Thirty years ago, I was sentenced to life without parole for killing a young man on Buffalo’s East Side. I was twenty. Since my incarceration, I have been committed to change and to helping others find a path to rehabilitation. I have earned a college degree, counseled peers through crisis, and mentored at-risk youth trying to find a way out of the same violent environment I grew up in. The possibility of clemency — the opportunity for Gov. Kathy Hochul to reduce a prison sentence — has provided a new path to hope and freedom.
The widespread use of life without parole sentencing confines people who could otherwise be contributing to our communities. Without clemency, thousands of New Yorkers will die behind bars, many for crimes committed in their adolescence. In recognizing the harshness of excessive prison sentences and the value of redemption, Hochul should take bold action when it comes to clemency, particularly for people serving life sentences.
In 2023, Hochul granted clemency to 36 people, partly “to recognize the efforts individuals have made to improve their lives and show that redemption is possible.” Yet, none of these grants were to people serving life sentences — those for whom clemency is most potent, because it is our only pathway to freedom. Historically, New York has granted far fewer clemencies than other states.
Clemency is close to home for me. For three decades, I’ve worked on taking responsibility for the senseless destruction and pain I caused. Like many people sentenced to life without parole, external forces — domestic violence, poverty, and mental illness — influenced my behavior from a young age.
I was born in 1975 and grew up in Buffalo, where I was exposed early to violence and crime. When I was about 12, a friend and I went to buy candy. As we left the store, my friend’s Uncle Rick, whom we looked up to, was on the payphone four feet away. A car stopped, and a man jumped out and shot Uncle Rick five times while we stood there, frozen in place.
Violence was an everyday occurrence in my neighborhood, and in our homes. Much of it was at the hands of fathers or father figures who beat our mothers and sometimes us. Eventually, I took part in the destruction myself, first fighting back to defend my mother from her second husband’s abuse, then fighting in my neighborhood as a “gangsta.”
Most of my peers in prison have a similar story. We still had opportunities to do better, but made the wrong choices. Early in my incarceration, I realized I could either let negativity and destructive influences guide me, or I could change. Like many people in prison, I chose change. I educated myself. Where I once responded to conflict with impulsivity, I now respond with empathy. I reach out to the younger guys I see on the same paths I once traveled. I facilitate programs including Alternatives to Violence and Youth Assistance. I try to help young people organize their thoughts so they can organize their lives and redirect themselves from behaviors that lead to self-destruction, crime, prison, and — in many cases — death.
Though many lifers have dedicated ourselves to self-improvement, we will never leave prison without clemency. We deserve a chance at redemption. To define someone by their worst mistakes is to ignore decades of progress and growth. Clemency decisions should not focus solely on the crime committed in youth, but on how a person has behaved during their incarceration and whether rehabilitation has taken place. An individual’s capacity for change is not limited by the crime they committed.
Clemency is often mischaracterized as a public safety risk, but based on DOCCS’s own analysis, recidivism rates for a new offense for people aged 45 to 49 are extremely rare (about 6%) and even rarer for people incarcerated for more than 20 years (about 1%). People become less likely to commit crimes as they age. Young people aged 18–25 are great risk-takers, less future-oriented, and more volatile in emotionally charged settings.
For years, governors have hesitated, or outright refused, to exercise their clemency powers, fearing “soft on crime” accusations, but most voters now support expanding clemency. Hochul could follow the lead of Democratic and Republican governors in Oregon, Oklahoma, Virginia, and Kentucky, who have used their clemency powers robustly. By granting clemency petitions to lifers, she can show mercy and promote justice.
Whether in prison or in free society, I’ll continue teaching and demonstrating, through my actions, how to channel negativity and frustration into positive behavior. If I’m blessed with the opportunity to return to the community, I will continue offering love and help to those in need of care and understanding. The same is true for a great many of the other men I know who are serving life without parole.
John Moore Jr. is a New York State inmate who is a clemency advocate and a mentor for peers and at-risk youth. He has an associate’s degree from Corning Community College.
