently in Chicago. Over time, he says, the experience reshaped his own understanding of prisons, revealing not only the hardship of confinement but also the resilience, growth, and humanity of the people inside. The conversation explores what it is like to walk into a federal prison for the first time—the rigid procedures, the emotional weight, and the stark contrast between public perceptions of incarceration and lived reality. Carbaidwala emphasizes that while the environment can be intimidating, the interactions themselves are often deeply affirming. People inside are eager for conversation, connection, and recognition. Visits routinely involve ordinary human exchanges—discussing sports, family, politics, or faith—moments that restore a sense of dignity in a system that often strips it away. Greenwald and Carbaidwala also reflect on the broader implications of visitation for rehabilitation and reentry, particularly in a federal system where people are frequently housed thousands of miles from their families. They discuss shifting attitudes toward incarceration, the importance of recognizing trauma and deprivation in people’s backgrounds, and the role of volunteers in bridging the gap between prison and society. At its core, the episode underscores a central theme of Everyday Injustice: meaningful change begins by seeing incarcerated people not as abstractions, but as human beings deserving of empathy, attention, and connection.

Women are now the fastest-growing population in the criminal legal system, yet policy, practice and public understanding continue to lag behind that reality. On this episode of Everyday Injustice, host David Greenwald speaks with Stephanie Akhter, director of the Women’s Justice Commission at the Council on Criminal Justice, about why women’s involvement in the system is rising, how their experiences differ from men’s, and what meaningful reform actually requires. Akhter brings a perspective grounded in direct practice and national policy work. Trained as a social worker, she began her career working with people returning home from prison before moving into state-level reentry policy, philanthropic criminal justice reform, and ultimately the launch of the Women’s Justice Commission. Throughout the conversation, she emphasizes that women entering the system are often driven there by circumstances—trauma, poverty, housing instability, untreated mental health needs and coercive relationships—rather than by violent criminal behavior. The discussion explores why women are not simply a smaller version of men in the system. Akhter explains that women experience higher rates of trauma and victimization, are more likely to be primary caregivers, and generally present lower public safety risk, yet are processed through a system largely designed without them in mind. As a result, reforms that have reduced incarceration for men have often failed to benefit women, even as women now account for roughly one-quarter of all adult arrests nationwide. The episode also looks forward, examining where change is possible. Akhter outlines the Commission’s focus on reducing women’s system involvement where safely possible and improving outcomes when women do enter the system, from pretrial decisions to sentencing and reentry. The conversation highlights trauma-informed, gender-responsive approaches and growing recognition among justice professionals that real public safety depends on helping people leave the system healthier and more stable than when they entered it.

The newest episode of Everyday Injustice features three powerful voices from Represent Justice’s ambassador program, each sharing deeply personal experiences with trauma, incarceration and healing. Emmanuel Noble Williams, John Medina Jr., and Angelique Todd describe how childhood violence, systemic neglect and survival-driven choices pushed them into the legal system—but also how storytelling and filmmaking have become pathways toward accountability, dignity and repair. Their conversation makes one thing clear: before the system labeled them “offenders,” they were children trying to survive experiences no one helped them process. Each ambassador discusses how trauma shaped their worldview long before a courtroom or prison cell entered the picture. Noble recalls witnessing a murder before age eleven and learning early that speaking to police could mean violence or death. That fear—and lack of emotional support—became a “mask” he wore into adulthood. John describes years of instability and coping through substances, and how the birth of his son forced him to confront the disconnect between wanting to protect life while participating in harm. Angelique explains how abuse, over-policing and mislabeling of Black girls funneled her toward criminalization, and how no one ever stopped to ask the simplest question: What happened to you? Despite their different stories, the message from all three is unified: the system did not rehabilitate them—community, healing and lived experience did. They argue that prisons prioritize control over treatment, punishment over safety, and compliance over growth. Their films and advocacy challenge institutions to recognize that accountability is not the same as suffering, and that most people behind bars were victims long before they were accused of harm. “Hurt people hurt people,” Noble says, emphasizing that until trauma is addressed, cycles of violence and incarceration will continue to repeat. Yet the tone of the conversation is not despair, but transformation. Represent Justice gave each ambassador a platform to reclaim narrative and power—something they say the system tried to strip away. Today, they mentor youth, teach restorative justice and help others break cycles they once lived inside. Their stories challenge the public to rethink assumptions about crime, punishment and who deserves redemption. And in their work, they make the case that change begins not with more prisons—but with listening, acknowledging harm and recognizing shared humanity.

