Beyond the Sentence - PSPA Steps into SCI Phoenix
Thirty years is enough time to become a different person. At SCI Phoenix, the men who sat on the panel were not asking for sympathy–they were offering clarity. They spoke about the harm they caused, the decades they have spent confronting it, and the slow, deliberate work of becoming better men in a place designed to remember their worst moment forever. For the five students in the room, it was not theory; it was proximity.
SCI Phoenix and the Department of Correction’s recent event was not a typical prison tour or policy discussion. It was a rare moment of direct dialogue–a chance for senate board and community members to sit face‑to‑face with men who have spent three decades or more incarcerated and have spent those years doing the hard, unglamorous work of rebuilding themselves.
The day centered on two panels, each offering a different lens on transformation, accountability and the role of storytelling in understanding the people our justice system often renders invisible.
Sean’s Thoughts:
Each prisoner had their own story. One riddled through a fatal decision that changed the trajectory of their lives. They weren’t making excuses for what they have done; they were presenting the facts on how they changed who they were over decades of hard work, contemplation, and the urge to grow into a better human being. These men have suffered the moral contusion of what they have done. But, even expecting the fact that there is a strong possibility they might not see outside the walls of SCI Phoenix, they allowed themselves to heal and grow—academically and spiritually.
The three men that spoke during the first panel—Charles Diggs, Craig Datesman, and Kevin Evans—argued that geriatric prisoners shouldn't have to live out the rest of their days behind bars, especially after years of rehabilitation. Each was a prisoner for more than 30 years, with Diggs, now 76 years old, exceeding 50+ years behind bars. Most of their lives have been spent behind bars with very few glimpses of them possibly ever seeing outside no matter their behavior.
Datesman, a man who had the possibility of parole and was denied it even when the relatives of the man he killed supported his possible release, was never granted his freedom. They did not listen. The crime he committed was in 1982. That is 44 years of his life behind bars paying for an action he committed. Devoting his life to the education program that many convicts have found a fresh beginning within. A chance for them to find a pathway towards an overall betterment of their lives, even considering the situation they are in. Dateman was not granted his freedom even when the family of the victim saw the progress he had made, and decided to act on his behalf.
Whose word matters the most if not the words of those related to the victim? What is the point for institutions to provide educational programs to geriatric prisoners if the institutions cannot benefit? What does that leave the prisoners to look for if nothing, no matter age or the growth of who you are as a human, seems to help your case?
These questions are things that need to be pondered when talking about the Department of Corrections, the jailing system and how they want to move prisons into a better tomorrow. Some things do need to change with a system that has been around since 1930.
The next panel focused on solutions improving conditions within SCI Phoenix and other prisons in the state of Pennsylvania. The panel was led by politicians and members of the prison communities that help movements thrive for the betterment of these prisoners' lives. Each individual who spoke sees what an inmate goes through every single day—the good, the bad and the ugly.
Both panels had an underlying goal in mind: help all prisoners, young and old. A lot of the words exchanged regarded older prisoners with more than half their lives behind bars, suffering and repenting for the actions they committed in their youth. But what exactly can a prisoner do to prove to the world that who they once were is no longer present? That the work they have been doing is paying off, even if the outside world cannot attest to it or take witness? No matter your own opinion on geriatric prisoners being able to live out the rest of their lives behind bars or rehabilitated murders having a shot at freedom, this is a matter the ordinary individual should be aware of. If it is ignored, the issue may fall into the cracks of the system.
Aidan’s thoughts:
“Warehousing human beings until they die, who no longer pose a threat to society, is a practice PA must end,” said Robert Pezzeca, an inmate at SCI Phoenix.
We often paint those who hurt us as monsters: people who, since birth, live and function in ways unrecognizable to us. A separate species, fated to be locked up forever; who belong to the sidelines of society, immune to the same forgiveness and understanding we grant ourselves. True crime content, for example, displays the criminal as a conniving, villainous creature. Even the mural placed above the prison’s front desk depicted a phoenix shielding a sunny Philadelphia from a cloud of lava, destruction, and malice—the prisoners. Yet, when I met these men, they were not monsters. They were not made of lava or malice. They were not inhuman, nor incapable of moral clarity. When they did what they did, many of these men were young. Many of these men were poor. And many of these men did not have the education necessary to make the right decision. Yet, each of these things—wisdom, education, and means—are repairable.
No human being, besides perhaps a serial killer, wants to risk their life in prison, or suffer the brutal, life altering guilt violent criminals often face. Yet, they commit crimes anyway. And, despite enforcement and punishment in place, these crimes still occur at an astonishing rate, particularly in poor, neglected areas. Violent crimes are not desirable unless you are actively psychologically disturbed—they are often an absolute last resort.
To understand their motivations is to understand their humanity; thus, it is also to understand that Pennsylvania is undergoing a genuine human rights crisis. These men were not all advocating for their own release, nor did many claim innocence. They asked for basic human rights for their peers, the same rights those of other states and most of the world enjoy; and to be treated as what they are: elderly people in need of help. I was astonished upon learning they pay for their own healthcare, despite making $0.23 a day. I was astonished that many of these men were essentially approved for release by both prison administration and the victim’s family. Then, trapped for decades longer anyway, fully rehabilitated and deeply unlikely to reoffend, navigating a bureaucracy aggressive to their freedom. Eventually, they die in prison over a sentence they no longer need to serve.
