Some imprisoned in Mississippi remain jailed long after parole eligibility

Transformation. Redemption. Forgiveness. Remorse.

A group of women who have served decades in Mississippi prisons use those words to describe how they have changed during incarceration and why the Parole Board should see that as evidence they can be released.

But “disheartening” is another word. They use it to describe the cycle of seeking parole. The Parole Board holds a hearing, it rejects their petitions and they have to wait years for another opportunity.

“I’ve taken accountability for my actions, sought to make reparations by living a life devoted to giving to others,” said Evelyn Smith, in a recording of her story in a campaign advocating for the release of her and four other women.

“Statistically and realistically, I pose no threat to society,” said the 80-year-old, who was most recently denied parole in 2022 and whose next hearing is in 2027. “I often ponder what is being accomplished by my continued incarceration.”

Smith is one of the Mississippi Five – women convicted of murder and sentenced to life with the possibility of parole that has never come. Collectively, they have been incarcerated for over 175 years and denied parole nearly 50 times.

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The others are Loretta Pierre and Lisa Crevitt, 59; Linda Ross, 61 and Anita Krecic, 65.

Parole denials, which include setoffs between hearings and for the duration of a person’s sentence, account for over a third of all parole outcomes, according to a Mississippi Today analysis of parole data between 2013 and 2023.

Within the 10-year period, the highest number of setoffs was about 4,100 in 2016. Between 2017 and 2023, there have been roughly 2,000 setoffs each year.

Between 2013 and 2021, the average setoff between parole hearings was seven months, and in 2022, that increased to nearly 15 months. Parole Board Chairman Jeffery Belk has said the board has been using more two- and five-year setoff periods.

In a decade, the longest setoff handed down was for 10 years in 2021.

Belk said the longest setoff decided during his time on the board was eight years for Krecic, who has been eligible for parole since 1997 and has been denied 10 times. She was convicted of murder because she was with her boyfriend who fatally shot a state trooper on the Gulf Coast. He has since been executed.

Among those who received a five-year setoff was Smith, who has been incarcerated for over 30 years. Belk had told Mississippi Today’s Jerry Mitchell she was “unparole-able” because she didn’t understand the heinousness of her crime – the stabbing death of a Brookhaven woman and the transport of her body out of state.

In a recorded interview through the Free the Five campaign, Smith said she took on jobs, mentored younger women, kept a nearly spotless institutional record on her path to become “a person worthy of (a second chance)” and redeemable in the eyes of the parole board.

‘When is it enough?’

Pauline Rogers, co-founder of Jackson nonprofit Reaching and Educating for Community Hope Foundation, advocates for efforts to help people released from prison and reduce recidivism.

She’s seen the Mississippi Five and other incarcerated people take steps to change and demonstrate they are ready for release and have plans to keep them from returning to prison, only for them to be denied. At a certain point, Rogers said there is nothing more they can do to rehabilitate.

“If you perpetually punish them for something … How long do you punish them?” she asked. “When is it enough?”

Belk told Mississippi Today the board looks for evidence of rehabilitation during parole hearings, but it is also exercising more scrutiny in processes and preparing people for release in a meaningful way, contributing to the parole grant’s decrease.

It found what it saw as evidence when it released double murderer James Williams III, amid pushback from the family of his victims, lawmakers and members of law enforcement.

In prison, Williams earned a GED and a bachelor’s in Christian ministry and completed other educational rehabilitation programs, which signaled to the board that he was ready for release. After a DUI arrest months after his release, the board revoked his parole and sent him back to prison, where he remains.

Homicide remains the most common primary conviction for those denied parole – nearly 6% of all denial outcomes, according to MDOC data.

The chance for parole release for anyone, regardless of charges, has narrowed as the board’s grant rate has declined. Within a year of a new chairman, Belk, and members joining the board, the parole grant fell from around two-thirds before 2021 to about a third in 2022.

Since last year, the parole grant rate has returned to above 50%. Since 2022, the board has paroled over 6,000 people.

Rogers sees issues with how parole is handled in Mississippi, including how the state doesn’t seem to give people a constitutional right to parole– leaving power in the hands of the board, including how to make decisions.

“The Parole Board has become judge, jury and executioner,” she said.

