Locked Away For Life

Cedric Rue was 16 years old when he committed the crime that put him in prison for the rest of his life.

It was 1998, and Rue was struggling with drugs and alcohol. One day, he was camping with some friends in Arizona. He and another teenager shot and killed a 41-year-old named Michael Decker. Rue was tried as an adult and found guilty of first-degree murder. The judge sentenced him to life without the possibility of parole. That meant he’d die behind bars. His friend, William Najar, also got life without parole.

“I hardly understood what was happening every time we went to court,” says Rue, who is incarcerated at Red Rock Correctional Center in Eloy, Arizona. “When we got locked up, I knew we were going to prison—we deserved to for what we did. But I didn’t think it would be for the rest of my life. It felt like I was in a haze or The Twilight Zone.”

Now 39 years old, Rue has spent more of his life in prison than outside of it. He’s one of more than 1,400 people in the U.S. serving life without parole sentences for offenses they committed as juveniles, according to the criminal-justice reform group the Sentencing Project.

In recent years, there’s been a growing trend away from sentencing minors to life without the possibility of parole. The Supreme Court has ruled that life without parole sentences for people under 18 violate the Eighth Amendment’s prohibition against “cruel and unusual punishments.” The Court’s ruling cites scientific research that the teenage brain isn’t yet fully developed.

The ban, though, applies only to mandatory sentences—those that a judge is required by law to give to an offender for a particular crime, usually murder. The Court left the door open for judges to still sentence juveniles to life without parole after taking into account their particular circumstances.

There’s been a widespread movement on the state level toward banning that as well, though. Ten years ago, only five states prohibited life without parole for juveniles. Today, 25 states and the District of Columbia ban it outright (see map, below). But Arizona, where Rue is imprisoned, is one of several states pushing back against the trend.

Many criminal-justice reform advocates argue it’s time to do away with all life-without-parole sentences for juvenile offenders.

“It’s an inhumane, unthinkable thing we do,” says Heather Renwick, legal director of the Campaign for the Fair Sentencing of Youth, “that we throw kids into prison and say they are irredeemable and that we don’t believe that they deserve a second chance.”

But others, including some family members of victims murdered by teenagers, see things differently.

“Dangerous people need to be identified and separated safely, and, if necessary, permanently from society,” says Jennifer Bishop-Jenkins, co-founder of the National Organization of Victims of Juvenile Murderers. She says it doesn’t matter how old someone is.

The ban only applies to mandatory sentences—ones a judge is required by law to give to an offender for a particular crime. They usually are given in murder cases. The Court left the door open for judges to still sentence juveniles to life without parole after taking into account their specific situation.

But there’s been a widespread movement on the state level toward banning that as well. Ten years ago, only five states prohibited life without parole for juveniles. Today, 25 states and the District of Columbia ban it outright (see map, below). But Arizona, where Rue is serving time, is one of several states pushing back against the trend.

Many criminal-justice reform advocates argue it’s time to do away with all life-without-parole sentences for juvenile offenders.

“It’s an inhumane, unthinkable thing we do,” says Heather Renwick, legal director of the Campaign for the Fair Sentencing of Youth, “that we throw kids into prison and say they are irredeemable and that we don’t believe that they deserve a second chance.”

But others see things differently. That includes some family members of victims murdered by teenagers.

“Dangerous people need to be identified and separated safely, and, if necessary, permanently from society,” says Jennifer Bishop-Jenkins, co-founder of the National Organization of Victims of Juvenile Murderers. She says it doesn’t matter how old someone is.

The debate about whether the justice system should treat children and teens differently from adults has a long history in the U.S. The first juvenile court began hearing cases in 1899 in Cook County, Illinois. It was part of an effort to stop young children from being sent to adult prisons and jails.

The model then spread across the country. By 1945, every state and the federal government had put a similar system in place. Judges were trained to use methods such as probation, repayment to victims, and occasionally jail time to help reform young offenders.