On this episode of Everyday Injustice, we sit down with journalist and author Nell Bernstein, one of the nation’s leading voices on youth incarceration and the failures of the juvenile punishment model. Bernstein is the author of Burning Down the House and her newly released book, In Our Future We Are Free: The Dismantling of the Youth Prison. Her work challenges the mythology around “dangerous youth,” exposes the long-term harm of locking children in carceral environments, and reframes what true public safety looks like in America. Bernstein’s journey into youth justice began in the 1990s, during the height of the so-called superpredator era — a moment defined not by data, but by fear, racism, and political opportunism. She tells us how young people she worked with in San Francisco were funneled into arrests, courtrooms, and detention for low-level behaviors — not because they posed a threat, but because the system was built to criminalize them. What began as court accompaniment and juvenile hall visits evolved into decades of reporting, advocacy, and storytelling grounded in humanity rather than stereotype. In the conversation, Bernstein points to one of the most staggering realities: youth incarceration has dropped 75% nationwide since 2000, and more than two-thirds of youth prisons across the country have closed — including California’s entire state-run youth prison system. Yet at the same time, a backlash is underway. Politicians and media are reviving superpredator-style narratives, and several states — including California — are now pushing to try more children as adults. Bernstein warns that progress isn’t linear and the narratives driving fear often outpace the facts. This episode is both sobering and hopeful. Bernstein reminds us that youth incarceration is not inevitable — it is a policy choice driven by fear, inequity, and political gain. The alternatives already exist, and they work: community safety comes not from cages, but from education, support, housing, stability, and belonging. For anyone questioning whether change is possible, Bernstein’s message is clear — transformation has already begun. The question now is whether we will defend it.

For nearly 42 years, Gary Tyler lived with a sentence that was never rooted in truth, fairness, or genuine evidence. Arrested at age 16 in Louisiana and accused of killing a white teenager during a moment of racial violence in 1974, Tyler was quickly swept into a system determined not to find the truth, but to find someone to blame. “I was incarcerated…for 41 and a half years,” Tyler explains, underscoring the unimaginable time he spent behind bars for a crime he has always maintained he did not commit. His case was built on coerced statements, an all-white jury, and the climate of racism surrounding public school desegregation. Even the moment of his arrest was steeped in hostility. Tyler recalls being beaten by officers as a teenager and hearing parents outside the police station listening helplessly to his screams, unaware whether it was their child or someone else being brutalized. The violence didn’t end there—after being convicted of first-degree murder, he became the youngest death row prisoner in America. Inside Angola Prison—a place long synonymous with brutality—Tyler expected to be swallowed by fear and isolation. Instead, he found protection, mentorship, and unexpected humanity from men who had survived the harshest corners of incarceration. In his words, “The men who lived the life gave me the best of themselves, not the worst.” Over time, Tyler transformed his experience into purpose, developing programs, educating others, and becoming a deeply respected figure both inside and outside prison walls. Despite repeated recommendations for pardon and overwhelming documentation of injustice, it took decades—and a changing legal landscape—before Tyler was finally released in 2016. His freedom came not through exoneration, but through a legal compromise. Today, he continues to speak and write about systemic injustice, resilience, and healing. In this episode, he shares not only what happened to him, but what it means to rebuild a life after being stolen from it.

On this episode of the Everyday Injustice Podcast, host David Greenwald speaks with Josh Schwartz and Leon Parker of the Wren Collective, a policy and communications organization working to reform the criminal legal system and strengthen public defense nationwide. The conversation centers on a new statewide study revealing that California dramatically underfunds its public defense system—despite being one of only two states in the country that provides no statewide standards or funding for trial-level defense. The result, Schwartz explains, is a staggering imbalance: California spends 77 percent more on prosecution than on public defense, leaving roughly 1,000 fewer public defenders and nearly 4,000 fewer support staff statewide. Schwartz and Parker describe the human cost of this imbalance—attorneys overloaded with hundreds of felony cases, clients left without investigators or social workers, and communities paying far more to incarcerate people than to prevent crime. “Counties spend six times as much on incarceration as they do on public defense,” Schwartz notes, arguing that investing in defense and early intervention not only improves outcomes but ultimately saves money. Parker adds that these disparities reflect misplaced priorities, with local governments equating public safety solely with policing and prosecution instead of addressing addiction, trauma, and the root causes of harm. The discussion also delves into California’s controversial “flat fee” contract system—where private attorneys are paid a fixed amount regardless of how many cases they handle. The Wren Collective’s recent report calls for banning the practice, warning that it incentivizes minimal representation and leads to wrongful convictions. Both guests emphasize that while many contract lawyers are dedicated, the system itself is “set up for mediocrity,” discouraging thorough investigation and favoring plea deals over justice. Assembly Bill 690, now before the Legislature, would outlaw these contracts and move California toward a more equitable public defense model. Ultimately, Schwartz and Parker argue that reform requires not only funding but a fundamental shift in narrative. “California likes to see itself as a model of progress,” Parker says, “but when it comes to how we treat those with the least, we’re failing.” By investing in public defense and rejecting outdated, punitive systems, they contend, California could finally live up to its ideals—and create a model of justice that other states might follow.