Drug War Vet Earns 2nd Chance

Kevin Blackman was back in the courtroom where he was first sentenced to 24-plus years in federal prison.

This time, that was cause for celebration — for Blackman, and for a community looking to repair lives crushed in the War on Drugs.

The ​“hearing” in U.S. District Court on Church Street Wednesday was actually a commencement ceremony. Blackman was graduating from New Haven Reentry Court, after over three years in the support program. Under the supervision of a federal judge committed to helping people avoid repeatedly returning to his courtroom, the program has in biweekly sessions been quietly helping New Haveners return to society for good.

Sometimes the program produces quick results. As Blackman’s three-year journey showed, it can sometimes take longer, but still reach its destination. And offer a path forward for people whom society once gave up on during an era of long-term mandatory sentences fueled by concern over drug-related crime.

Blackman’s recurring weed habit kept giving him positive drug tests and pushing back his graduation rate. After being asked to leave the program, he resolved to quit cannabis and stay clean.

He did.

“People were counting on me, so I put my foot down,” Blackman said. ​“It was only hard for me because I made it hard. I wanted to see my son. I wanted to see my daughter get married.”

At Blackman’s graduation ceremony on Wednesday, his family and supporters celebrated his resilience and his determination to make it through the program after surviving so much.

“He did some wrong things. Kevin has always owned up to that. He also did them at the wrong time, when the kinds of sentences imposed for narcotics trafficking were far more severe than they would be in modern times,” said U.S. District Judge Jeffrey Meyer.

Blackman was one of 16 members of the original ​“Jungle Boys” indicted on drug charges in the 1990s. The group organized drug trafficking out of the Church Street South housing complex across from Union Station. Factory jobs were long gone; selling cocaine was a viable economic alternative.

Blackman’s lawyer is Federal Public Defender Terence Ward. Though Ward was not Blackman’s lawyer in his 1990s sentencing, he started working as a public defense lawyer around that time.

“I’ve seen the evolution of the War on Drugs. All we saw for years and years was a ratcheting up of sentences, adding mandatory minimums, punishing people who have substance problems as a way to try to curb drug use. Back then, the government said that they would clean the drug dealers out of Church Street South and spend all kinds of money on making it a better place. That never happened. They just punished them,” Ward said.

Blackman spent 26 years behind bars on the federal drug, assault and manslaughter charges.

He went into prison as a 26 year-old and emerged at age 52 to a completely different world.

Informal Court

The reentry court is meant to help bridge that gap for those released from long periods in federal prison. The voluntary program combines the support group model used by Alcoholics Anonymous with reentry services like resume-building and legal help.

“When people come out, they are happy to be out, but their self-esteem and self-worth are bludgeoned. I think the reentry court’s primary value is affirmation,” alongside the legal and career help, Meyer said.

Before the Covid-19 pandemic, Meyer sat down every other Wednesday with a circle of around ten formerly incarcerated men and other court personnel: a public defender, a probation officer, a few clerks. During the pandemic, these sessions have taken place virtually.

The group checks in with one another about the last two weeks’ successes and setbacks. A guest speaker, often a potential employer or other helpful individual with their own record, addresses the group for the last half hour. In between weeks, court personnel follow up with support resources.

The reward at the end of the yearlong program is the chance to shorten the federal supervised release by one year. This means one year less of checking in with the probation officer and of potentially going back to prison for a positive drug test, even if the state itself has decriminalized marijuana.

For Meyer, the sessions humanize those he sees in the courtroom the rest of the week.

“A judge’s usual experience is highly formalized, dealing with parties [in a trial] or taking a guilty plea. I’m mostly seeing people in their worst light,” Meyer said. “[In the reentry court] I get to learn who they are as a person. It expands my horizons.”

New Haven’s five-year-old reentry court is one of three in Connecticut. The federal district courts in New Haven, Bridgeport and Hartford each host a support court as well that focuses more intensively on addiction.

