Pennsylvania woman released from prison again after changes to the First Step Act
BEAVER, Pa. — Wanda Solomon had meticulously packed her belongings a week earlier.
Her heart pounded as she looked around her room — a dimly lit 9-by-12-foot cubicle with one window, a creaky bunk bed and a locker housing a well-loved Bible. A bulletin board hung empty, no longer dressed with photos and letters from her grandbabies.
Solomon scanned the shared room, making sure she wasn't forgetting any keepsakes. This time, she thought, she was leaving for good.
Everything she'd collected during her more than 15 years in prison — letters from loved ones, family photos, legal documents and essential hygiene products including Sensodyne toothpaste and Dove body wash — fit in one cardboard box and a crocheted bag made by a fellow inmate.
She didn't pack clothes; instead, she left them behind for the women who still had time left on their sentence.
"I had a good pair of sneakers, but I swapped them out and gave the girls my new ones," Solomon said.
She'd spent nearly six years at Alderson Prison Camp in West Virginia — "Camp Cupcake," as it's colloquially known thanks to Martha Stewart's time there. And 10 years in Hazelton Prison in West Virginia prior to that.
Wearing a gray T-shirt and sweatpants, white Nikes with worn soles and a low ponytail, Solomon gripped her belongings and walked down to R&D — the Receiving and Departures Department of the prison — and waited for a phone call.
Nearly two and a half years had passed since Solomon went through the same check-out routine. In 2019, she felt more anxious than excited to leave the prison grounds. Something had felt "off" last time.
It was. Only a month later, she was sent back to prison due to an oversight by the Bureau of Prisons.
Now, she waited 35 minutes before hearing an R&D worker say, "Solomon, your ride's here."
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She met daughter Imani Solomon and her black mini poodle Titan in the prison parking lot. And for a moment, all of it − the lost time, the trauma suffered from the federal slip-up years prior − faded away.
This time, something felt different. Solomon remembered that feeling.
Peace.
Modifications to the First Step Act
Wanda Solomon, 62, of Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania, was released from Alderson Prison Camp on Nov. 26, 2019, after she qualified for the Early Release Pilot Program under the First Step Act, a Trump-era bill aimed at reducing recidivism through a variety of programs, justice reform provisions and early release opportunities for nonviolent prisoners.
One month later, the U.S. Marshals Service arrived at her residential reentry facility and took her back to prison. Although she hadn't committed any additional crimes, she was later told the Bureau of Prisons determined she had a "history of violence" due to a 1997 disorderly conduct charge and a 2007 prison fight. According to Solomon, the warden, nor any other prison official, didn't explain exactly how or why that was determined after her release.
For the last two and a half years, Solomon has been appealing the Bureau of Prisons' decision to send her back into custody. She filed for compassionate release under the First Step Act, which allows a nonviolent inmate early release if they have a documented, qualifying medical condition. Her Type 2 diabetes didn't make the cut.
It wasn't until February 2022 that Solomon learned she was eligible for early release due to her FSA Time Credits, which, under the First Step Act, allow nonviolent inmates who complete specific programming while incarcerated to have time knocked off their sentence.
For every 30 days of successful participation in either an Evidence-Based Recidivism Reduction program or Productive Activity, an inmate can earn up to 10 days of credit that goes toward placement in pre-release custody, such as in a residential re-entry center or home confinement.
Although inmates were eligible to earn FSA Time Credits in 2020, confusion surrounding how the Bureau of Prisons defined one "day" meant fewer inmates were actually being released, although they were completing appropriate programming.
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When the BOP considered defining a single day as eight hours of completed programming, federal critics called the stipulation unrealistic and unattainable.
According to a document published in the Federal Reserve on Jan. 19, 2022, U.S. Rep. Hakeem Jeffries, a Democrat, said defining a day as eight hours of participation "does not appear to be a good faith attempt to honor congressional intent. A day of successful participation is clearly a day on which a prisoner has successfully participated in a program or productive activity."
Jeffries said requiring inmates to participate in eight hours of programming each day would "dramatically reduce the amount of time credits an individual can earn," as programs aren't offered for an eight-hour period.
