Mandatory Minimum Sentences

  • June 21, 2012
    Guest Post
    Born Ready
    The Mixed Legacy of Len Bias
    By: 
    Dave Ungrady

    By Dave Ungrady, an author and journalist


    David Dickerson faced an unprecedented dilemma. The deadly and devastating floods from Hurricane Katrina threatened to flush away his first season as a college head basketball coach at Tulane University. His team was forced to relocate for the season to Texas A&M University in College Station, Texas, some 400 miles away. How could Dickerson convince his players to stay with a program treading water even before Katrina hit (Tulane finished 10-18 the previous season). How could a coach who barely knew his players convince them to suck it up and commit to playing for a team that had just one winning season in its previous five?

    Dickerson thought about Len Bias. He told his players about how he sucked it up and stayed with Maryland’s program for three trying years after Bias died. “I told them the story about not transferring and weathering the storm, and look where it got me,” he told me when I wrote my recent book Born Ready: The Mixed Legacy of Len Bias.

     “Without that story, I think I would have lost half my team. They had to remain loyal to a coach who hadn’t recruited anyone on that team. I told them what happened and what type of player Bias was. I told them he was the best player I played with or against, or saw during my coaching career. The Len Bias story was the catch to get their attention, to get guys to be loyal, maintaining the course and yes, there will be some ups and downs, tragedies here and there.”

    Dickerson’s story of resilience is one of the more powerful accounts from Maryland players who were on the team when Bias died on June 19, 1986 from cocaine intoxication. Each year around this time, many reflect on the significance of his death, how Congress overreacted and within four months pushed through the 1986 Anti Drug Abuse Act. Within a decade, a high percentage of young black men overcrowded prisons with prison sentences that stretched two and three decades, victims of a sentencing disparity that harshly punished crack criminals. The law spawned a period of activism calling for sentencing reform, led by such advocacy groups as the American Constitution Society, Families Against Mandatory Minimums and the Open Society Foundation.

    Bias’s death convinced teenagers and adults alike about the perils of drug abuse. If Len Bias died from cocaine, so can I, they suddenly thought. Cocaine was no longer considered a recreational drug that altered lives. It was now considered a potential killer.

  • May 30, 2012

    by Nicole Flatow

    When it comes to mandatory minimum sentences for drug offenders, judges’ hands are tied. Prosecutors, on the other hand, have discretion to implement the law, and a New York federal judge is calling on the Department of Justice to start using that discretion to curb the mass overuse of minimum sentences.

    “This case illustrates how mandatory minimum sentences in drug cases distort the sentencing process and mandate unjust sentences,” writes U.S. District Judge John Gleeson in a recent opinion accompanying the sentencing of low-level offender Jamel Dossie, whom Gleeson had no choice but to sentence to five years in prison.

    As The New York Times’ Adam Liptak points out in a column highlighting the opinion, Gleeson is no softy on crime. In fact, he led the team of prosecutors that sentenced John J. Gotti to life in prison.

    But mandatory minimums, Gleeson writes in the opinion, do not just capture the managers and strategists that the Anti-Drug Abuse Act of 1986 intended to punish. The ADAA, enacted after the overdose of college basketball star Len Bias, now ensnares some 74 percent of crack defendants, including many “low-level, substance abusing defendants” like Jamel Dossie, whose role in several drug deals was simply to ferry money between the buyer and the dealer.

  • May 24, 2012
    BookTalk
    Willie Mays Aikens
    Safe at Home
    By: 
    Gregory Jordan

    By Gregory Jordan, an author and journalist


    I remember standing with Willie Mays Aikens outside his halfway house in a hardscrabbled  corner of Kansas City as night fell in June 2009. I was there to write a book about his life; he was merely trying to make sorts of his life. He would be late for sign-in in two minutes, but showed no urge to rush. He never rushed - his innate cool and Southern style made rushing inconceivable. But that night he seemed unnerved. Not nervous – never that, either. But unnerved at how he would provide for the woman who would soon be his wife, for a daughter at an expensive college, and for her younger sister who had her eyes set on other expensive colleges.

    He was an ex-con, a month out of the slammer after learning the hard way what mandatory minimum sentencing is, and he had been offered a job on a road crew fixing potholes. He had two bad hips, two bad knees, an empty bank account, and a used car that broke down every other day. But he also had something he hadn’t had in over 14 years: freedom. And one more thing: spiritual cleanliness. He was not only drug free, not only did he have that cursed addiction tucked in under his hat where it belonged, but he also had what he called “a spiritual life.” He correlated it with God and churchgoing; I equated it with his boundless hope and joy. 

