Emerging adults make up only 9% of Washington, D.C’s population but represent 15% of all arrests and incarcerations in the District. Thus, emerging adults are extremely overrepresented in the criminal justice system and clearly need support from the District. But who are emerging adults?

Emerging adults are people aged 18–25 years old, a population distinct from other youth and adults. Their brains are still developing, so this time period, filled with lots of change and important decisions, can lead to many missteps. Human brains continue to grow during adolescence and emerging adulthood, with the prefrontal cortex developing last. The prefrontal cortex is responsible for higher-order thinking such as decision making, impulse control, and emotion regulation. During emerging adulthood, the brain has a lot of plasticity, which means that it can be extremely adaptable, but also that it will hold on to habits and patterns developed during this time. As an emerging adult, I know firsthand how distinct this life stage is from the ones that bookend it. For me, emerging adulthood has been marked by going to college and living on my own for the first time. In addition to the unique quality of the experiences that come with this time period, brain development is in a unique and rapidly changing state.

From my experience, I know what a formative stage of life emerging adulthood is. I also know how much support emerging adults need. Emerging adulthood can look very different for everyone: college, living alone, and having a job are all big changes that can come with this stage of life. Further, emerging adults who are involved in the criminal legal system need even more support than emerging adults like myself who may have access to support through their families, universities, and other institutions.

To me it is clear why emerging adults need individualized support for their age group. Support for emerging adults needs to be thought through by people who understand these unique challenges and experiences. As a college student, I am surrounded by supportive services dedicated to emerging adults and our education. Something that seems so simple in the college context, educational courses geared towards emerging adults, is an important example of support for this age group. In addition, as a college student, I am afforded age-specific housing, food, counseling services, financial support, and guidance on how to navigate this unique stage of life. I can attest that these supports significantly contribute to the positive life path I am on, and without these supports, I know that I would not be able to thrive. These supports are present and effective for emerging adults who are able to and choose to attend college or a similar higher ed institution, but what about those who do not?

JPI’s report “Building a Brighter Future” calls for the creation of an Office of Emerging Adult Services to help address the unique challenges faced by emerging adults in Washington, D.C. Support for emerging adults organized by this office and its director would be able to help provide community-based services to emerging adults in a similar way to how my university is able to support me. In 2024, the D.C. Council passed a law to create the position of Director of Emerging Adult Services, thereby taking the first step to create the office. However, the position has never been funded and therefore not implemented, a failure by local leadership because all emerging adults need this type of support.

Even without an Office of Emerging Adult Services, the District does try to provide “supports” for some emerging adults, especially those who are or are likely to become legal system involved. For example, D.C. chooses not to prosecute offenses such as truancy, curfew violations, and ungovernability, helping to prevent some cycles of legal system involvement leading into emerging adulthood. Additionally, developmentally responsive programs do exist within the District’s legal system such as credible messenger programs or the Young Men Emerging unit at the DC jail. However, most of the programs the District offers are reactive: they support emerging adults once they are already struggling.

What if we supported emerging adults before they even needed it to prevent them from becoming system-involved or encountering any other struggles? While it is essential to support emerging adults who need it, the District should also be working to anticipate the unique needs of emerging adults and help them thrive before they become system-involved. Supporting emerging adults in this way would allow them to devote their energy towards building their futures rather than worrying about their current struggles.

Improved services and programming would encompass all aspects of an emerging adult’s life, such as education, housing, food, mentorship, health, and more. I think that support should be guided by emerging adults themselves and what they view to be their most pressing needs.

Funding an Office of Emerging Adult Services would both streamline services for emerging adults and offer opportunities to research their needs and support them proactively. Given that the emerging adult population has outsized involvement in the criminal legal system, we know that working to provide developmentally appropriate supports and programs can have an impact on public safety, life trajectories, and economic outcomes. Providing opportunities and support for emerging adults not only positively impacts them, but also their families, loved ones, and the general community.

Anna Fattaey is an intern at the Justice Policy Institute and studying Civic Studies and Philosophy at Tufts University.

Each year on Juneteenth, we celebrate the day when the last enslaved people in this country were told they were free. But centuries later, we’re still learning that the ability to walk free is just the beginning. True justice means giving people the chance to rebuild, to belong, and to thrive. For those of us who have lived through the justice system or have loved ones who have, that lesson hits especially hard.

