From Vice Lords to Clemency

When my parents divorced, we ended up in Chicago. Harvey, Illinois. South side. I was looking for what my father never gave me: structure, protection, purpose, family.

I found it in the Traveling Vice Lords.

They gave me rules when home had only chaos. They gave me brotherhood when I'd only known betrayal. They made me go to school. They made me mow old people's grass for free. Before the leadership changed, there was honor in it.

But then "nation building" became stealing cars and selling drugs. The purpose got lost. And I stayed too long.

August 2, 1996. Robbing drug dealers to cut overhead costs. One botched robbery. One bullet fired at a door lock. One bullet that ricocheted through the door and killed someone I didn't even know was there.

Accidental. Unintentional. And irreversible.

Four codefendants. All took plea deals. All testified against me. All served 5-7 years.

I refused to cooperate. I went to trial. I got 30 years.

Not because the facts changed. Because I exercised my Constitutional right to a jury trial. Because I wouldn't inform on people who knew where my mama lived.

My codefendants have been home for over a decade. I served 27 years.

That's not justice. That's the trial tax. That's what the system does when you don't play along.

But here's what they didn't count on: I wouldn't waste those years.

The Music Room Awakening

1. Anamosa State Penitentiary. I was working in the music room—a state-of-the-art recording studio where I was one of the lead audio engineers.

We were cleaning out old equipment when I found it: a tattered, dog-eared copy of Malcolm X Speaks.

I sat down and was overcome with memories. This is what I had been all about as a boy. How had I gotten here from there?

What happened to the little boy who peppered his mom with questions about the Civil Rights movement? The little boy who told his mama he was the reincarnation of Malcolm X?

That kid hadn't gone anywhere. He was still there. Battered, bruised, but waiting to be remembered.

That moment changed everything.

I called my mother shortly after. She asked: "What happened to my little boy? The one who loved learning? The one who loved people? The one who loved books? If you ever cross paths with him again, tell him I'd like to have him back."

I decided right then: I'm getting that kid back.

The Three Rules

Three rules became my survival strategy—and later, the foundation of everything I teach:

1. Lots of Reading
Learn everything you can. I used the prison library. Took every class offered. Earned my GED, then my bachelor's degree (Cum Laude in Sociology), then my master's degree (Statistical Science)—all while incarcerated.

2. Little Talk
Watch your mouth. Don't gossip. Don't get in drama. Most trouble comes from talking too much. I stayed out of politics, kept my circle small, and protected my peace.

3. No Sulking
Don't feel sorry for yourself. Yes, the system is unjust. Yes, I got a raw deal. Yes, I lost years. Feel it. Acknowledge it. Then get to work anyway.

These three rules didn't just keep me alive. They made it possible for me to:

• Teach 127 men who all earned their diplomas (at 56 cents an hour)

• Earn two degrees while incarcerated

• Become the imam of the prison's Muslim community

• Serve as Inmate Council president

• Transform the prison's "security threat group" into the most well-behaved and trusted group in the institution

A former warden remarked: "The Muslims became the most well-behaved and trusted group in the institution when Pippins took the leadership role."

Clemency, Not Pardon

After 26 years, 8 months, 1 week, and 1 day, the Governor of Illinois commuted my sentence to time served.

Not a pardon. I'm not claiming innocence. Someone died because of my actions on August 2, 1996. That grief is real and permanent.

But 27 years for an accidental death—while my codefendants served 5-7 years for the same crime—that's not justice. That's disposability.

The system said: You're done. You're irredeemable. You're not worth saving.

I proved them wrong.

PhD Candidate at 54

Fall 2021. I was accepted into the University of Iowa's PhD program in Criminology.

At 54 years old. After 27 years in prison.

If they were wrong about me, they're wrong about thousands of others.

That's why I founded THE If I Don't Do It Institute.

Not because I'm special. Because I'm proof of what's possible when someone with lived experience gets the support they need:

• Real trauma treatment (not just "anger management")

• Real education (not just GED classes)

• Real opportunity (not just minimum wage jobs)

• Real belief that they're not disposable

Why I Built This

The system told me I was disposable.

My codefendants—who testified against me—are free. Living their lives. While I served nearly three decades.

The system gave me a 30-year sentence for exercising my Constitutional rights.

But here's what the system didn't account for:

• The little boy who loved Malcolm X was still in there

• My grandmother's promise that "tomorrow will be a better day" was true

• My mother's love and sacrifice gave me a foundation to build on

• My wife Tracy's unwavering support kept me going

• The 127 men I taught showed me that teaching changes the teacher

• The education I earned proved that learning is the one thing no one can take from you

I didn't just survive 27 years. I used them.