One inmate stated, “This prison is becoming a geriatric nursing home.”
Inmate Charles Diggs, 76, told me, “none of us are perfect. Us men serving death by incarceration, we have made some fatal, tragic mistakes. But that’s not the end of the story. History plays an intricate part in our lives. If we open our minds, it can give us answers and solutions.”
They did awful things. But it takes one wrong turn to run someone over. One extreme, aggressive, or simply desperate moment to turn a kitchen knife into a murder weapon. We are all far more capable of violence than we think; to act as if such men are not the same as you or me is simply defensive. These men need therapy, rehabilitation, and education—not punishment.
Even, as hard as it may be, empathy.
Another inmate, named Roger, passed a note to me about his best friend, reading,
We just lost another lifer Sunday. Bob Buli; juvenile lifer, re-sentenced to 48 years to life. Dying from cancer, turned down for parole and diagnosed by a doctor not to live past August. Then turned down for a mercy release. We need a law, not a judgement, to remedy this injustice.
He then described how, following COVID, SCI Phoenix’s two wings were severed, and the Gray Panthers, a group advocating for such inmates, were split. Being the president's advisor, Roger has struggled to communicate with the rest of the Gray Panthers, ensuring resources are made needlessly more scarce for an already aging and ailing demographic.
Condemnation without condemning oneself demands moral superiority. Yet, the government isn’t God—for it to condemn others, for crimes motivated ultimately by circumstances it put people in, is pure hypocrisy. PA is complicit. Crime is systemic and most often motivated by poverty. Poverty is a failure of economic distribution, a responsibility of the state and economic regulation. Mass incarceration and over-policing rips communities apart, rendering them exponentially more dangerous than they already may have been. Such failures are a failure of the state. Yet, we don’t place senators in prison for the deaths their decisions cause. We do not incarcerate the governor for the rest of his life. Yet, indirectly, such people have killed vastly more than anyone in that auditorium. Moral superiority is not a justification for cruelty. It is merely cruelty masked as justice. This isn’t to say prisons don’t have a role in our society, but that is to say they absolutely require reform. There is no point to rehabilitation or corrections—per the title State Correctional Institution Phoenix—if nobody is released.
Nick’s Thoughts
Dichotomies are perhaps a way those who are privileged choose to ignore complex realities and offer simple solutions to an impossibly difficult world, with—to be frank—no good or equitable solutions. Good versus evil is the most common. A murderer? Evil. A police officer? Good.
Broadening the horizon, the United States of America, despite its 250 years of murky history, is more often than not considered good. Yes, we have had our flaws—slavery, racial segregation, pointless wars—but overall, we have learned from our mistakes and moved on, creating the powerhouse of the world, where people flourish and live meaningful, productive lives. A complex history, simply labeled as “good,” so as not to disrupt the dichotomy. But this nuance is lost in the Pennsylvania criminal justice system.
Many things stood out to me that day at SCI Phoenix. The overly complicated door system, double-layered barbed wire, both of which stop the “evil,” “amoral” murderers we stereotypically think of as being locked away from getting out. The men I met that day were not that. They were some of the most well-spoken and kindest individuals you could meet, handing water bottles to attendees, offering cough drops to a coughing woman and citing US history and the Bible. Murderers? At some point, yes, but not those men. The men they were 30 years ago, yes, but not those men.
“History plays an intricate part of our lives; it at least tells us where we came from, and if we open our minds, it can give us answers and solutions,” said Charles Diggs, 76, an inmate who has been in prison for 50 years.
Diggs brilliantly tied the country’s history to the individual lives of each inmate in the room—many of whom are 70-80 years old and have served decades of time sitting in wheelchairs. The United States has been given countless second chances, but has always been seen as good. From the sins of our past to the current sins still plaguing our country, we have improved and still try to be better. The men paying for mistakes they made when they were just turning 20 will never have that second chance, even when they are in their last years of life. But isn’t that justice? Not in a world beyond dichotomies.
Many of the inmates in that room who had killed innocent men were Vietnam veterans. These men were serving longer sentences than the very country that drafted and ruined them at such a young age.
Prison is supposed to be a place of not only punishment, but also rehabilitation. Sick 80 year olds being taken care of by fellow inmates and corrections officers–who lack the proper resources and knowledge to do so–who have been sitting in cells for over 50 years is not rehabilitation. Some, like Craig Datesman, even have family members of the victim arguing for their release, and still get denied by the board of pardons. Something must change.
Deciding when enough time is enough, and whether or not a person is ready to be a productive part of society, should obviously vary from person to person. At the end of the day, a heinous act was committed even if it was long ago, and that action must be paid for. But a better system is all these men were asking for. A way to ensure that those who have served the appropriate amount of time are safe for release, have gone through the proper channels, and have a better chance to get out, and not turn prison into a nursing home.
There is no objective answer to how long these men should serve, and what their exact punishment should be. The only true dichotomy is life and death, and these men did take lives. What I can say is that the reality of all of the lives locked away in that prison is as complex and nuanced as the history of this country, and given that, it is not right to simply ignore the unimaginable realities that led them to such a decision, and the lives and conditions they currently are living through in those cells. It would be a disservice to both these men and the United States to simply shut down the conversation of second chances and rehabilitation in the name of “good and bad.”
Written by Sean Musial, Aidan Vanhoof, Nick DiCicco & Claire Herquet
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