In D.C., the Incarceration Reduction Amendment Act (IRAA) is one of the most meaningful tools we have to move beyond punishment toward true restoration. It offers people who were sentenced as emerging adults, often during the most traumatic and unstable years of their lives, a chance to come home after serving at least 15 years, if they can demonstrate personal growth and readiness to reenter society. This law doesn’t promise release, but it offers an opportunity — through a rigorous review process — to determine if redemption is possible.

I know it is. I am the proof.

I am one of more than 300 people who have come home under IRAA. I am a husband, a father, a grandfather of 11, a mentor, a working member of the D.C. community and a business owner. I spent decades in prison. But with support and a second chance, I am building a life rooted in service. And I am far from alone.

When I came home after spending a quarter of a century in prison, I was excited, relieved and uneasy, all at once. Though I was returning to my natural habitat, everything felt unfamiliar and full of uncertainty. While I had the support of my family, nothing could truly prepare me for the changes in technology, society and daily life. The consequences of incarceration linger long after release.

I am grateful to the D.C. City Council for passing one of the most comprehensive and critical legislation in D.C.’s history. I was released under IRAA, but I was exonerated a year and half later. Without IRAA, my exoneration might never have come.

As the third individual to be released under IRAA, I have had a front row seat to the IRAA experience. There’s no one-size-fits-all solution. Nothing is perfect, but the IRAA community has shown that supporting this population is an investment in public safety, in stronger communities and more stable households. I am proud of the IRAA community and the work that has been done. We are living proof that this policy is the right investment and delivers a return.

The numbers speak volumes: according to the Justice Policy Institute’s research and interviews with IRAA grantees, 97% of IRAA recipients remain home and free — many working, mentoring young people, and contributing meaningfully to their communities. This is not a soft-on-crime story. It’s a public safety success story.

The IRAA process is careful, thorough, and rooted in both accountability and transformation. The data, the stories, and the outcomes all point in the same direction: this law is working.

That’s why we must build on what’s working, not back away from it. This is the moment to reinvest in the systems that make second chances successful.

That includes protecting and expanding the support networks that help people come home and stay home. We need robust, sustained investment in reentry services like housing, mental health supports, education, job placement, and mentorship, so that every returning citizen has the foundation they need to succeed. This work cannot fall solely on underfunded nonprofits. Reentry is a public responsibility.

We also need to act earlier. The District created a new “Director of Emerging Adult Services” role to coordinate services and supports for young people ages 18 to 24, a population with distinct needs. The goal is simple: prevent more of D.C.’s youth from ending up in prison in the first place.

But despite being written into law, the position has gone unfunded for two years, stalling interagency coordination and delaying services that could both improve safety and change lives. Out of the $828 million proposed for MPD and DOC, the refusal to allocate just $500,000 for this role is a sad example of the District’s failure to invest in its young people. We know that developmentally appropriate, evidence-based interventions work. To ignore that is both a policy failure and a missed opportunity.

D.C. Council must correct this mistake and fully fund the role.

This is the future we’re fighting for: a vision of justice that doesn’t stop at freedom but creates the conditions for people to rebuild, contribute, and thrive.

Earlier this month, The Washington Post published an in-depth investigation linking school truancy to a rise in youth crime across the District. Seaira Wainaina, our associate and JPI representative on the District’s Juvenile Justice Advisory Group, submitted the following letter to the editor to challenge the framing and encourage a more nuanced public conversation. Unfortunately, the Post declined to publish any letters to the editor in response to the article, and we’ve seen little community feedback to what should have sparked urgent debate.

That’s why we’re sharing it here: as a call to correct the narrative and push for solutions that actually support young people and families.

In the June 9th investigative article Empty Desks: How the District’s failure to curb truancy in middle schools fueled the biggest youth crime surge in a generation, the authors draw an incomplete and harmful connection between school truancy and youth crime. Truancy is not a predictor of crime: it’s a red flag for unmet needs and systemic failures.

As someone who works with youth and advocates for their wellbeing, I see the realities of young people missing school because they don’t have clean clothes, reliable transportation, or because they’re navigating trauma and family crises without support. One student I spoke to said he skipped school because he didn’t have the right shoes and was tired of being bullied. These aren’t stories of delinquency; they are stories of systemic neglect.

D.C. has one of the largest employment gaps in the nation. For years, less than half of Black male students graduated high school. Wards 7 and 8 experience what can only be described as food apartheid, public transit dead zones, and healthcare deserts. And yet we continue to act surprised when kids from these neighborhoods struggle to get to school. Punishing kids for missing school only pushes them further from help and deepens cycles of harm.

