After years in a California prison, voting is a personal triumph over my silent past

By Richard Richardson

I was sent to juvenile hall at age 10 and never thought about losing my right to vote or any other rights – other than my freedom.

While most children explored the world, I was shuttled from one dysfunctional foster home to another or behind bars, having my formative years masked under the umbrella of shame and oppression that the legal system imposes on children.

At 18, my mother told me to register to vote. When I got to the part about whether I was a Democrat or a Republican, I froze. “What am I?” I wondered. I’m not sure what I checked, but it wasn’t Democrat or Republican.

When election day arrived, I was imprisoned again and did not have the opportunity to vote.

The reality is that I spent most of my adult life at the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation. I didn’t care about voting or laws that didn’t apply to me. My daily concerns were surviving and dealing with the harsh violence and deprivation of prison life.

My life, marked by early incarceration and systemic failures, has been an ongoing fight for recognition and rights. The act of voting is not just a civic duty, but a personal triumph over a past that sought to silence me.

My views on voting and civil rights changed drastically in 2004, when Proposition 66 was on the California ballot. Proposition 66 was the first attempt to reverse the draconian three strikes law, responsible for putting men and women behind bars for the rest of their lives, in some cases for trivial infractions. This initiative would have allowed me to get out of prison sooner if approved by voters.

I remember that election season encouraging our friends and family to vote for Prop 66. We campaigned in the prison yard and handed out flyers with information about Prop 66. I remember watching the election results on my little black and white television. white man in my cell at Centinela State Prison. Proposition 66 was led by a wide margin that night as more votes came in.

Sitting in my prison cell, I thought the proposal would win. But as the night wore on, Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger appeared on my television screen, declaring that if Proposition 66 passed, California would free thousands of “rapists, murderers and child molesters.” When I saw this commercial, my heart and hopes sank.

When the polls closed the next morning, the measure was defeated.

Since that dark day, I’ve always wondered if money, fame or votes mattered in that election.

Most people affected by the criminal legal system take their civil and voting rights for granted. We have witnessed time and time again how rights only apply to privileged people. A friend I met during my incarceration even voted for the three strikes law.

He realized his mistake when he was convicted under the law he supported.

It added more than six years to the time he spent behind bars. He then understood how he and many California voters had been misled into thinking the law only applied to repeat offenders. He also told me that he believed laws were written for a select portion of society and did not consider himself to be the part of society targeted by the three strikes law.

Today we laugh when he tells me that it was the first time he realized he didn’t belong to one of the privileged groups.

I was released early, not because of a change in the law, but because Governor Jerry Brown saw the flaws in California’s criminal legal system. My sentence was commuted at the age of 48, which marked the end of a long and arduous journey. I missed many milestones, including the opportunity to exercise my right to vote – but that will change this year.

Registering to vote made me uneasy. Now I was being asked to serve on a jury. I know that as a “citizen” it is my “duty” to vote. Nothing said this to me more than when I received a postcard from Congressman Juan Alanis asking me to help “eliminate the early release of prisoners” with my vote.

My ability to vote is even more relevant in 2024, as it is my first opportunity to vote in a presidential election. The candidates, former President Donald Trump and Vice President Kamala Harris, are polarizing figures with solid support and opposition on both sides. I’m a little disappointed and question whether my vote will make any difference.

My skepticism stems from a lifetime of systemic neglect and my personal opinion that we have always lived in a divided country where rights don’t matter and laws only apply to the disadvantaged.

However, my internal struggle reflects a broader social question: is it worth voting when the change we seek seems absurd? For me, voting is an act of empowerment, a symbolic gesture of resilience and determination.

Every vote I cast will be a step towards regaining my voice and identity and participating in a society from which I will always be somewhat excluded. Although doubts persist about the effectiveness of voting, the importance of this right cannot be overstated.

It is through voting that I affirm my place in a democratic society and contribute to the collective voice that seeks change.

Richard “Bonaru” Richardson is the chief financial officer of KeeshaConnect, where he works on California prison reforms and serves as vice chair of the Pollen Initiative Board of Directors.