America loves the idea of redemption. We tell people to pay their debt to society. We tell them to learn from their mistakes, rebuild their lives, take care of their families and become productive citizens.
But too often, when they actually do those things, we continue punishing them anyway. I know what that feels like because I lived it.
I was incarcerated for a nonviolent federal offense. While incarcerated, I gave birth to my daughter in chains. I experienced the humiliation and lasting consequences of a criminal conviction long after my sentence was over.
Then, on February 18, 2020, President Donald Trump granted me a full presidential pardon. That pardon did not erase my past. It did something far more powerful: it acknowledged that my past did not have to determine the rest of my life.
I went from being someone affected by the criminal justice system to someone fighting every day for people still trapped inside it. That is what a second chance can do.
The Second Chance Act, signed into law in 2008, was built on an important recognition: releasing someone from prison without giving that person the tools to successfully return to society is not rehabilitation. Reentry requires access to employment, housing, treatment, family support, education and other resources that make stability possible.
Presidential pardons and commutations operate differently from the Second Chance Act, but they come from the same fundamental belief: people are capable of change, and justice should leave room for redemption.
My pardon gave me something that cannot be measured only on paper. It gave me freedom from the permanent label that follows so many formerly incarcerated Americans.
And I used that freedom to help others. Through my criminal justice advocacy, I have encountered men and women whose stories demonstrate why second chances matter.
I have advocated for individuals who served decades in federal prison, returned home and built businesses, employed others, reunited with their children and became productive members of their communities. One man I have worked with served approximately 25 years before returning home and building a construction company. He left children behind when he entered prison. Today, he is married, working and demonstrating what rehabilitation actually looks like.
I have worked with families where incarceration does not punish only the person sentenced. An elderly mother may depend completely upon her son for care. Children may suddenly lose the parent who financially supports them. A person facing serious medical problems may enter custody while desperately needing treatment.
These cases remind me that criminal justice cannot simply be about what someone did on the worst day of his or her life.
We also have to ask: Who are they today? Did they accept responsibility? Did they change? Are they working? Are they raising families? Are they serving their communities? Are they still a danger to society? And perhaps most importantly: What purpose does continued punishment serve?
There are certainly crimes that require serious punishment. Supporting second chances does not mean ignoring victims, eliminating accountability or pretending wrongdoing never happened. It means recognizing that accountability and redemption can exist at the same time.
Our justice system should be strong enough to punish wrongdoing and wise enough to recognize transformation. There is also a practical reason America should embrace second chances.
When people coming home from prison cannot find housing, employment or opportunity because of a conviction that follows them forever, we make successful reentry harder. When someone has spent years demonstrating rehabilitation but remains locked out of opportunity, society loses a worker, an entrepreneur, a parent, a mentor and sometimes an entire future generation of positive influence.
I know what happened when someone opened the door for me. I walked through it. My pardon became more than personal relief. It became a responsibility.
I founded organizations, advocated for families, fought for criminal justice reform and began helping people navigate systems that can be overwhelming even for those with lawyers and resources.
I have sat across from mothers terrified about what will happen to their sons. I have listened to people who served enormous sentences describe the lives they rebuilt. I have seen families destroyed by incarceration. And I have watched hope return when someone realizes that America still has a mechanism for mercy.
That is why clemency matters. That is why reentry matters. That is why the Second Chance Act matters.
And that is why presidents, governors, prosecutors, judges, lawmakers, businesses and ordinary Americans all have a role in deciding whether we truly believe in rehabilitation.
A pardon should never be something that can be bought, promised or guaranteed. Clemency is an extraordinary constitutional power entrusted to our elected leaders. But citizens absolutely have the right to advocate, to petition their government and to make the case that mercy is warranted.
We should also make the ordinary pardon and reentry processes understandable and accessible to people who may never have political connections or national attention.
Second chances cannot belong only to the famous, wealthy or well-connected. They must belong to the deserving.
My life today is evidence of what can happen when punishment is not allowed to become a permanent identity. On February 18, 2020, my government looked at my entire life instead of only my record.
Since that day, I have tried to do the same for others. Every case is different. Every person will not qualify for clemency. Every sentence should not disappear.
But America should never become a country where we believe people can change in church on Sunday and refuse to believe they can change inside a prison on Monday.
Redemption cannot simply be something we preach. It has to be something our policies allow. I received my second chance. My mission now is to make sure America remains a country where deserving men and women can receive theirs.