If we don’t root our response in supporting strong families and communities, we will continue to see the same outcomes. Schools, government agencies, and community partners need to share accurate data, understand root causes, and scale up programs that work, such as mentorship, mental health support, and restorative practices.

We already have the blueprint. At the request of the D.C. Council, the Youth Rehabilitation Strategic Plan 2021, a strategic plan to prioritize support for justice-involved young people, was developed. This effort, led by the Justice Policy Institute in collaboration with government, policy and advocacy organizations, community providers, as well as individuals with lived experience, calls on District leaders to build a continuum of trauma-informed, developmentally appropriate services. Yet, few recommendations have been implemented. What is missing isn’t ideas; it’s the will to fund and follow through.

It’s time for policies that treat young people with dignity and meet them where they are, not trap them in cycles of punishment.

Last year on Father’s Day, my children woke me up by jumping on the bed, smiling and squealing. Even as I (Marcus) struggled to push away sleep, I felt grateful to be surrounded by these little people who love me. I love my children so much, but sometimes in moments like this when they are giving all of their energy to me, I forget that their unbridled joy is a blessing that so many of my friends cannot experience. They are locked away in a cell, and would trade their right arm for the opportunity to celebrate Father’s Day with their family.

Father’s Day should be a time of joy and connection. But for millions of families in America, Father’s Day and all other holidays are instead a painful reminder of who is missing. It is a day marked not by barbecues or hugs, but by visiting room barriers and long-distance phone calls — or aching silence.

We both know this pain personally.

I (Marcus) spent eight years in prison, beginning at age 15. I was just a kid trying to survive, navigating a system that too often punishes trauma rather than healing it. While incarcerated, I clung to daily letters and photos from my mother — even a simple picture of a hamburger, with a note counting down the days until I could eat one with my family. The pictures and notes reminded me who I was, and who I could become. Those letters inspired me to found Flikshop, a platform that now helps thousands of families stay connected with loved ones who are incarcerated. For the past 10 years, I have also served on the board of the Justice Policy Institute (JPI) to further the work to restore and reunite families — a mission that is very precious to me as a father of three.

Our country’s obsession with punishment has made it easy to forget the humanity of those it locks away. But every person in prison is someone’s child, parent, sibling, or friend. And far too many of them — especially Black and Brown men — are also fathers. When we incarcerate people, we don’t just remove individuals. We sever families. We sentence children to grow up without their dads. We deepen poverty, compound trauma, and create more harm.

I (Keith) know a different kind of separation. When I was in college, my older brother was murdered. It was a devastating act of violence that has changed my family forever. My family has been incomplete for every Father’s Day since, because one of my father’s sons is not there to celebrate. In the aftermath of my brother’s murder, we were not met with healing and support, but with a broken legal system that fails survivors and incarcerated people alike. My experience with the system inspired me to pursue a career in reform and it shapes my work at JPI, where I lead efforts to shrink the carceral system and invest in things that actually makes people safer: crime prevention through community investment.

And we both are saddened and outraged to witness the growth of yet another kind of separation. Today, the federal government continues to detain and deport immigrant fathers under the guise of security and crime prevention. Children cry for their dads in detention centers, just as they do in prison visiting rooms. Families are being torn apart in the name of law and order, without a single thought given to the emotional and generational costs.

Just a few days ago, I attended my son’s 8th grade commencement ceremony. I was so proud. I can’t imagine Federal officers raiding and removing other parents in the name of “law and order.” — Marcus

Through our work at JPI, we are shifting this paradigm. We know that true safety exists in connection and opportunity, not separation and punishment. Our mission is to end mass incarceration by challenging harmful narratives and advocating for policies that invest in people — not prisons. And we do this by centering the voices and elevating the leadership of people who have been directly impacted by the criminal legal system. We envision a future where public safety means support and healing, not cages and control. A future where families stay together, and where all fathers — regardless of conviction history, zip code, or immigration status — have the opportunity to parent, to love, and to lead.

This Father’s Day, we ask you to expand your circle of compassion. Celebrate your dad, and then take a moment to think about the fathers who are missing from the table. Think about the dad who can’t hug his kids because he’s behind bars for a mistake he made decades ago. Think about the child waiting for a phone call from a detention center. Think about the families who have survived violence, but never received justice, healing, or care.

And then do something. Get engaged. Volunteer with organizations working to support reentry or family reunification. Donate to advocacy groups like JPI and Flikshop that are led by those directly impacted. Contact your elected officials and demand that we invest in housing, mental health care, job training, and alternatives to incarceration — things that keep families together and communities strong.

