Reginald Manning

My name is Reginald J. Manning. I am a Muslim, a father, a student, and a writer who happens to be in prison. I post this profile in hope of connecting with genuine people with whom I can build, laugh, and enjoy honest conversation. As I’ve said, I am a student of Georgetown University pursuing a degree in cultural humanities. I have learned to use writing as a way of advocacy for myself and others. Attached to this profile is a sample of my writing done for the Maryland General Assembly, in the hopes of passing the Maryland Second Look Act, a bill aimed at reducing Maryland’s prison population, and giving long-term offenders who have done substantial work to change their conditions an opportunity at freedom. I hope that anyone reading this comes away knowing that there are people worthy of second chances in prison. There are individuals in need of human connections and compassion. I count myself amongst them, even if I am not the one chosen to correspond with. I thank you for your time, and hope to hear from you soon.

My name is Reginald J Manning. I am a 44-year-old man, serving a sentence of life plus 75 years. As I write this, I do so without the expectation of ever being free, still I write, partly as a plea for myself, more as a plea for those like me who can’t find the words. I speak with the sincere hope that there lies a second chance beyond our worst mistake.
Consider this; change is a continuous process undergone by every human being. Some people transform for the better, some for the worse, but all people change. We are living in the times where the conscience breathing within our collective minds will no longer allow us to ignore the worsening side effects of mass incarceration, however, as a responsible society, we must examine this issue with the utmost care and concern for the victims of crime. I believe even in this effort, compassion holds a middle ground. Is it possible to see criminals and victims both through a humane lens? Or are we as a society deemed, in all cases, the final authority as to who gets to be human in their flaws?
As I write these words, I do so from a cell inside an institution that could at any day become my tomb. I allow these thoughts to flow from a burdened mind, resting above a heavy heart because my concern as your’s, rest with those affected by my actions. I know I have a debt to pay to society, one I wish to clear, however, I disagree with the method of payment. Time may heal some wounds, but it doesn’t rehabilitate criminals. If we understand prison sentences as projected terms necessary for individuals to undergo a significant level of change, then we will also embrace the idea that those sentences must, and in most cases, will someday end.
I have found in so many instances the whole of someone’s humanity is summed into a matter of seconds, moments that come to represent the totality of someone’s being. I challenge anyone hearing or reading these words to go back to the point of their worst transgressions, mark the distance between then and now, fill that space with memories, lessons, and experiences… now convince me you’re the same person as you were then.

Impossible right? The incarcerated are no different. As a young person I fell victim to a self-destructive way of thinking. My mentality and the circumstances that bred it were not unique to me. Although I thought they were. We’ve heard the old adage; hurt people hurt people. This was true of me, I was hurt. As a result of not being able to process my own emotions of fear, anger, disappointment and hopelessness I turned into a person I didn’t recognize. The cycle in the communities like the one I come from is to grow with the expectation of prisons and death. Our trust has annually been placed in a broken system, one where there is no healing after hurt. A system where we don’t acknowledge that an untreated problem, is a repeated problem. A system that refuses to accept that the model of crime control and punishment must change in order to change the mentality of those most affected by it.
Prisons have become warehouses, where those considered unfit for society are stored on the taxpayers’ dime until the release of death or a date reaches them. I urge you to consider that we can do better. We hold press conferences after incidents of violence and promise to punish the guilty, which is justified. Still, I wonder what could we achieve if we committed the same amount of effort into treating the circumstances and mentality that sparked the violence to begin with, how much change could be enacted? Personally, my life in prison has become one of mentorship, scholarship, and reflecting. I am currently a student of Georgetown University’s BLA program at Patuxent institution. I was selected as one of the first 25 students from a pool with under a 7% acceptance rate. I am pursuing a major in cultural humanities. I am an author of the fictional work titled Bullets & Black Roses. My upcoming nonfiction work titled Dying in Public, A Prison Story Told Through Poems and Essays, is set for release in early 2025. I have completed every prison program available from NA and AA, to Alternatives to Violence where I became a facilitator. I work tirelessly to better myself because daily I choose to engage in the endless process of changing for the better. My deepest desire is to impact someone’s life positively, to surpass the negative impact I’ve had in my past.
When I came to prison with a life sentence, I, like so many others, was hopeless. I fell back into old patterns of drug use and violence. I hope that by studying my case, you see not an individual who entered prison and faced no adversity, but one who did, and ultimately found a way to overcome it, without the motivation of a release date.

I owe the people I’ve hurt. I owe the society I played a part in affecting so destructively. I hold that as it stands I am not paying that debt, because as I’ve said, it can’t be payed with idle time. My debt is one to be paid in work, work that cannot be done from inside a prison cell. I sit stored and preserved while others are footing the bill for my mistakes, I argue this isn’t justice, not because I am uncomfortable, or yearn for freedom, which of course I do. I argue this because for people who come to prison and do the work, there is a ceiling, a level at which change and capability are stunted. All while the problems that allowed my mind state of ignorance and under-achievement to exist grow worst. If you are able to look at me, if you give yourself permission to see me, consider my flaws with all of the compassion and understanding which you consider your own. If you examine the totality of my being, not just the instances of my worst mistakes, would you be able to consider a second chance for someone like me? I believe this is only possible if you are able to first identify me past my case number and the length of my sentence. I believe this is only possible if you first consider my humanity; thanks for your consideration.

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• Incarcerated Since: 2003
• Sentence Received: Life with Parole
• Earliest Release: 2028

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