But the 1980s and 1990s brought a reversal in thinking. During those decades, the crack-cocaine epidemic hit cities around the nation hard. At the same time, violent crimes committed by youth surged. More states passed “automatic transfer laws,” which made it easier for minors to be sent to adult courts for serious crimes. And more judges sentenced juveniles to longer stays in prison. That included life without the possibility of parole. Critics have charged that Black juveniles were much more likely than White juveniles to receive these sentences when judges had the ability to choose.

In the early 2000s, juvenile crime rates fell. Authorities once again began to rethink their approach. A growing body of scientific research found that the areas of the brain that deal with decision making, impulse control, and consequences are often not fully developed until people reach their 20s. Research also showed that adolescents are more likely to respond to interventions and grow out of delinquent behavior.

In response, the Supreme Court ruled in 2005 that the death penalty for juveniles was unconstitutional. Then in 2012, in Miller v. Alabama, the Court barred mandatory life sentences without the possibility of parole for anyone who committed a crime before turning 18. Justice Elena Kagan’s majority opinion cited adolescents’ “diminished culpability and heightened capacity for change.”

In 2016, the Court made this standard apply to sentences given before its ruling. That allowed inmates who had already been sentenced to mandatory life without parole as juveniles to appeal their sentences. Rue appealed, but his appeals in state court were denied. A court said the judge had taken into account his age and other factors before sentencing him. He’s now fighting his sentence in federal court.

Victims rights groups argue that in the debates about what’s fair to juvenile offenders, the victims and their families deserve more attention. Sixteen years before Bishop-Jenkins co-founded the National Organization of Victims of Juvenile Murderers in 2006, a 16-year-old named David Biro shot and killed Bishop-Jenkins’s pregnant sister and her sister’s husband.

Biro was sentenced to life without the possibility of parole. Bishop-Jenkins says she fears what might happen if he were to ever be set free. That’s why she believes that courts should still have the option to sentence juveniles to life without parole.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with age,” she says. “It has to do with the dangerousness of the individual person.”

Renwick, of the Campaign for the Fair Sentencing of Youth, disagrees. She says it’s unreasonable to have judges try to predict what type of adult a young person is going to become in the future. Instead, she says, we should allow a parole board to make a judgment on how someone has matured when that time comes. During a parole hearing, inmates who’ve already served a certain amount of time in prison have a chance to argue that they’re ready for an early release.

Victims’ rights groups argue that in the debates about what’s fair to juvenile offenders, the victims and their families deserve more attention. Bishop-Jenkins co-founded the National Organization of Victims of Juvenile Murderers in 2006. Sixteen years before that, a 16-year-old named David Biro shot and killed Bishop-Jenkins’s pregnant sister and her sister’s husband.

Biro was sentenced to life without the possibility of parole. Bishop-Jenkins says she fears what might happen if he were to ever be set free. That’s why she believes that courts should still have the option to sentence juveniles to life without parole.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with age,” she says. “It has to do with the dangerousness of the individual person.”

Renwick, of the Campaign for the Fair Sentencing of Youth, disagrees. She says it’s unreasonable to have judges try to predict what type of adult a young person is going to become in the future. Instead, she says, we should allow a parole board to make a judgment on how someone has matured when that time comes. During a parole hearing, inmates who’ve already served a certain amount of time in prison have a chance to argue that they’re ready for an early release.

“It makes more sense that we consider a person’s growth on the back end,” she says, “as opposed to trying to predict which 16- and 17-year-olds will make that growth.”

Rue, who has been transferred between multiple prisons and spent time in solitary confinement, says he’s trying to show that he has changed. While in custody, he received his G.E.D.,* and he’s been taking rehabilitation classes, such as a victim’s impact class and a class called Courage for a Change. He’s also teaching a painting class to other inmates and is part of a peer mentorship program.