I (Marcus) am grateful for my second chance to show up for my family and share these special moments with them. I hope that all of the dads that are still locked away in those cells remember how valuable they are to our community.

In the meantime, we’ll both keep doing the work until our society leads with care instead of punishment. Because to create a future in which families are whole and communities are thriving, we must start by telling the truth: punishment doesn’t make us safer. People do.

Marcus Bullock is the Founder and CEO of Flikshop, and a JPI board member since 2015. He is the proud father of three children.

Keith Wallington is the Director of Advocacy of JPI, and a proud husband and father.

Earlier this year, Congress passed a stopgap funding bill to keep the federal government open. The bill left out a provision that, for the last two decades, has allowed the District of Columbia to keep spending its own locally raised tax dollars, even during a federal budget delay. Without it, D.C., home to 700,000 people, will be forced to cut over $1 billion from its current year operating budget immediately.

This is an entirely avoidable crisis that Louisiana’s own representatives have the power to fix. Speaker Mike Johnson and Majority Whip Steve Scalise can bring the District of Columbia Local Funds Act to the House floor and ensure it passes. Despite clear bipartisan support and encouragement from President Trump, Speaker Johnson has yet to schedule a vote.

As a result, schools in D.C. are bracing for massive cuts. Emergency response budgets and food access support are on the line. Infrastructure projects are frozen. First responders and public workers are being put on notice. Trash collection, social services, and essential city operations are in jeopardy. This harm and chaos serves no legitimate fiscal purpose. The Congressional Budget Office confirmed that fixing this would not affect the federal budget at all.

The District of Columbia Local Funds Act of 2025 would simply restore the city’s ability to spend the budget it already passed and Congress already reviewed. The Senate passed the bill unanimously. Even President Trump has publicly called on the House to move the legislation “immediately.”

I serve as a Catholic deacon at St. Peter Claver Church in New Orleans, and I lead a statewide faith-based organizing coalition called the MICAH Project. I believe in the importance of caring for our neighbors, not just the ones next door, but those across this nation who are affected by the decisions of the powerful. It is disturbing to see Louisiana’s top Congressional representatives play a role in denying basic funding to another American community, particularly one that has no voting representation in Congress.

This is a moral failure. Speaker Johnson and Representative Scalise are punishing a city for political positioning. That’s not leadership, that’s cruelty.

What’s more, it goes against the very conservative principles Speaker Johnson and Representative Scalise have built their careers on. If Washington tried to block Louisiana from spending our own tax dollars — mid-year, after our state legislature had already passed a budget — we would be up in arms. In Louisiana, we believe in local control. We don’t tolerate federal overreach. And yet, that is exactly what Speaker Johnson and Representative Scalise are authorizing in the District of Columbia.

The people of D.C. are asking for nothing more than what any community deserves: the right to spend their own money on the needs they know best. Denying them that is not fiscal responsibility, it is fiscal sabotage. And it is within our Louisiana leaders’ power to stop it.

Speaker Johnson, Representative Scalise: you have the influence to fix this. You can put this bill on the floor and pass it.

As people of faith, and as citizens of this state, we are watching. Your leadership in this moment matters.

Deacon Allen Stevens is an ordained deacon at St. Claver Catholic Church in New Orleans and serves as Executive Director of the MICAH Project, a faith-based organization working to advance equity and justice across Louisiana.

Each year on Mother’s Day, I think about the women who brought us into the world, raised us, held us through heartache, and fought for our futures. I also think about the mothers who won’t be with their children today — not because they don’t want to be, but because they are incarcerated.

Across this country, more than 77,000 women are held in state prisons and over 84,000 in local jails. Most of them are mothers. The overwhelming majority — 75% of women in jails and 58% in prisons — are caregivers to children. Many are also survivors of physical or sexual abuse, and have lived with trauma, addiction, poverty, and systemic racism long before they were arrested. Instead of receiving support, they are criminalized. And now, they are separated from the people who need them most.

For mothers behind bars, Mother’s Day is a painful reminder of a system that devalues their lives and their roles in their families.

Too often, motherhood is treated like a liability in the justice system. I’ve read stories and met women forced to give birth while shackled — yes, still happening in the United States, despite clear guidance from the American Medical Association and the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists that shackling during childbirth is dangerous and inhumane. By the end of 2021, 13 states still permitted the use of restraints during labor. Even in the states where the practice is banned, pregnant women are still shackled in violation of the law. Last year, JPI submitted testimony to end this practice in the District of Columbia.