Other commenters suggested time credits should be retroactive from Dec. 21, 2018, the enactment of the First Step Act, rather than Jan. 25, 2020, as was originally indicated. Others suggested those finishing their sentence in pre-release custody, such as in a residential reentry center or home confinement, should be able to continue earning FSA Time Credits toward supervised release.
In response to feedback, the BOP adopted what it calls a "more straightforward and more administratively manageable approach" to measuring time credits. In its finalized rule, the BOP said it also committed to recruiting more community volunteers to lead approved programming and to work with individuals in pre-release custody to better accommodate access to available programming. A representative from the BOP told The Times, a part of the Paste BN Network, procedures for implementing FSA Time Credits are being finalized.
Now, for every 30-day period inmates successfully participate in an Evidence-Based Recidivism Reduction program or Productive Activity, they will earn 10 credits. That could mean completing a program or class that takes place for one hour per week for eight weeks, like most of Solomon's courses. As long as an inmate participates in a First Step Act specified class or program for a 30-day period, they will receive credits — essentially days taken off their time behind bars. Inmates considered a minimum or low risk of recidivating, like Solomon, can earn an additional five days of credits each period.
For Solomon, the BOP hadn't calculated earned credits into her release date, though she had completed dozens of FSA Time Credit-approved courses. Roughly one month after writing to U.S. Attorney General Merrick Garland about her predicament and filing an appeal to the prison, she was notified her earned credits would be added. She was released, once again, on April 1, 2022.
Solomon's situation isn't uncommon.
In fact, the BOP's finalized rule adjusting FSA Time Credits was published two months after the Office of the Inspector General wrote a memorandum to Michael Carvajal, director of the BOP, criticizing the implementation of the First Step Act. Michael Horowitz, inspector general, revealed the BOP had not applied time credits to roughly 60,000 federal inmates who had completed the required programs. Shortly after, Carvajal announced his plan to resign.
Solomon knocked a year off of her prison sentence thanks to the classes she completed while incarcerated. She will serve the next six months in home confinement.
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Today, Solomon keeps her guard up when she's out in public, terrified she will be sent back to prison because of a misunderstanding.
She avoids placing her hands in her pockets when she's in the grocery store, so no one thinks she's trying to steal. Recently, she went to the eye doctor to get a new pair of glasses. She pulled out an old pair from her purse.
"These are mine!" she blurted. "I ... I didn't steal these!"
"I know you didn't," the optician replied, confused. "I saw you pull them out of your purse."
Three days after she first arrived at her daughter Imani's house — where she currently lives in home confinement — her granddaughter, who was wearing a hat, came to the door to visit her. Her granddaughter's shadow frightened Solomon, and she was afraid to open the door.
What if it was the marshal again, coming to take her back?
"Sometimes I almost think I felt safer in prison," Solomon said with tears in her eyes. Now, it feels like everyone is watching you, just waiting for you to slip up."
Police cars and glances from passersby cause paranoia. She sleeps restlessly, anxious she'll miss a call from the Renewal Center, which checks in on her three times a day.
"I was diagnosed with PTSD by my psychiatrist," she said.
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A 2013 study assessed 25 prior inmates who had served roughly 19 years in a state correctional facility. The study found significant connections between PTSD and a cluster of other mental health symptoms. Those studied were characterized by institutionalized personality traits, such as distrust, fear, difficulty engaging in intimate relationships and alienation.
For some, public spaces can at times feel paralyzing.
"When I came home in 2019, I went to the Dollar Store. I felt like as soon as the sliding doors opened, I was stuck. I felt like everybody stopped with their carts and was watching me," Solomon said.
Panic bubbled. She looked at her daughter, who stood beside her, and began to cry. "Why are these people watching me?" Solomon asked. "Do you think they know I've been to prison?"
Solomon couldn't go into the store that day.
"I felt like everything in that store had stood still, like time had stood still," she said.
Solomon's daughter Imani, 36, acknowledges it's been an adjustment having her mom live with her.
