Vikki Hankins: One Woman's Fight For Her Civil Rights, One Party's Quest to Keep Them from Her by Mark Christopher - HTML preview

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A Crack In The System

Hankins was now a victim of the system, of the war on crack cocaine. Mr. Big had set her up with a bad lawyer and the federal government had stuck her with an overreaching stint in prison that outweighed even some attempted murder raps.

Hankins dutifully served her time. She never narc-ed on Mr. Big or anyone else. She used her time wisely to get her life straight through education and (mostly) good behavior while on the inside federal prisons in Kentucky, Connecticut, California, Florida and Texas.

"Inside the federal prison system, they have jobs were inmates worked at maybe for pennies an hour, jobs that civilians would make maybe $20 or $25 and hour. I ended up with a job where I was only making $5 a month."

This was a problem for Hankins because in addition to having to serve the time, she was given a $28,000 fine to pay off while she was in prison.

"And so I wrote to the judge ... and I told him that 'I am making only $5 a month,'" says Hankins.

"I cannot afford to pay a $28,000 fine."

And out of that $5, Hankins had to buy toiletries and washing powder, which easily eclipsed the five spot. She wrote out a longhand letter to the judge - the same judge that had sentenced her -

that she had no one on the outside to help her buy these things.

"And the next thing you know, maybe nine months later, I received a document from the court saying that the remainder of that $28,000 fine had been terminated, so I didn't have to pay it anymore."

In all, Hankins went nearly two decades learning very little of the outside world.

Near the end of her sentence, Hankins got some good news: in an attempt to course-correct the over-reaching federal sentencing guidelines for crack cocaine - which many claimed were driven by race, as evidenced of the lighter (or whiter) sentences handed down for powdered cocaine offenses - the feds shortened Hankins' prison time and the prison time of thousands just like her.

The removed eight years from her sentence. The "adjustment" meant that she was eligible for immediate release. Hankins was finally freed on March 28, 2008, after spending 18 years behind bars.

Her time in prison - and the drug dealing that put here there - is not something that she is proud of. But she paid her debt to society (and then some) and was eager to get back to living a life.

But a lot had changed since she'd been locked up. She had entered prison as a 21-year old and exited at age 39. Entire lifetimes had gone by while she was behind bars. But she was proud and determined.

That first day out had been planned for quite some time.

"I went straight to my probation officer (P.O.), then to the DMV to get a driver's license and then to Home Depot to get a job," recalls Hankins.

But there was a problem: the once-raging American economy was collapsing. There were no jobs to have, at Home Depot or otherwise. And even if there was a job, convicted felons on parole are the last to be hired.

But Hankins persevered, not wanting to end up back in jail or dead. Drugs and crime - that wasn't her scene anyway. For the first six months after he release, she lived at her sister's house. But she yearned to be on her own so bad.

Photo: Supplied by Vikki Hankins

Hankins' storage space "apartment"

"There came a point where I had to leave ... I am an adult," says Hankins of the moment she felt she had worn out her welcome. "I really believed that I was going to get a job."

But she didn't. The little bit of money that she had scraped together, Hankins spent on a hotel room. But that didn't last too long. Soon, she was an ex-felon with no place to go, sleeping on a bed roll in a storage facility, trying to get her life back on track. At least it was air-conditioned.

Her federal probation officer didn't like the new arrangement one bit and made the outlandish suggestion that Hankins sign paperwork that would put her back into the prison system. There, according to her P.O. "Mr. Dennis," she could at least have a place to sleep and have food to eat.

"To my shock, they wanted me to sign documents that would put me back in a halfway house,"

says Hankins, still boiling over the suggestion made by an entity of the federal government. "It was mind-blowing."

Adding insult to injury, President Bush had just signed the Second Chance Act, which was enacted to help rehabilitate ex-felons through job placement, training and housing. Didn't Mr.

Dennis get the memo?

To Hankins, that was not an option. She would be put in a situation where everyday she faced the possibility of going back into prison.

"At any time these people could have said, 'OK, you broke a rule,'" says Hankins, which could have led to five more years of incarceration for a single violation. "To me it was a set-up ... I saw people, while I was in prison, who came back from the halfway house."

"They never made it to society ... to freedom."

Angry, she fought hard to end her parole, even writing a letter to Sen. Nelson and telling him what had been suggested by the federal employee. Nelson's office launched an investigation, although Hankins hasn't ever been privy to the results. (See Sen. Nelson's response to Vikki's letter here. ) As time went on, Hankins had found an apartment in a different probation district (and, more importantly, was no longer under the thumb of Mr. Dennis). As Mr. Dennis waved goodbye he made a point of telling Hankins that in no way did his suggestion of going to a halfway house -

nor the subsequent complaints, reporter inquiries and Senatorial investigation about that suggestion - have anything to do with the switch to a different probation officer.

