Mother's Day has a special place in the heart of a Michigan woman whose mother's incarceration kept them separated for decades.

Jen Szénay of Michigan said in 1990, her mother was sentenced to life in prison for the death of her husband, in a murder-for-hire case.

Szénay explained that her mom is a domestic-abuse survivor who didn't feel protected by the law.

She said two men carried out the murder of her father - and her mom, who maintains her innocence, was accused of conspiring with them.

Szénay's mother was given a commutation from the governor and released from prison last March. Szénay shared what that first Mother's Day with her mom was like after three decades apart.

"Overjoyed to be together, but it was just like so much shock still surrounding it," said Szénay. "I mean, we had been apart since May 24, 1990. So just to be able to, like, sit with her, hold her hand. It's weird to talk about because there's so many little things that you don't realize that you miss in a person until you don't have it."

Szénay is the communications coordinator for the Michigan Collaborative to End Mass Incarceration, an organization advocating for second-chance legislation.

It would pave the way for those serving a long prison sentence to re-enter society if they're deemed to no longer pose a risk to the community.

Incarcerated individuals would need to petition their sentencing judge for a reduction of their sentence.

With statistics showing average annual prison costs of between $34,000 and $48,000 per person - not including health care - policy researchers estimate savings of approximately $200 million a year through second-chance legislation.

"A lot of these women are victims themselves of domestic violence, of sex trafficking," said Szénay. "To have the ability to go back and say, 'Look, this happened when I was 18, 19, 25, you know, any age, 30, whatever. This is who I am today.'"

Szénay said that money saved by reducing excessive prison sentences could be reinvested in violence prevention, victim services and mental health.

"Why these cases are so deserving of a second look," said Szénay, "is because when you hear the stories, you're like, how did this person get so much time for this situation?"

Michigan has roughly 44,000 people confined or detained, and the state spends nearly 20% of its General Fund on prisons - adding up to more than $2 billion per year.

Changes in federal law will permit West Virginia and other states to use Medicaid dollars to pay for health care services for incarcerated youths beginning Jan. 1.

In addition to helping kids get physical and dental health care, the new rules should give them needed resources to address mental and behavioral health challenges stemming from childhood trauma.

Elizabeth Crouch, associate professor of health services policy and management at the University of South Carolina, said mitigating adverse childhood experiences is a growing part of efforts to keep rural children out of the juvenile justice system and detention.

"A fifth of rural children are diagnosed with developmental behavioral mental health disorders," Crouch pointed out. "Rural children are more likely to be diagnosed with developmental behavioral disorders, such as ADHD, than their urban counterparts."

About 45% of West Virginia children experience adverse childhood experiences, a rate five points higher than the national average. The Medicaid coverage for youth in detention includes physical, dental and behavioral health screenings and case management services.

States are also taking into account neurocognitive research showing teen brains do not fully develop until the mid-20s. Crouch noted arrests of young people have dropped by more than 80% since the mid-1990s, as a greater understanding of childhood trauma has increased the number of alternatives to detention. Still, she acknowledged the challenges for rural kids are formidable.

"What we have found is that rural children have been disproportionately living in homes affected by current substance use or mental illness," Crouch explained. "Rural children have experienced much higher rates of opioid use."

Despite declining arrests and detention rates, young people of color are still far more likely than white youth to be held in juvenile facilities, according to The Sentencing Project.

The New York Police Department's new commissioner must address the agency's dwindling public trust as her tenure begins.

Jessica Tisch became the agency's top official after former commissioner Edward Caban resigned amid federal investigations. Past surveys show high trust in the department but a new survey of heavily policed neighborhoods paints a different picture.

Brett Stoudt, associate director of the Public Science Project, said it found people in such neighborhoods want crime handled differently.

"A significant number of these residents do not desire more investments in policing but instead desire approaches to public safety that invest in a broad set of supports and services, and institutions," Stoudt explained. "The kind that more fundamentally address the root causes of violence."

Other findings show people are fearful of their neighborhood's expanded police presence. Along with this, some said they have experienced physical or sexual violence from police officers. Stoudt noted this kind of policing mostly affects minorities in the city. The New York Civil Liberties Union finds Black people are 20% of the city's population, but were 60% of people police stopped in 2023.

Recommendations to fix the issues include increasing transparency for the department, firing officers who abuse their position for power and stopping the spread of misinformation from the agency.

Ileana Méndez-Peñate, program director for the group Communities United for Police Reform, said other recommendations aim to reduce the department's omnipresent role in some areas.

"The other policy recommendation related to that is the real need to invest in the fundamental needs of New Yorkers," Méndez-Peñate emphasized. "I talked about housing and education but also youth programs and services and quality city infrastructure through security. These are some of the top concerns."

There could be challenges to enacting the survey's solutions. One is the charter revisions passed on Election Day, since one of them gives the department more power. She added another challenge is financing, since the millions of dollars the city spends on the police department do not address the root causes of certain issues.


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By Christopher Blackwell and Loretta Pierre for The Appeal.
Broadcast version by Danielle Smith for Mississippi News Connection reporting for The Appeal-Public News Service Collaboration

About a year ago, a close friend, Garrett Felber, told me about a project close to his heart—the campaign to Free the Mississippi Five (MS5). 