Angela is an author, criminal justice reform advocate, maternal health advocate, and founder of Auntie Angie’s House and the American King Foundation.
But too often, when they actually do those things, we continue punishing them anyway. I know what that feels like because I lived it.
I was incarcerated for a nonviolent federal offense. While incarcerated, I gave birth to my daughter in chains. I experienced the humiliation and lasting consequences of a criminal conviction long after my sentence was over.
Then, on February 18, 2020, President Donald Trump granted me a full presidential pardon. That pardon did not erase my past. It did something far more powerful: it acknowledged that my past did not have to determine the rest of my life.
I went from being someone affected by the criminal justice system to someone fighting every day for people still trapped inside it. That is what a second chance can do.
The Second Chance Act, signed into law in 2008, was built on an important recognition: releasing someone from prison without giving that person the tools to successfully return to society is not rehabilitation. Reentry requires access to employment, housing, treatment, family support, education and other resources that make stability possible.
Presidential pardons and commutations operate differently from the Second Chance Act, but they come from the same fundamental belief: people are capable of change, and justice should leave room for redemption.
My pardon gave me something that cannot be measured only on paper. It gave me freedom from the permanent label that follows so many formerly incarcerated Americans.
And I used that freedom to help others. Through my criminal justice advocacy, I have encountered men and women whose stories demonstrate why second chances matter.
I have advocated for individuals who served decades in federal prison, returned home and built businesses, employed others, reunited with their children and became productive members of their communities. One man I have worked with served approximately 25 years before returning home and building a construction company. He left children behind when he entered prison. Today, he is married, working and demonstrating what rehabilitation actually looks like.
I have worked with families where incarceration does not punish only the person sentenced. An elderly mother may depend completely upon her son for care. Children may suddenly lose the parent who financially supports them. A person facing serious medical problems may enter custody while desperately needing treatment.
These cases remind me that criminal justice cannot simply be about what someone did on the worst day of his or her life.
We also have to ask: Who are they today? Did they accept responsibility? Did they change? Are they working? Are they raising families? Are they serving their communities? Are they still a danger to society? And perhaps most importantly: What purpose does continued punishment serve?
There are certainly crimes that require serious punishment. Supporting second chances does not mean ignoring victims, eliminating accountability or pretending wrongdoing never happened. It means recognizing that accountability and redemption can exist at the same time.
Our justice system should be strong enough to punish wrongdoing and wise enough to recognize transformation. There is also a practical reason America should embrace second chances.
When people coming home from prison cannot find housing, employment or opportunity because of a conviction that follows them forever, we make successful reentry harder. When someone has spent years demonstrating rehabilitation but remains locked out of opportunity, society loses a worker, an entrepreneur, a parent, a mentor and sometimes an entire future generation of positive influence.
I know what happened when someone opened the door for me. I walked through it. My pardon became more than personal relief. It became a responsibility.
I founded organizations, advocated for families, fought for criminal justice reform and began helping people navigate systems that can be overwhelming even for those with lawyers and resources.
I have sat across from mothers terrified about what will happen to their sons. I have listened to people who served enormous sentences describe the lives they rebuilt. I have seen families destroyed by incarceration. And I have watched hope return when someone realizes that America still has a mechanism for mercy.
That is why clemency matters. That is why reentry matters. That is why the Second Chance Act matters.
And that is why presidents, governors, prosecutors, judges, lawmakers, businesses and ordinary Americans all have a role in deciding whether we truly believe in rehabilitation.
A pardon should never be something that can be bought, promised or guaranteed. Clemency is an extraordinary constitutional power entrusted to our elected leaders. But citizens absolutely have the right to advocate, to petition their government and to make the case that mercy is warranted.
We should also make the ordinary pardon and reentry processes understandable and accessible to people who may never have political connections or national attention.
Second chances cannot belong only to the famous, wealthy or well-connected. They must belong to the deserving.
My life today is evidence of what can happen when punishment is not allowed to become a permanent identity. On February 18, 2020, my government looked at my entire life instead of only my record.
Since that day, I have tried to do the same for others. Every case is different. Every person will not qualify for clemency. Every sentence should not disappear.
But America should never become a country where we believe people can change in church on Sunday and refuse to believe they can change inside a prison on Monday.
Redemption cannot simply be something we preach. It has to be something our policies allow. I received my second chance. My mission now is to make sure America remains a country where deserving men and women can receive theirs.
Angela is an author, criminal justice reform advocate, maternal health advocate, and founder of Auntie Angie’s House and the American King Foundation.