Seeming to support Rogers’ point, Julia Norman, the newest member of the board, said during her February 2023 Senate confirmation hearing that if someone was convicted of a violent crime and received a sentence shorter than the board thinks the person should have received, the board might deny release so the person can “finish that sentence off.”

Those convicted after 2014 are supposed to be reviewed for parole if they are not released at their initial parole date, which would be a one-year setoff, according to state law. Those convicted before that can be set off for longer than a year.

Belk said setoffs aren’t a definitive “no” because people have been paroled after trying multiple times to be released.

Of women with life sentences granted parole between 1989 and 2022, Barbara Wilson was denied parole 12 times before her release in 2022 after 37 years, according to records compiled by parole advocate Mitzi Magleby.

‘No chance of being paroled’

To make sure someone is ready for parole, Belk said the board might vote for a setoff to give the person time to complete a GED or a program like alcohol and drug treatment, which both have limited spaces in any given prison.

He and Steve Pickett, the former Parole Board chairman from 2013 to 2021, said when the board has felt unsure about whether someone was prepared for release, they ordered a setoff to see how the person would react.

Sometimes the person comes back before the board and shows improvement. Others don’t handle the rejection well and act out, sometimes landing them with a rules violation report, which can count against them in future parole hearings, Belk said.

In the past, Belk said there were people in prison for violent offenses with continuously bad behavior in prison who were receiving six-month setoffs, which he doesn’t see as a sign that the person can follow rules if released.

He said it was difficult for the board to continue to have to see those “who had no chance of being paroled” and to see victims and families relive and retell how the crime affected their lives each time the person had a parole hearing.

So the board decided to extend its setoff periods to two to five years for those with violent offenses to see if the extra time would help and to provide some relief for victims and families, Belk said.

He said this contributed to the parole rate’s decrease.

Beverly Warnock is executive director of Parents of Murdered Children, a national group based in Ohio that advocates for parents and other survivors, including in parole hearings.

Since 1990, the organization has worked with families to oppose parole of thousands of people convicted of murder across the country through its Parole Block Program. Through circulating petitions, the organization has helped keep more than 1,850 people in prison for a longer sentence after they became eligible for parole, Warnock said.

She said she believes the petitions send a message to the parole boards and show them that people have safety concerns if someone is released.

“It gave (families) the strong feeling of relief that the murderer would not get out,” Warnock said. “… They feel like they’re doing justice for their loved ones.”

To date no petitions have come from Missisisppi, she said, but that may be because the organization doesn’t have a presence in the state. The nearest chapter is in Alabama.

Study and Struggle

Members of the Mississippi Five have participated in a political educational program hosted by Study and Struggle, a collaborative that focuses on prison abolition.

The campaign is using art to share the women’s stories and having conversations about parole and decarceration.

A collective of artists working with Study and Struggle turned oral history interviews with the women into zines that blend text, photos and drawings. The collaboration also included the Mississippi Five themselves, who provided feedback.

Jaime Dear, a Chicago area-based artist who worked on the zine about Krecic and helped design the others, said art is an effective way to communicate and a way to connect.

“(The zines) are for everyone to read,” Dear said. “The five should have their stories illustrated lovingly.”

Corey Devon Arthur, an artist and writer incarcerated in New York, created the color group photo of the women at the top of the Study and Struggle website that hosts information about the campaign and parole. An artist named Phan drew portraits for each of the Mississippi Five.

Loretta Pierre, who has been denied parole 14 times, was 20 years old and pregnant with her only child when she was charged with the murder of her ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend.

She is now a grandmother to three children she has not met in person, Pierre said in her oral history interview with Study and Struggle.

Linda Ross, 61, has had seven parole denials. She pleaded guilty and was convicted for the murder of a man in Pike County, the McComb Enterprise Journal reported.

In her oral history interview, Ross said she was misdiagnosed at some point as mentally disabled and psychotic, but said she didn’t accept the evaluation as final and has overcome many challenges since.

During incarceration, she has earned a GED and is enrolled at Mississippi Valley State University through a prison education partnership.

She said she looks forward to returning home to be with her elderly mother and live out her senior years.

“I believe I have not only transformed my mind but have risen above resentments by using this opportunity to choose forgiveness,” Ross said.

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This story was originally published by Mississippi Today and distributed through a partnership with The Associated Press.