Her new P.O., Marilyn Calvache, was much more kind-hearted and understanding. Plus Hankins was in college now, taking online courses from Everest University and living off the student loan money.

She was able to get the student loan easily because her credit was spotless, blank actually. It is one positive of being held in prison for 18 years. Now she's like many of us, saddled with a pile of debt.

"Hopefully by the time I'm done with the education that I prefer - which is in law and politics and all that - that I'll be able to pay it off," enthuses Hankins.

Yes, she's integrating back into society nicely.

Additionally, Hankins got help from Advocate 4 Justice, a non-profit organization based in Atlanta. Advocate 4 Justice is an organization whose mission is to "bring balance to the federal criminal justice system," according to its website. They periodically sent Hankins clothes, food and the ancient laptop she used to take her college courses.

AMAZING, Since She Had Never Seen The Internet Before

"Inside the prison, they don't have the internet," recalls Hankins with a chuckle. "I quickly learned how to navigate the internet. It was mind blowing to see how email actually works. ... I had never seen such a wealth of information."

The other technology that really surprised her was the cell phone.

Artwork: A4J Publishing

Cover art from some of Hankins' A4J Publishing titles, including her own title Trauma

"When I went in [to prison] in 1990, all they had was these huge phones that they would put in people's cars. And the beepers," recalls Hankins. "The cell phone ... I was like 'wow.'"

Her new P.O. helped her find employment at Red Lobster, where she excelled. Good reviews from her managers followed.

She was in school, writing her books (as well as publishing others) and giving her now-regular public speaking engagements to youngsters about the dangers of criminality, drugs, bad choices and prison life. She would also talk to anybody who would listen about post-traumatic stress disorder, which she suffered from after her mom committing suicide

"That's how ended up in prison in the first place," admits Hankins.

All that success led her new, more understanding, probation officer to conclude that Hankins'

should be taken off probation altogether. How ironic then that the same judge that sentenced a young Vikki Hankins to more than twenty-three years in prison signed off on her release from probation, three years early, in fact.

She was now 100% free, her debts to society fully paid - with interest.

Now Hankins has a degree, her own business and the desire to participate in the betterment of society, possibly by running for office. But she can't do any of those things until her civil rights are restored.

Photo: Advocate 4 Justice website

Hankins as an Advocate 4 Justice

Her Associates Science Degree in Paralegal Studies - cum laude, she is proud to point out - is practically useless as she cannot get clearance to handle court documents without her civil rights. She had no idea of the rules when she started the course.

"No, I didn't think that at all. Usually I do some research ...," admits Hankins. "I'm only able to do the things a receptionist would do ... in a legal arena. Legal research, stuff like that. But I could not become a certified registered paralegal with the state of Florida."

Not until she gets her rights back, anyway. Her latest educational pursuit is a Political Science degree. Until then, she will have to continue giving back to the organization that helped her by helping others in need, as the acting vice president and spokesperson for Advocate 4 Justice.

"My books ... speaking ... can help people to a certain extent. But I think I would be able to help people more so if I was in a position of public service," says Hankins, who currently holds down a part-time job selling vacation packages. "I just have the heart for the people, I care. Those experiences [that I had] drove the passion all the way down to my toes."

She understands the challenges of getting elected with her background, but she remains undaunted, filled with a great tenacity and desire to see it through. Much like everything else she does these days.

Her publishing company - A4J Publishing - is a service to the community in itself, as well as a way to finally tell her side of things through titles such as Trauma and the just-released Trauma II. A4J is the acronym for Advocate 4 Justice, another nod to her allegiance. A4J has also published several titles by the group's founder, Lt. Garry Jones.

"I started the company because the traditional publishing companies that I contacted about my book wouldn't give me the opportunity," said Hankins. "... So that everyday people with powerful stories, messages, or writings can get their books on the market and have fun with it in the process."

Other A4J Publishing titles include A Tribute To Zora Neale Hurston, Straight Out Of Hell I, and

Black Jesus.

Vikki Hankins is living proof that if given the chance, anyone can succeed no matter what is thrown at them. But those who are keeping her from getting her civil rights back are going to far.

She has proven herself.

"It's a book at a time, it's a speech at a time," says Hankins. "I'm not standing still. Definitely not going backwards."

She just wants to live her life ... and not be someone's political pawn anymore.