I’ve heard from women denied postpartum care, or sent back to facilities mere hours after giving birth. Others are forced to navigate menstruation in jail without adequate access to pads or tampons, sometimes only getting one or two per day, or having to buy more at inflated commissary prices. In many places, if you don’t have money or favor with staff, you bleed through your clothes. This is what it looks like when we deny a basic form of dignity and health equity. Women in prison often also suffer in silence through menopause, as most correctional facilities fail to provide adequate medical care, hormone therapy, or even basic support for managing symptoms like hot flashes, insomnia, and mood changes.

And then there’s the deeply disturbing legacy of forced sterilization. While many assume this ended in the 1900s, a 2020 report by California’s state auditor found that women were illegally sterilized in California prisons as recently as 2013. These practices disproportionately target Black, brown, Indigenous, and disabled women.

We cannot call ourselves a just society while reproductive oppression is still sanctioned in our correctional system. Conditions like endometriosis, fibroids, menopause, and even pregnancy complications are frequently underdiagnosed or untreated. Even routine health care is a struggle for women behind bars. Most prison systems are designed around male health needs, leaving women’s care chronically underfunded, misunderstood, or delayed.

Incarceration doesn’t just harm the individual; it destabilizes entire families, often forcing women to lose jobs, housing, and custody, while placing crushing financial and emotional burdens on loved ones left behind. On any given day, 2.7 million children have a parent serving time in jail or prison. The trauma of family separation is well-documented. Children of incarcerated parents are more likely to experience homelessness, food insecurity, school instability, and long-term emotional harm. Children of incarcerated parents are up to six times more likely to become incarcerated themselves, highlighting how mass incarceration perpetuates intergenerational cycles of trauma and confinement.

The truth is, we don’t need to do this. We don’t need to lock people up because they’re poor or struggling. There are community-based alternatives that work — programs that support families instead of separating them. When women are given treatment, housing, and a path toward healing, they are able to build safe and healthy lives for themselves and their families.

This Mother’s Day, I’m holding space for the mothers who aren’t free. The ones giving birth in chains. The ones missing bedtime stories and school plays. The ones sitting in cells when they should be sitting at the head of the table.

I’m also holding on to hope. Hope that we will stop turning our backs on women and start listening to them. Hope that we will build a world where no mother is punished for being vulnerable, poor, or in pain. Hope that next year, fewer mothers will spend this day behind bars and more will spend it in the arms of the people who love them.

Every mother deserves freedom. Every mother deserves dignity. And every child deserves their mother.

By Samaria Taylor

Did you know that Maryland incarcerates a higher percentage of its people than almost any democratic nation on earth, most of whom are Black? In 2019, the Justice Policy Institute (JPI) released Rethinking Approaches to Over-Incarceration of Black Young Adults in Maryland, which highlighted these disparities. As of 2018, the Black population comprised only 30% of Maryland’s total population, but 70% of its prison population. Measuring these disparities is a critical first step to eliminating racial injustice.

That is why last month, I testified at a hearing of the Maryland General Assembly’s House Judiciary Committee on House Bill 1423, a bill that would create a commission to measure the racial disparities throughout all phases of the Maryland criminal legal system. This bill is desperately needed.

I am a junior at the University of Texas at Austin, and I pursued an internship at JPI this semester because I’m passionate about changing the criminal legal system as it exists today. This dedication was strengthened as I saw the brutal murder of George Floyd broadcast over the world, leading to protests calling for the prosecution of his murderer and the abolition of the police. I began to do research on other people who were killed due to police brutality, including Breonna Taylor, Eric Garner, John Crawford III, Michael Brown, and Sandra Bland–who was murdered in a county neighboring my own. Then I realized: they were murdered simply because they were Black. This led me to discover how Blackness has been criminalized in this country, which is evident throughout the criminal legal system. Since then, I have continued to learn and contribute where I can to eradicate the overrepresentation of communities of color in the system. That is why I chose to intern at JPI and testify on this bill: I know that true, impactful change will not occur unless people are willing to assess the current disparities.

This work is especially important to me since I am from Texas, a state that seems to be living in the past on criminal justice reform. Texas has maintained a systematic acceptance of racial inequality: Black people represent 12% of the population, but roughly a third of incarcerated people, and nearly half of those on death row.

