On October 20, 2025, I was at San Quentin Rehabilitation Center in California. Just outside the prison, you can look out and see one of the most beautiful views in the world. Staring out on the bay, near the horizon, the fog slowly lifts and you would be surprised that a prison is within walking distance. Dozens and dozens of us showed up to the second annual San Quentin Film Festival, brought to us by Rahsaan “New York” Thomas, who's spent more than two decades of his life at San Quentin, and his cousin Cori Thomas—who is not really his cousin but is his cousin in the way that prison teaches you the profound ways that we choose our families.
For four hours, I watched six short films and one feature film. I wasn't surprised at the beauty of it, but I was surprised at how serious, complex, intricate, and deeply meaningful and moving the films were. Because often people tell you that there is only one story that comes out of prison. And that story is – if it's being spoken by the Department of Corrections, by COs, by wardens – a story of violence. And if it's being spoken by people Inside, it's a story about wanting to be free. But that is not nearly the whole truth.
What I heard at the film festival were stories of people working at becoming —working with their families, working with their friends, working with DoC staff. As an audience, we were filmmakers, poets, writers, community members, actors (shout out to Jesse Williams and Leland Orser and Clarence Maclin). There were fathers and sons and daughters. And some of us were serving time at San Quentin. I sat weeping, laughing, inspired, as we watched a series of dope films. There was something beautiful, truthful in this that is attentive to all of the suffering that comes with it, but is also remarkably, lovingly embracing all the ways that we are human.
I was so humbled to receive the Elliot the G.O.A.T Impact Award and proud to be on stage while the powerful work of Freedom Reads was recognized. I wondered if there had been some mistake, if I had been mistaken for Michael Jordan after game six against the Jazz, and only I knew the lie. But the men around me, as they walked up and said, “I read Felon brother, that’s some good work.” Or “I read about Freedom Reads, you doing it.” I know we’re doing something that matters in this world. All of us collectively, working to do something that matters. Still, it humbled me.
If this work matters to you, share the newsletter with one person. And ask them to do what I hope you will do, click the donate button. This is the truth: every time somebody donates money, it guarantees Freedom Reads continues the work of opening Freedom Libraries in prison cellblocks across this country, bringing hope and joy and beauty and a sense of what is possible in the future.
Reginald Dwayne Betts
Freedom Reads Founder & CEO