ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ONE NIGHT WHILE I was in drug treatment, I got on my knees to pray. This was probably the moment when I had finally come to terms with who I was that led me to drug treatment, who I was at that very moment when I was on my knees, and the uncertainty of who I would become from that night forth. I remember telling God that night what would from that moment on become the foundation to all of my prayers even today. I asked God to give me the strength, stamina, and discernment to be able to do his will, and even though I had no clue as to where my dedication would eventually lead me, I promised God that wherever he took me, I would always let folks know who got me there. So, first and foremost, I give thanks to my higher power, whom I choose to call God, for choosing and allowing me to do his work, and for the fires he took me through to prepare me.

This book is also dedicated to the over six million people in the United States who are incarcerated, the countless millions with previous felony convictions, and the families who have a loved one who has been impacted by an imperfect criminal justice system. I pray that this book will serve as a testament to the power of hope, redemption, and love; that any past mistakes do not have to become a continuous indicator of who we are but rather one of many ingredients that shape who we are today and enhance who we become.

I want to thank the countless philanthropists whose generosity, commitment to justice, and financial and moral support contributed to the successful passing of Amendment 4.

To Eric Brakken, who tore up many of my first proposals for a ballot initiative (I know he’ll dispute this account) and helped me set the framework for a “pathway to victory.” To Muhammad Malik and Jose Luis Marantes, who would spend countless hours talking about “the Movement” and dreaming big. To Norris Henderson of VOTE NOLA, which provided an example of the potential power that people with felony convictions possess—thank you.

I would also like to thank Susan and Regan Pritzker, whose support and belief in me made this book possible; Antonio Cediel, who was the motivating force that made me stop only “thinking” about writing a book and actually start writing; Stuart Horwitz, who provided detailed and speedy editorial support; and Helene Atwan of Beacon Press, who believed in this book and my vision from the beginning.

My biggest thank-yous are, of course, reserved for my family.

To my many brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews, who saw my journey firsthand and never wavered in their love for me; to my brother Jerry, whose untimely death drove home the connectivity we all share as human beings. And to my extended family: though we were not connected by blood, our bond was just as strong if not stronger. I love you all.

When I first met my wife, Sheena, I recognized that she was God’s gift to me. It wasn’t what I wanted; it was what I needed. Everybody wants that companion. We go out looking for that person who’s going to be our life partner, and I recognize that. We have five kids, and I love each and every last one of them. They were not kids from our marriage, but that doesn’t matter; I don’t call them my stepkids. They’re my kids. I embrace them, and they have fully embraced me.

My kids did not take to the campaign easily, and I couldn’t blame them. They were seven to seventeen years old between them, and they were into things that any normal kid would be into. Their world consisted of TV, video games, playing sports, and exploring the woods in our backyard, so when I had them counting petitions in batches of fifty in preparation of sending them out to volunteers, it seemed as if I was asking them to do some insurmountable chore. If I was any of their ages, I would have felt the same way, but what other choice did I have? It had to get done, and I already had too much on my plate, so grudgingly they counted. It wasn’t until the last leg of the campaign, when they would accompany me at an event or a bus-tour stop, that I believe that the significance of what I was doing and the importance of the role they played started to sink in. When they started seeing so many people approaching me to talk about how felon disenfranchisement had impacted their lives or the life of a loved one, or when they started seeing the reaction of the crowd when I was speaking, they started to get a sense that what we were working on, what they were forced to work on, was part of a movement that was poised to not only transform the state of Florida but also the country and the world. When they finally started to see the bigger picture, I didn’t have to force them to engage anymore. They took pride in whatever they did. They bought into the campaign, and even if they didn’t immediately say it, they were proud to be a part of it, and they were proud of their father.

Their admiration for me and my work served as a bit of a reprieve for the guilt I was carrying around. The campaign had demanded basically all of my time. It had consumed me so much that I felt that I had failed my kids. I missed parent-teacher conferences. I missed a lot of football practices and games. When they played Pop Warner football on Saturdays, I was usually traveling somewhere in the state, picking up petitions, delivering petitions, or speaking at some event that I felt I could not afford to miss. As a former football player, I had the same dream of many fathers who played the sport. I yearned to be able to teach them some of the things I had learned while playing football. I yearned to attend their practices and yell at their coach if I felt the coach messed up, or even become an assistant coach. I wanted to be there for every moment of their athletic lives, but the campaign wouldn’t allow it. I was forced to live with the fact that I missed many moments in their young adolescent lives, moments that I would never get back. What I know now is that the harsh reality is that if you are committed to a movement or a cause, there are going to be some painful sacrifices that you are going to have to make. There is no triumph without sacrifice. There is no movement without pain.

Today I look back at my family and beam with pride. My oldest son, Xavier, is our audiovisual specialist and works in the communications department of FRRC. He has managed to evolve into a producer of award-worthy videos. My second-oldest son, Xandre, the one who gave me the hardest time about counting petitions, became one of our most dependable volunteers, led our texting campaign, which contacted over one million voters to support Amendment 4, and is now my executive assistant. My third-oldest son, Nathan, who just graduated from high school, volunteers to assist the with logistics and helps out around the office from time to time. Our youngest two children are still in school. My daughter Xcellence helped to run our “souls to the polls” effort in Orlando and is still a constant administrative volunteer and an active leader of Black Youth Vote. Our youngest, Xzion, was the first to understand the significance of our campaign, probably because he was the first of my kids to accompany me to collect petitions. Combined, my family sits with God at the center of my universe, and I pray that they will all be pleased with this work.