The only two counties I have ever considered home are prominent examples of this disparity. When I attended a town hall put on by the Austin Justice Coalition, I heard a former Travis County Sheriff officer admit that the officers she worked with have a conscious bias when they patrol different areas of Austin: they are more likely to do a traffic stop when they are in East Austin, where a majority of Black Austinites reside. According to the Travis County Sheriff’s Racial Profiling Report, they received “no racial profiling complaints” in the past year, even though 15.6% of all traffic stops were conducted on Black drivers while Black people only comprise 9.5% of the county population. This statistic is not unique to Travis County–it is similar across the state, with both Latinx and Black populations overrepresented in traffic stops.

Racial disparities are also evident in Harris County, the county where I grew up, particularly in its use of the death penalty. In Harris County, 21 out of the last 22 people executed were people of color. Over 70% of those executed were black. The last time Harris County sentenced a white defendant to death was in October 2019; the time before that was 15 years prior, in November 2004. Harris County has the highest death penalty rate in Texas, earning the title of “death penalty capital of the world.”

Even efforts to correct racially biased practices in Harris County, such as cash bail, have been met with backlash from the state. In 2018, a federal judge ruled in O’Connell v. Harris County that the county courts were violating due process protections of individuals being held on misdemeanor charges by requiring a cash bond without regard for the individual’s risk to public safety or their ability to pay. This lawsuit led to major reforms of the cash bail system, which shrank the number of people held on misdemeanor charges in the Harris County jail before trial by 40%. In the next legislative session, the state responded with the Damon Allen Act, a law that limits the use of personal recognizance bonds, which do not require collateral, and requires an additional hurdle, a pretrial risk assessment, to those seeking to be released on bond. Texas is currently doubling down on its bail “reform” efforts: during this current legislative session, Texas legislators are considering four different measures to limit judicial discretion on bail. These policies are a vehicle to keep more poor people in jail without trial, and will disproportionately target Black and Brown communities.

These so-called “colorblind” policies, like Texas’ bail “reform,” actually increase racial disparities in the criminal legal system, just as they have in other systems throughout history. Many people believe this is a “post-racial” society, and therefore laws and policies addressing different racial groups are not needed. However, historically “colorblind” policies have created disparities that still exist till this day, as evident in our healthcare system. Evidence shows health outcomes are worse for Black people, especially in cardiovascular disease, maternal mortality, and skin diseases. This is ironic, because Black people were often used as guinea pigs, as in the case of modern gynecological practices and the Tuskegee Syphilis Study, both of which experimented on Black bodies without consent. The disproportionality evident in the healthcare system mirror that of the criminal legal system.

Maryland House Bill 1423 will create a commission to address Maryland’s racially biased criminal legal system, correcting inequalities caused by historical “colorblind” policies and paving the way for broader reforms. During my testimony, I noted that many nationwide policies began as a state-level policy, such as the case of the Affordable Care Act. The passage of this bill into state law has the potential to influence criminal justice policy on a national level, just as local laws have the ability to influence state policy, as it did in Harris County. I hope that the passage of this bill and the creation of this Commission will address racial inequality in Maryland’s criminal legal system, and that I will have had a small part in paving the way to create a more fair legal system nationwide.

By Jasmine L. Tyler

During the recent joint address to Congress, President Trump called for a new crime bill, promising to be “tougher on repeat offenders” and to enhance protections for police. He also reiterated his executive order mandating the death penalty for those convicted of killing police officers. While this rhetoric may play well politically, history — and the evidence — tells us that these policies won’t make our communities safer. Instead, they will deepen the harms of mass incarceration, exacerbate racial disparities, and ignore the real solutions to community safety.

Decades of research and experience have shown us that harsher sentencing laws, including mandatory minimums and habitual offender statutes, do not deter crime. The Justice Policy Institute’s almost thirty years of research demonstrate that punitive responses often fail to address the root causes of crime — poverty, lack of access to mental health care, and systemic disinvestment in communities. When policymakers double down on outdated “tough on crime” strategies, they sidestep the policies that actually work: prevention, rehabilitation, and community-based supports. As JPI has documented in Building a Brighter Future, punitive policies overwhelmingly target communities already burdened by economic and social inequities. Instead of reducing crime, these laws have contributed to an overburdened and racially biased criminal legal system.

A new crime bill centered on harsher penalties for “repeat offenders” risks repeating the mistakes of the 1994 Crime Bill, which fueled mass incarceration, particularly among Black and brown communities. Several prominent elected officials from both parties have since apologized for their role in the passage of the 1994 Crime Bill. Former President Joe Biden acknowledged its contribution to mass incarceration, while former President Bill Clinton admitted the bill had unintended consequences that disproportionately harmed Black and brown communities. Democratic lawmakers like Rep. James Clyburn and Sen. Bernie Sanders have expressed regret over its impact, as have Republicans such as former House Speaker Newt Gingrich and Sen. Chuck Grassley, who have since supported criminal justice reforms aimed at undoing some of the bill’s harshest provisions.