The MS5 are the last remaining women in Mississippi sentenced to life with the possibility of parole after ten years before the state virtually abolished parole in 1995. Although they are, ostensibly, parole-eligible, the state has routinely denied their release without reasonable justification. They each have been imprisoned for more than 30 years.

The five have each taken responsibility for the harm they caused and spent decades pursuing growth and repair. Felber sent me interviews he conducted with each person about their lives and the repeated, arbitrary denials by the Mississippi Parole Board. One of the group, Loretta Pierre, has been denied parole 14 times, more than any other woman in the state’s history. 

The more I learned, the more I wanted to help. So I am sharing the words of Loretta Pierre, who tells us her story and introduces us to the other four women with whom she has spent nearly four decades in prison. —Chris Blackwell 

My name is Loretta Pierre. In 1985, when I was 20 years old and five months pregnant, I shot a woman during an argument. I immediately called 911 for help. But tragically, she did not survive. 

When the police arrived, I was arrested for aggravated assault and eventually charged with murder. Once my court proceedings began, I had five mistrials before I was convicted at my sixth trial. In 1989, I was sentenced to life with the possibility of parole after ten years. 

I have now been in prison for 36 years and denied parole 14 times. I hold the record in the state of Mississippi for the number of times a woman has been denied. 

Before my conviction, I had never spent a single day in jail. The son I was pregnant with then is now 38 years old, and he has three daughters of his own. I have never met them. My Mama, my strongest supporter, died in September 2017, brokenhearted that I was never released in her lifetime. My sister, who was 10 years old when I was arrested, is now 49. And my brother, who was 24, is now 63. My siblings still support me, but with each parole denial, our hope of reuniting becomes more elusive. Nevertheless, we communicate daily and refuse to let this unreasonable punishment break us. 

I have completed more than 50 classes, courses, and programs in prison. Yet, when I last met with the parole board in January 2022, my file was completely empty and looked as if I had wasted decades doing nothing. There was no record of the job I held for more than 23 years; none of the letters of support that professors, friends, and family had sent in; or the document promising me a job when I came home. What was available for the board was my disciplinary record—the rule violations levied against me for filing grievances against the Mississippi Department of Corrections (MDOC) during my captivity. 

It has been a never-ending cycle that I’ve had to endure, day after day, year after year. I was not sentenced to life without parole or death by incarceration. Nor were the four other women from MS5 I want to introduce you to.

Evelyn Smith, 82, aka Mama E, has been incarcerated for 32 years for murder. She is an amazing cook, always makes extra for her friends, and has a remedy for anyone who is sick. Mama E’s last parole hearing in January 2022 lasted three minutes. They told her to come back in five years. I delivered the board’s decision to her in the privacy of her room. We shared our pain together, aware that she may not have another five years left to live but her faith in God is strong and she still holds hope she will one day be released.

Lisa Crevitt, 59, was just 20 years old when she succumbed to drug-induced psychotic delusions and dropped her child from a bridge. She has held the same job during her nearly 40 years in prison and has never received a single rule violation report. Lisa’s ex-husband and the deceased child’s father is now a judge in Warren County, Mississippi. Many believe that his political influence has kept Lisa imprisoned. Her first parole date was in 1995. The board has denied her nine times. 

Anita Krecic, 65, has been incarcerated since 1987, after her then-boyfriend shot and killed a Mississippi Highway Patrolman. Anita’s co-defendant, who shot the trooper, was executed in 2002. While incarcerated, she has consistently worked a job, earned over 100 college credits, and maintained an exemplary behavior record. She displays strong values, morals, and ethics in her daily life and is currently enrolled in seminary school. But in the lead-up to each of her parole hearings, signs opposing her release are typically posted throughout the county where she was convicted. In 2022, she was denied by the board and told to return in 2030. 

Linda Ross, 62, has been incarcerated since 1989 for killing a man who attacked her. She has maintained a job throughout her incarceration and is currently pursuing a bachelor’s degree. She is very generous and loves to cook for friends. Linda loves to share stories with those incarcerated with her. 

Each time we are denied parole, the board cites the “serious nature” of our crimes. None of us can change what we did—only who we have become since. I have completed every program MDOC has made available to me. That this doesn’t seem to matter makes me think that those with authority see no value in the department’s rehabilitation courses. These programs feel like a sham, nothing more than a way for crooked authorities to generate funding while putting on a show for the public. 

Change will not happen unless the public pressures those who oppress us without oversight. Without transparency and accountability, we five—and many like us across the country—will be forced to die behind these towering walls—not to provide safety for our communities, but for retribution and punishment. 

For this to change, we need your help! Our website includes our clemency petitions, ways to support us, and addresses to contact us—please share on social media so others can learn about our plight. Relationships and correspondence can be life-saving forms of support. For too long the parole board in Mississippi has been able to act as judge, jury, and executioner. We must build our collective strength to combat this repressive system. It is far past time for us to get a chance to return to our communities. 


Christopher Blackwell and Loretta Pierre wrote this article for The Appeal.


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