    As I walked him up the steps of the big brick building that night, I looked at my watch. He walked through the swinging doors, signed in, and the second hand on my wristwatch hit twelve as he put down the pen. 9 p.m. on the nose, and Mr. Cool Faith Hope Joy was heading to his bunk bed.

    I walked to my rental car, and thought: if I were a betting man, I’d bet on him. He wants it. He can taste it. Even though they set him up and locked him up and came close to throwing away the key, he had somehow corrected himself. Not cured himself, but set a right and steady course, destination pending.

  • September 20, 2011
    Guest Post

    By Nkechi Taifa, senior policy analyst for the Open Society Policy Center. She will discuss drug policy reform during two panel discussions at the Congressional Black Caucus Foundation’s Annual Legislative Conference this week.


    For a quarter of a century mandatory minimum sentences have resulted in egregiously severe and harsh punishments which often do not fit the crime, have racially disparate outcomes, increase overcrowding, and exacerbate prison costs. These sentences are the result of a war on drugs that has been disproportionately fought in Black and Latino communities. The impact of the war on drugs on individuals, families, and communities has been likened to a “new Jim Crow,” resulting in the mass incarceration and over-representation of people of color in the criminal justice system. 

    As a quick reminder: A mandatory minimum sentence is a prison term predetermined by Congress and automatically imposed for certain crimes, primarily drugs and firearms. It is the minimum penalty that a judge must impose. In most cases the sentence is at least five years, and often it is 10, 15, or 20 years or more, even for nonviolent first time offenders. 

    One of the problems with inflexible mandatory sentencing laws is that they are applied regardless of the role of the defendant and of other factors, which judges traditionally take into account for sentencing, such as the history and characteristics of the defendant and the likelihood of rehabilitation. 

  • August 6, 2010
    Guest Post

    By Nkechi Taifa, Senior Policy Analyst at The Open Society Policy Center and the author of an ACS Issue Brief, "The 'Crack/Powder' Disparity: Can the International Race Convention Provide a Basis for Relief?"
    For nearly a quarter of a century the disparity between crack and powder cocaine sentencing has stood out as one of the most notorious illustrations of unfairness in the criminal justice system. Since 1986 low-level crack cocaine offenders selling sugar packet and candy-bar-weight quantities of crack cocaine have been punished far more severely than their counterparts who trafficked in large-scale quantities of powder cocaine. For example, one who possessed just 5 grams of crack cocaine received a mandatory felony sentence of at least five years without parole in federal prison, yet one selling 100 times that amount of powder cocaine -- 500 grams -- received the same five-year sentence. Far from being "tough on crime," this 100:1 quantity ratio of low level crack prosecutions amounted to what has been described as "junk food justice," primarily impacting African Americans at the bottom rung of the drug chain.

    As a result of bipartisan legislation passed by Congress and signed into law by President Obama on August 3, the five-year sentence for simple possession of crack cocaine has been eliminated. This represents the first time in 40 years that a federal mandatory minimum sentence has been repealed, making the Fair Sentencing Act (S. 1789) a historic legislative achievement. Although advocates fought long and hard for the complete elimination of disparate treatment in crack cocaine sentencing, the Act significantly lowered the 100:1 ratio for distribution of crack to 18:1. While not ideal, achieving this reduction with agreement across the political spectrum was extraordinary, particularly with mid-term elections looming. The new 18:1 ratio will bring relief to nearly 3,000 cases a year, reduce crack sentences by nearly 30 months and, according to the Congressional Budget Office, save the federal government $42 million dollars over a five year period.

    Rare bipartisan consensus in support of drug sentencing reform was the catalyst in the passage of the Fair Sentencing Act. Widespread agreement from not only civil rights and criminal justice groups that have historically worked on the issue, but also support from the White House and Justice Department, law enforcement and prosecutors, and political and religious conservatives, was influential. Partisan politics was tabled as Senators and Representatives from both sides of the aisle spoke to the critical need for reform. Rather than the political posturing of "tougher than thou" on crime, the overriding sentiment became "smarter on crime." A groundswell of bipartisan support culminated in "cracking" the disparity, and now it is critical that these same champions come together to support continued reform.