Moreover, tying crime policy to immigration, as was repeatedly done in the address, is both misleading and dangerous. Crime rates have steadily declined over the past three decades, even as immigration has increased. Studies, including those cited in JPI’s work on community safety, consistently show that immigrants — regardless of legal status — commit crimes at lower rates than native-born citizens. Fear-based narratives scapegoating immigrants serve only to inflame tensions and justify punitive policies rather than advancing evidence-based solutions.

If we truly care about public safety, we have to shift our focus from punishment to prevention. This means investing in education, job training, violence interruption programs, and mental health services — all of which have been proven to reduce crime. JPI’s research in The Right Investment 2.0 on key investments in Maryland demonstrates that misguided spending on incarceration must be redirected, as community programs not only improve public safety but do so at a fraction of the cost.

Policymakers must resist the urge to recycle failed “tough on crime” policies and instead prioritize proven, community-centered approaches. A new crime bill built on punitive sentencing will not prevent harm — it will only entrench the injustices of our criminal legal system and cost taxpayers. If Congress is serious about public safety, they should look to the data, not the rhetoric, and invest in solutions that build safer, stronger communities for all.

Governor Glenn Youngkin’s latest proposal to slash Virginia’s earned sentence credit program is a step backward — one that will cost taxpayers millions, reduce safety in Virginia’s prisons, and extinguish hope for those working to rebuild their lives. His plan to cut earned credits from 15 to just 4.5 days per 30 days served undermines a proven policy that promotes rehabilitation, incentivizes good behavior, and reduces unnecessary incarceration.

A Brief History of Earned Sentence Credits in Virginia

This debate is not new. In 1995, Virginia abolished parole, leaving earned sentence credits as one of the only mechanisms for early release. Without them, incarcerated individuals — regardless of rehabilitation efforts — are locked into lengthy sentences with little incentive for personal growth. Research from the Justice Policy Institute’s 2022 report, “The Need for a Second Look in Virginia,” underscores the dangers of excessive sentencing and the need for second-look policies.

Virginia’s reliance on long sentences has led to an aging prison population, racial disparities, and skyrocketing costs, all without clear public safety benefits. Our report highlights that the state ranks 9th in total prison population and 13th in incarceration rate, with Black Virginians making up 55% of those incarcerated despite being only 19% of the population. Harsh sentencing policies, including the abolition of parole in 1995, have resulted in thousands of individuals serving excessive sentences, often well beyond what is necessary to ensure accountability. One in seven people in Virginia’s prisons is serving a life or virtual life sentence, and as a result, the state’s prison population is aging rapidly — 14% are now 55 or older. This approach to incarceration is not only unjust but unsustainable, costing taxpayers billions while failing to enhance public safety. Expanding earned sentence credits is one of the few tools to counterbalance these extreme sentencing policies, offering a pathway to return to their communities.

Public Safety and Rehabilitation Go Hand in Hand

Opponents of earned sentence credits, including Attorney General Jason Miyares, claim they threaten public safety. The data proves otherwise. Studies show that people serving long sentences, particularly those over 50, have among the lowest recidivism rates. Virginia’s own Department of Corrections data shows that the state’s overall recidivism rate is among the lowest in the nation at 19%. Yet, the system continues to hold individuals well beyond what is necessary for public safety.

Moreover, earned sentence credits improve safety inside prisons. A 2021 analysis of Virginia’s correctional facilities found that incarcerated individuals with access to sentence reductions through good behavior and program participation had fewer disciplinary infractions. Incentivizing positive behavior makes prisons more manageable and prepares individuals for a successful return to their community.

The Cost of Over-Incarceration

Virginia’s prison system is one of the most expensive in the country, with taxpayers spending over $1 billion annually. Long-term incarceration disproportionately impacts aging populations, who require extensive (and costly) medical care. According to the Justice Policy Institute, it costs almost triple the cost of younger individuals to incarcerate someone over 50. Despite this, Virginia continues to incarcerate hundreds of people who have served decades behind bars and no longer pose a public safety risk.

Earned sentence credits provide a smart fiscal solution. By allowing people who have demonstrated rehabilitation to earn modest reductions in their sentences, Virginia can save millions of dollars annually while reinvesting in programs that reduce crime — such as mental health services, education, and reentry support. This is not just about justice, but also about responsible fiscal management.