Meyer’s reentry court has graduated dozens of formerly incarcerated men. (No women have signed up yet.) Still, the sample size is too small to say exactly how the court affects recidivism rates.

“It doesn’t work every time. The large majority, though, are like Kevin. They bust their rear ends. They work a job, or two. They are reconnecting with their families,” Meyer said.

Graduation Day

Blackman’s friends, family and supporters came out in full force on Wednesday, the first in-person reentry court session in New Haven in over a year.

Meyer spoke about Blackman’s courage in returning to the courtroom where he was first sentenced to attend reentry court. A portrait of the judge who sentenced him, Ellen Bree Burns, now hangs on the courtroom wall. He recounted stories of how supportive Blackman was of other members of the reentry court and his determination to finish the session.

Former city policer Lt. Holly A. Wasilewski spoke about how the long sentences always mean a more complicated reentry process. As reentry coordinator for New Haven’s U.S. Attorney’s Office, Wasilewski drafted resumes for Blackman after he lost his first post-prison job. She and Meyer helped Blackman visit his son after his son was incarcerated. And she helped Blackman practice how to talk about his criminal history if it came up in a job interview.

A recent member of the reentry court, Ernesto Bernard, spoke tearfully about how inspirational Blackman’s recent journey has been. Even though he could have attended the session virtually from home, he wanted to see Blackman off in person.

“I too just came home. I did almost 30 years,” Bernard said. ​“You have so much to give people with your story and your success. We need you. Don’t make this your last day. You have a gift.”

Blackman promised to return to speak to future members and to help Bernard out with whatever he needs. The two men hugged. Bernard accepted tissues from Blackman’s probation officer.

At least ten members of Blackman’s family sat in groups, crying and telling him how proud they are of him.

“He said so many times that he was ready to give up. Now, I’m 73 and I’m so grateful to God that he brought my son back to me. He’s really taking care of me,” said Blackman’s mother, Marcia Mitchell.

“Why Do They Do That To People?”

One of the most powerful speeches came from Blackman’s youngest sister, Tracie Mitchell. At age 16, she would run over from Hill Regional Career High School after school to watch her brother’s trial. It seemed to go on for months.

“I hoped Kevin and I could walk out of that door. I thought maybe they would let him off because it was just one time,” Tracie said. ​“My father died when I was 10. Kevin was like my father.”

Tracie would sometimes start to doze off during the trial. Blackman would motion with his thumb towards the door, telling her to go home.

“He always held down the fort. He made sure we ate and had proper clothing,” said the second youngest sister, Lisa Heard.

When Tracie heard Blackman’s sentence of 292 months in prison, she thought that might not be too bad. Then she calculated it out on paper and realized that meant 24 years and four months.

“Why do they do that to people?” she said.

Tracie Mitchell and Lisa Heard drove up and down the East Coast to visit their brother as he was moved between prisons. Once, other drivers hit Tracie’s parked car twice in the same trip. Another time, the two sisters surprised Blackman with a visit and then had to wait while he showered and fixed his hair. He would have gotten a hair cut too if they’d given him advance notice.

They laughed about the anger he used to struggle to control. He would yell at them over the phone to behave, and they would tell him he had to speak politely or they would hang up on him.

“I’m your little sister, but I’m not little anymore,” Heard remembered telling him.

They faced the same problem when he emerged from prison — he still treated them like his baby sisters when they were fully grown and had children of their own.

Blackman became better at handling his anger through the reentry court and accompanying services. Now instead of yelling, he says, ​“Just forget it.”

Blackman has already served three and a half years of his five-year federal supervised release. With his graduation, Blackman got a certificate, a fancy clock and one year chopped from his supervised release. He has half a year to go.

Blackman currently works a maintenance job at Amazon. His goal now is to open his own car detailing shop. He is single and hoping to change that with the right woman, he said.

Now he has a chance once again to make good.