“I used to feel like I belonged in here. Now I don’t feel that way anymore,” Rue says. “I just want the chance to get out to try and prove that we’re not the same. That we were just stupid kids.”

Melissa Nottingham was once engaged to Decker, the man Rue shot. Though at the time of the sentence, she says she thought it was fair—calling it “a cruel sentence on a cruel crime”—she has since softened her position.

“I struggle with the idea that they don’t have the opportunity for parole, because of the fact that your mind isn’t developed at 16,” she says. “On the flip side, I think about how Mike brought a lot of joy and what was taken away from me and [his family]. Intellectually, I could say they should be given an opportunity to have parole. Emotionally, it’s hard to tell.”

“It makes more sense that we consider a person’s growth on the back end,” she says, “as opposed to trying to predict which 16- and 17-year-olds will make that growth.”

Rue has been transferred between multiple prisons and spent time in solitary confinement. He says he’s trying to show that he has changed. While in custody, he received his G.E.D. He’s also taken rehabilitation classes, such as a victim’s impact class and a class called Courage for a Change. He’s also teaching a painting class to other inmates and is part of a peer mentorship program.

“I used to feel like I belonged in here. Now I don’t feel that way anymore,” Rue says. “I just want the chance to get out to try and prove that we’re not the same. That we were just stupid kids.”

Melissa Nottingham was once engaged to Decker, the man Rue shot. At the time of the sentence, she says she thought it was fair. She called it “a cruel sentence on a cruel crime.” But she has since softened her position.

“I struggle with the idea that they don’t have the opportunity for parole, because of the fact that your mind isn’t developed at 16,” she says. “On the flip side, I think about how Mike brought a lot of joy and what was taken away from me and [his family]. Intellectually, I could say they should be given an opportunity to have parole. Emotionally, it’s hard to tell.”

Though Rue is still hoping for a second chance, others have already benefited from the changes in law. Since 2012, the number of people serving life without parole for crimes committed as juveniles has declined by almost 50 percent, with close to 800 people given these sentences returning home from prison.

Marshan Allen is one of them. He was sentenced to mandatory life without parole in 1996, when he was 15, for his involvement in a gang shooting in Chicago. While in custody, Allen began trying to turn his life around. He took law classes and received a law certificate in 2001. He filed several appeals for resentencing, but each one was rejected.

Though Rue is still hoping for a second chance, others have already benefited from the changes in law. Since 2012, the number of people serving life without parole for crimes committed as juveniles has declined by almost 50 percent. Close to 800 people given these sentences have returned home from prison.

Marshan Allen is one of them. He was sentenced to mandatory life without parole in 1996. He was 15 at the time, and his sentence related to his involvement in a gang shooting in Chicago. While in custody, Allen began trying to turn his life around. He took law classes and received a law certificate in 2001. He filed several appeals for resentencing, but each one was rejected.

Then in 2014, he got a break. Illinois began allowing inmates who’d been given mandatory life-without-parole sentences as juveniles the opportunity to appeal. Allen typed up a petition and filed it in court right away. Two years later, after nearly 25 years behind bars, he was allowed to walk free.

Now, Allen advocates for criminal justice reform as the policy director of the nonprofit Restore Justice. He says he’s living proof that people shouldn’t be judged by “their worst mistakes.”

“Children especially have the greatest capacity to change,” Allen says. “No one is who they were when they were a teenager.”

Then in 2014, he got a break. Illinois began allowing inmates who’d been given mandatory life-without-parole sentences as juveniles the opportunity to appeal. Allen typed up a petition and filed it in court right away. Two years later, after nearly 25 years behind bars, he was allowed to walk free.

Now, Allen advocates for criminal justice reform as the policy director of the nonprofit Restore Justice. He says he’s living proof that people shouldn’t be judged by “their worst mistakes.”

“Children especially have the greatest capacity to change,” Allen says. “No one is who they were when they were a teenager.”

^{*the equivalent of a high school diploma}