Hope is a Public Safety Strategy

Hope is a powerful motivator for individuals behind bars. Earned sentence credits give incarcerated people a tangible reason to engage in educational programs, vocational training, and rehabilitation efforts. Take Jeffrey Joyner’s story: After serving time, he was released under the program last summer, found work, and is mentoring his nephews. His transformation is not an anomaly; it’s a testament to the inspiring power of hope in driving positive change.

Youngkin’s proposed rollback would strip this incentive from thousands of incarcerated individuals, replacing hope with despair. Virginia risks worsening prison conditions, increasing recidivism, and ignoring the overwhelming evidence that second chances work if they fail to develop meaningful pathways to release

Decarceration is a Public Safety Strategy

Governor Youngkin’s proposal to roll back earned sentence credits ignores a fundamental truth: the safest communities are not those with the highest incarceration rates, but those with the strongest networks of support, opportunity, and stability. Decarceration is not about letting people off the hook — it’s about recognizing that keeping people in prison long past the point of rehabilitation does nothing to improve public safety. In fact, the opposite is true.

When people return home after long prison sentences, many become leaders who help keep communities safe. They step into roles as mentors, violence interrupters, business owners, taxpayers, parents, and partners. They know firsthand what drives violence and instability and are often best positioned to interrupt those cycles. Washington, D.C.’s Incarceration Reduction Amendment Act (IRAA) has shown this in practice: dozens of individuals released under the law are now working in reentry programs, violence prevention initiatives, and community organizations that provide alternatives to incarceration for young people. The same can be seen in Maryland, where individuals released after decades behind bars through the Unger v. Maryland decision have some of the lowest recidivism rates in the country — less than 3% — and many now serve as mentors helping others avoid the mistakes of their youth.

Earned sentence credits help facilitate this process by ensuring that people who have demonstrated their commitment to rehabilitation have a meaningful opportunity to return home and contribute to their communities. Stripping that opportunity away harms not only those who remain incarcerated but also weakens the communities they would otherwise help strengthen. If Governor Youngkin is serious about public safety, he should invest in strategies that work, not double down on policies that have already failed.

A Smarter Path Forward

The bottom line is simple: earned sentence credits work. They promote safety inside prisons by incentivizing good behavior, saving taxpayers money, and offering a path forward for those committed to change. Governor Youngkin’s reversal ignores both evidence and common sense. Virginia’s lawmakers must stand firm against his attempt to undermine this policy and ensure that justice remains about more than just punishment — it must also be about redemption.

By upholding and expanding earned sentence credits, Virginia can take a step toward a more just, cost-effective, and rehabilitative system that recognizes that people are more than their worst mistakes and that public safety is best served by policies rooted in fairness and data, not political fearmongering.

Keith Wallington is the Director of Advocacy at the Justice Policy Institute

The U.S. incarcerates more people than any other country, yet this overreliance on prisons fails to make our communities safer. Instead, it entrenches cycles of poverty, exacerbates racial disparities, and drains taxpayers’ dollars. The closure of these prisons presents an opportunity to reduce reliance on mass incarceration and redirect critical resources toward alternatives proven to promote safety — community-based programs, mental health and substance use treatment, and education. Research shows that investing in such initiatives can reduce recidivism and foster safer, healthier communities. For instance, studies demonstrate that every dollar spent on early childhood education results in a $7 return through reduced crime and increased lifetime earnings.

Economic concerns also loom large in discussions about prison closures. While the transition may be disruptive for some workers in the BOP, we must recognize the larger historical context. For too long, prisons have provided jobs to working- and middle-class communities, creating an economic system that mirrors the exploitative legacies of slavery and Jim Crow. These systems have long relied on the labor of marginalized groups, while offering minimal economic benefits to others, perpetuating structural inequities that continue to impact our society today.

But there is a chance to break this cycle. Instead of maintaining prisons, we can shift investment toward sustainable industries — green energy projects, education, and job training — that uplift communities rather than oppress them. By investing in these alternatives, we can create opportunities for workers while fostering broader economic and social justice.

The closure of prisons is more than just an administrative decision; it represents a transformative moment in our society. As we dismantle the harmful systems of mass incarceration, we should seize the opportunity to build an economy that prioritizes equity, dignity, and shared prosperity. By shifting the focus away from incarceration and toward sustainable economic development, we can pave the way for a more just and inclusive future.

Jasmine L. Tyler is the executive director of the Justice Policy Institute