By Kemba Smith

As most Americans, I believed in the motto, liberty and justice for all, until at the age of 23 in April 1995, I stood in a court room with Lady Justice watching as Federal District Court Judge Richard B. Kellam sentenced me to a mandatory minimum sentence of 24.5 years in the Federal Women’s Prison in Danbury, Conn., as a first-time non-violent drug offender with no possibility of parole.

For centuries in this United States of America, Lady Justice has decorated our courtrooms with her presence. In one hand she carries the balanced scales which symbolize the equal distribution of justice that will be served, and in her other hand she holds a sword indicating that she has the power to inflict punishment. For me, what always stood out was the fact that she wore a blindfold. In grade school, I was taught that when it came to this goddess icon and the law, our judicial branch would ensure that justice would be distributed objectively without any bias due to an individual’s race, appearance or class.

Former NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund Director-Counsel and President Theodore M. Shaw greets Kemba Smith upon her 2000 release from the Federal Women's Prison in Danbury, Conn. where she was released, thanks to the work of her family and LDF, after serving 6.5 years of a mandatory 24.5 year sentence as a first-time non-violent drug offender.

While incarcerated, it was hard for me to fathom how keeping me imprisoned until Jan. 5, 2016, at a cost of over $25,000 a year, would make America safer. The longer I was there,the more I realized this wasn’t about keeping America safer. It was about harsh, draconian punishment. One of the hardest things I ever had to endure in my life was giving birth to my son and watching him grow up from behind a prison wall. I often wondered If I would ever be a real mother to him versus just mothering him during our prison visits.

In December 2000, after 6.5 years of efforts by my parents and legal counsel from the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund, Inc. (LDF)-calling powerful people, writing letters, signing petitions, and organizing my community-a miracle happened. I was released from prison. President Bill Clinton decided that an injustice had occurred and he granted me executive clemency, balancing the scales for Lady Justice, at least in my case.

When looking back, I realize that in comparison to others I have known, I realize how fortunate I was to have been released after 6 years. I realized how the gift of freedom not only changed my life, but also my family’s lives. I know that my son couldn’t imagine being in the ninth grade with his mother still incarcerated. My freedom has allowed me to experience true love and an understanding of what a healthy relationship is. My freedom will allow my mother to watch me walk down the church aisle and then afford me the opportunity to dance with my father at my wedding reception in July.

Since my release, I have often felt like a sole survivor, continuing to be the voice for those still in the struggle-for the thousands of other women and men, many of them parents like me, caught in this web of excessive, inappropriate sentences that ruin lives without reducing crime. I have spoken on panels for many criminal justice organizations and congressional forums still discussing the same old issue of the War on Drugs. Most panels consist of researchers, scholars, attorneys, and judges, with me representing “the ex-offender” affected by these laws. I do this with focused determination and ambition although at times I feel like the Lone Rider in the room because no one can truly understand the urgency for change except me and those still walking through their valleys.

Kemba Smith

For two decades, harsh mandatory minimum drug sentencing laws have fueled the federal prison population. On the state level, New York’s “Rockefeller Drug Laws,” enacted in 1973, have long been regarded as among the nations harshest and have been compared to federal drug sentencing. Elaine Bartlett, who served a 16-year sentence, and Anthony Papa, who served a 12-year sentence, are survivors like myself of senseless drug laws and have been advocating for reform since their release.

For far too long, minorities have been overly penalized for the same or similar crimes committed by their white counterparts. Numerous studies conclude that draconian drug laws disproportionately affect minorities and generally entangle first-time offenders who have no history of violence. Although drug usage, sales and trafficking are serious issues in our society, the vast majority of cases burdening our courts consist of defendants charged with simple possession and other lower-level offenses.

After more than 35 years, on March 4, the New York State General Assembly approved legislation that would repeal the Rockefeller Drug Laws and eliminate mandatory minimum sentences for first time non-violent drug offenders. As a result, this would allow judges discretion in many lower level felony drug possession crimes encouraging treatment over incarceration. Hopefully, the New York State Senate will approve this legislation to include retroactive sentencing. Re-establishing the moral force that should underlie the criminal justice system is what Lady Justice represents, continuing the progressive shift to a sensible drug policy in this country.

Kenba Smith is an advocate, public speaker and author who came to national prominence when she went from a sheltered, advantaged childhood to unknowingly becoming involved with a prominent crack cocaine dealer. Though she never actually handled any drugs, Smith was charged with trafficking 255 kilograms of crack cocaine in 1995. The NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund took Smith’s case pro bono in 1996.