"Just because she's physically free doesn't mean she's mentally free," Imani Solomon said. "It's teaching me to have more understanding and patience. The prison system can ruin people."
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The BOP's early handling of FSA Time Credits appeared to be deliberate, prison reform advocates say.
"It seemed like they were initially looking for ways around implementation, or they were restricting how it was interpreted," said Brett Tolman, previous legal counsel to the U.S. Senate Judiciary Committee and the current executive director of Right on Crime.
Tolman helped draft and pass state and federal-level criminal justice legislation including the First Step Act, the Corrections Act and the Fair Sentencing Act. He also was the prosecutor for the kidnapper in the Elizabeth Smart case. He’s been a criminal justice reform advocate for 13 years.
Regarding FSA Time Credits, Tolman said politicians and advocates are now holding the Department of Justice's feet to the fire, and the BOP is finally implementing these earned credits.
"We heard from a number of folks that they finally got notice that because of the course work and the programming they did, they were eligible for those number of days credit towards their release date. Thousands of individuals were notified that, in essence, they finally got the credit they were owed," Tolman said.
Institutional change is no easy feat, especially when an institution is as lofty as the Department of Justice and BOP. But Tolman said the numbers speak for themselves.
The recidivism rate for those incarcerated federally is roughly 40%, Tolman said. For those released under the First Step Act, recidivism drops significantly, to roughly 11%.
Recidivism can be defined as rearrest, re-conviction and re-incarceration. Accurate statistics can be difficult to come by as studies use different criteria to define recidivism. Generally, overall recidivism for federal, state and county inmates is roughly 70-80%.
"We are failing 70-80% of the time," Tolman said. "I don't know anyone who gets patted on the back for that sort of failure."
According to the Pew Charitable Trusts, in 2016, federal recidivism was between 40%-50%. According to the Attorney General's First Step Act Annual Report published in December 2020, individuals who were released from federal prison as a result of the First Step Act — more than 7,200 inmates — had an 11% recidivism rate.
Transparency is paramount, advocates say, but in federal systems, legislation and policy can get convoluted, especially with newer policies like the First Step Act, which was the first of its kind in roughly 10 years.
Professor Terrence Coffie is an adjunct lecturer at New York University and founder of the Social Justice Network who served time in prison in the 1990s for possession with intent to sell. He now teaches college courses about criminal justice, social work and race. From his studies and personal experience, Coffie said there is a disconnect between what was written in the First Step Act and what the BOP is actually implementing.
"It's happening on paper, but it's not being reflected in real-time," Coffie said. To keep the federal system accountable, Coffie suggests independent committees be formed at "every step of the procedural processes."
"We need to humanize our systems because if we rely solely on what is described, imagine how many families are going to be impacted by a loved one getting out, and then the BOP saying, 'Oh, this popped up so we have to send you back,'" Coffie said. "... We need more accountability in this space."
Life in home confinement
Every Thursday, Solomon travels to Pittsburgh as part of her home confinement agreement. She visits the Renewal Treatment Center downtown for a weekly drug test. Most weeks, she walks several blocks downtown to visit her psychiatrist, then even further for her case manager.
Solomon, who lives in Beaver Falls, catches a ride to Pittsburgh either from her daughter Imani or from Uber.
She fills out a weekly itinerary that must be approved by the Renewal Center before Solomon can leave home. She wears an ankle bracelet at all times.
"I get a four-hour pass each day, and that's specifically designed for medical appointments, church, I can go to the grocery store twice a week, to the YMCA, and that's pretty much it," Solomon said.
She also gets a call three times a day from the Renewal Center, making sure she's home. If she runs into traffic while traveling to and from appointments, she has to call the Renewal Center immediately.
Luckily she hasn't run late yet, or missed a call from the center. But the same can't be said for others on home confinement, like Gwen Levi.
Last year Levi, a then-76-year-old woman from Baltimore who was in remission from lung cancer was granted home confinement after serving 16 years of her 24-year sentence. She was sent back to prison for not answering phone calls from officials while she was attending a computer class.