And now I'm using everything I learned—the trauma, the survival, the education, the research, the teaching, the lived experience—to build something that proves what the system refuses to admit:

No one is disposable.

The Four-Dose Prescription

Everything I experienced in those 27 years taught me what people actually need to heal and succeed:

Dose #1: Mental Health
The trauma, the PTSD, the anger, the depression. It's real. It's measurable. It's treatable. But only if you address it directly—not with a 6-week anger management class, but with real therapy.

Dose #2: Physical Health
Incarceration destroys your body. The three-headed monster (obesity, diabetes, hypertension) is epidemic among formerly incarcerated people. Trauma lives in your body. You have to heal both.

Dose #3: Community Health
You don't heal alone. You need safe relationships, mentorship, people who've been where you are. Credible messengers—people with lived experience who've done the work—that's who reaches the unreachable.

Dose #4: Economic Health
Poverty and incarceration feed each other. You can't sustain recovery on minimum wage. Real jobs. Real money. Real skills that lead to $45K-$110K careers. Economic health isn't optional—it's mandatory.

All four doses. All the time. That's THE If I Don't Do It Institute model.

The Research Backs This Up

I'm not just speaking from lived experience. I'm speaking from research:

Credible Messenger programs (like ours):

• Reduce recidivism by 50-69% (Jarjoura & Harvell, 2018)

• Show significant improvements in mental health, anxiety, depression, and anger (Messina, 2023)

• Work because people trust someone who's been there

Trauma-informed interventions:

• 81% of incarcerated individuals experienced physical abuse before age 18 (Messina, 2023)

• Peer-facilitated trauma treatment works—with zero rule violations during intervention (Messina, 2023)

Education in prison:

• Reduces recidivism significantly (Davis et al., 2013; Bozick et al., 2018)

• Changes how you see yourself and how the world sees you

Economic opportunity:

• Breaking the poverty-incarceration cycle requires living wages (Western & Pettit, 2010)

• Our graduates earn $45K-$110K depending on certificate level

This isn't theory. This is what works. Both because the research says so and because I lived it.

What I Believe

I believe:

• No one is disposable—not even people the system has given up on

• Trauma explains behavior but doesn't excuse harm

• You can acknowledge your past and still build a different future

• Lived experience is expertise, not a deficit

• Real change requires addressing root causes, not just symptoms

• People deserve second chances backed by real support

• The same toughness that kept you alive can be redirected toward healing

• Education and opportunity change trajectories

• Credible messengers reach people no one else can

• Tomorrow will be a better day—you just have to make it through the night

I also believe:

• If you're looking for easy, this isn't it

• If you want someone to feel sorry for you, I'm not that person

• If you're not willing to do the work, don't waste my time

• But if you're ready—if you're tired of the cycle, tired of being disposable, tired of surviving instead of living—then I'm here

Because if they were wrong about me, they're wrong about you too.

My Family

Tracy: My wife. The woman who loved me through nearly 27 years of incarceration. Who sent me books, newspapers, sermons. Who helped me process childhood trauma I'd never told anyone. Who sacrificed so I could earn my degrees. Who believed in me when I didn't believe in myself. Without her, none of this exists.

Brittany: My daughter. Born when I was 17. Spent most of her childhood with one grandmother or the other because her mother and I were both incarcerated. The custody battle, the separation, the pain—all of it motivated me to become someone she could be proud of.

My mother, Ruth: Who worked two jobs her whole life. Who escaped my father and saved us. Who facilitated my education from inside. Who told me to find that little boy who loved learning. She died in 2010 at 59. Everything I do honors her sacrifice.

My grandmother: Who promised me "tomorrow will be a better day—all you have to do is make it through the night." She never broke a promise. She was right. This is tomorrow.

Let's Prove It Together

I spent 27 years being told I was disposable.

I proved them wrong.

Now I'm building a program to prove them wrong about everyone else the system has written off.

Join me.

Whether you're:

• Someone who needs this program

• A facility that wants to bring it inside

• A funder who wants to invest in what works

• An employer who's ready to hire graduates

• A researcher who wants to study outcomes

• A believer that people deserve real second chances

Let's prove no one is disposable—one graduate at a time.

THE If I Don't Do It Institute
Founded by Dell Pippins, PhD Candidate
27 years incarcerated. 3 years free. Proving what the system won't admit.

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