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"I'm concerned when I'm out ... am I going to get a flat tire?" said Solomon. "Maybe we're running late because of traffic. Is there anything that is going to happen that is definitely out of my control that may send me back to prison?"
Imani Solomon said it's been an "emotional rollercoaster" coping with her mom's original sentence, then her first release back in 2019, followed by her return to prison and now her second time returning home. It's a lot to grapple with, Imani Solomon said.
"It's emotional for me because I'm mad at the system," she said. "They took time from her sentence and then pushed her back in prison. She was in prison for over 15 years — that's almost half my life."
'I'm not the same person'
Solomon was sentenced to 20 years imprisonment in 2007 for drug conspiracy charges. The judge, prosecutor and media covering her case in the early 2000s called Solomon a drug ring matriarch and kingpin.
"Little did everyone know my lights and gas were shut off and I was living paycheck to paycheck," she said.
Solomon doesn't deny involvement in drug distribution, but said the assertion that she was a "kingpin" isn't accurate. She was a middleman, she said, making calls and connections between dealers and buyers.
"In order for me to heal, I have to be honest and admit my wrong," Solomon said. "I did not properly think things through and I didn't realize the repercussions of what I was doing."
She said dealing was entirely based on making quick money to provide for her family.
"Money is the root of all evil," Solomon said. "I fell on hard times."
Although she deeply regrets the decisions that led to her imprisonment, Solomon never expected to be sentenced to 20 years.
"I still never imagined getting 20 years for being the middleman," she said. "I've made mistakes and I've learned from them. I'm not the same person."
While she was in prison, Solomon became a mentor and mother figure to some of the other women.
"While we were roommates, Ms. Wanda became a second mother, a mentor and my sense of peace," said Tracey Smith-Kilpatrick, Solomon's roommate for a short time in Alderson Prison. "Although I was away from home, she made me feel at home. From telling me stories about life to praying for me and my children."
Other women, like Shaneka Green and Sharae Coleman, lovingly called Solomon "auntie."
"She took me right in and loved me like she loved her children," Green said.
Ramona Watson met Solomon more than 10 years ago when the two were in Hazelton Prison together.
"When I met Wanda Solomon over 10 years ago, she taught me a lot about being a woman, a mother, a daughter and a sister. She always spoke words of wisdom and encouragement," Watson said.
Solomon still stays in touch with dozens of the women she roomed with or knew behind bars. She helped many get their GED, she said.
Mentoring the younger women in prison opened her eyes to a calling she never realized she had: counseling.
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"I want to get a degree in counseling for drug addiction and to counsel young women who are struggling," Solomon said. "I want to get a degree so I can enlighten someone else's life from experiencing the things I experienced."
While in prison, Solomon turned to writing — crafting children's books, movie scripts and plays.
"This prison experience has humbled me to realize, don't ever take things for granted. You can be living your life today and sitting in prison tomorrow. I was fortunate enough to use my gift of writing as a form of healing for me in prison," Solomon said. "I tried to turn it around to make it something positive."
Over the last few years, Imani Solomon has fought for her mother's release. She's called dozens of attorneys and social justice advocates, the BOP and DOJ, politicians, the media and more to draw attention to her mom's story of being released and then returned to prison within the span of a month.
"I'm still in disbelief sometimes," Imani Solomon said. "For so long I thought, 'Who is going to listen to me? I'm just a girl who wants her mom home.' I'm glad I pushed the envelope a little bit. But sometimes, you just have to wait."
A month or two before her mother's release, Imani's friend sent her a text that read Psalm 46:10, "Be still and know that I am God."
She prayed on it.
"I kept saying, 'I gotta get her outta there,' and I felt like it was my duty to do that. But when she sent me that scripture, I started reading my Bible every day and then I realized, I'm done. I'm going to let him do what he does," Imani Solomon said of God. "Shortly after that, my mom started getting paperwork about her time credits."
Things started falling into place, Imani said. Solomon was given information about the FSA Time Credits she was owed. Soon after, she was released.
Imani looked over at her mom with affection. "And she's here now," she said with a smile. "I have my mom back."
Follow Dani Fitzgerald on Twitter: @dfitzgeraldb.