CHANGE IS COMING

FIGHTING CRIMINAL INJUSTICE AND REIMAGINING DRUG POLICY

Imagine sitting in a cell for years, decades, or even for life, convicted of an activity that is no longer a crime, while thousands of other people build intergenerational wealth doing exactly the same thing.


 That is the situation that tens of thousands of drug war prisoners face today in the United States alone, while countless others languish in jails and prisons worldwide.


The Last Prisoner Project has one singular mission: to set them free.

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HOW WE HELP

The Last Prisoner Project (LPP) is a national, nonpartisan nonprofit dedicated to reforming our criminal justice system through progressive drug policy.


Through legal intervention, constituent support, advocacy campaigns, and policy change we aim to release every last drug war prisoner, and to repair the harms of this discriminatory and counterproductive crusade.

OUR IMPACT
THE PROBLEM

0

15.7
MILLION

MILLION

Number people arrested for marijuana offenses over the past two decades.

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$47
BILLION

BILLION

Annual expenditures for the United States "War on Drugs".

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10.4
BILLION

BILLION

U.S. legal cannabis market size in 2022

LATEST FROM OUR BLOG


By Stephen Post July 4, 2025
This Independence Day, as people across the country celebrate with fireworks and cookouts, the Last Prisoner Project is honoring those still waiting for their freedom: the individuals incarcerated for cannabis. While corporations profit from legal cannabis—an industry worth billions—thousands remain behind bars for doing the very same thing. People are serving egregious sentences as a result of an outdated and unforgiving legal system. Even after release, many still carry the burden of a criminal record that makes it nearly impossible to secure jobs, housing, or a second chance at life. They served their time, yet continue to pay the price for conduct that is now legal in over half the country. Independence Day is meant to celebrate freedom, democracy, and justice. But this holiday also presents an opportunity to confront how our government continues to fall short of those ideals. Hector Ruben McGurk , currently serving a life sentence for a non-violent cannabis offense, reflects on the injustice of his case: “Most inmates and staff who interact with me are surprised by my demeanor and social skills, especially considering I’m serving a life sentence for cannabis. I have zero security points and am classified as minimum risk. The person I’ve always been is clearly reflected in my prison record—but not at all in my PSI report. If you placed the two side by side, it would seem like they describe two entirely different people.” “Justice, to me, would mean a truly fair federal trial process—one where the courts do not allow the intentional use of misleading or false information, including in Pre-sentence Investigation reports, to distort the outcome. In conspiracy cases, circumstantial evidence should be backed by tangible proof—not just the testimony of government cooperating witnesses who have something to gain, especially when the consequences can be decades-long sentences.” Daniel Martinez , who has served 14 years of a 30-year cannabis sentence, offers this vision of justice: “First and foremost, justice would mean being released from prison immediately. Beyond that, it would mean having the opportunity to rebuild my life by doing what I love—growing cannabis—through a government grant or small business loan. I can’t get back the years I’ve already lost behind bars, so I choose to focus on my future. That, to me, would be justice.” Rafael Hernandez Carillo , who has already served 17 years of a life sentence in a maximum-security federal prison for cannabis, shares the heavy toll of his incarceration: “I’ve missed my children growing up. Now they have children of their own. That’s 17 years of missed birthdays, Christmases, and milestones. The pain, the anxiety, the depression I’ve endured—and still endure every day—can’t be erased. When I try to imagine what could possibly make up for all of that, I come up blank. I’ve lost an entire lifetime. What’s hardest is opening a magazine like Entrepreneur and seeing so-called ‘pioneers’ of the cannabis industry being praised for doing exactly what I’m serving a life sentence for. That’s a hard pill to swallow. I know I made mistakes. I take full ownership of that. My only prayer now is that the courts, the public—everyone—will recognize that 17 years is enough. Nothing can give me back the time I’ve lost. But being allowed to go home to my family would be a good place to start. It might not be full justice, but if I can be there for my grandchildren in ways I couldn’t be for my kids, that would be a blessing. I just pray that one day I’ll be given a second chance—to be seen for who I am now, not just the mistakes I made as a younger man trying to survive. And if sharing my story can help change laws or bring freedom to others living through the same injustice, then that would mean even more to me than my own freedom. A life lost behind bars is a tragedy. But a life spent in prison for a non-violent marijuana offense—that’s not just lost, it’s stolen.” Robert Deals , another incarcerated individual, emphasizes the need for accountability: “Justice to me, personally, would mean immediate release from this bondage—and at least ten years of reparations for my family. We’ve been cheated out of tens of thousands of dollars by at least five dishonest lawyers, and it’s time for some form of accountability and repair. One thing I want people to know is about the vicious and unethical tactics allowed here in Arizona—entrapment being one of them. There’s a big difference between selling something to undercover cops and the cops bringing drugs to sell to you—then abducting, capturing, and arresting you. From what I understand, this kind of tactic is illegal in most other states. I also want people to understand just how unjust and cruel the Arizona courts have been toward me—and others. The judge who sentenced me did so twice, even though I had already signed a plea deal. They did that just to create a prior conviction they could use against me. That same judge then refused to give me credit for 21 months I had already served in county jail. That kind of denial is virtually unheard of.” While America celebrates its independence, we also call attention to the veterans who remain incarcerated for cannabis. These four veterans served 31 years in the military. Now, they are serving a combined 55 years behind bars for a plant that is legal in 24 states and the District of Columbia: Deshawn Reilly , 46, served eight years in the Marines. He is now serving a 17-year sentence for cannabis-related offenses in Georgia. Robert Deals , 57, served 11 years in the Air Force. He is now serving an 18-year sentence in Arizona. Brent Crawford , 41, served six years in the Air Force. He is now serving a 15-year federal sentence for a victimless cannabis offense. Kristopher Fetter , 37, served six years in the Army. He is now serving a 5-year sentence for marijuana possession with intent to distribute in New York. Deshawn Reilly shared from behind bars: “I would like to thank Last Prisoner Project for all the support. This eleven-year journey was a learning experience. I want to express it as a part of my life path—meaning I had to go through these terrible times as a crest in a wave going down. Prior to my incarceration, I was on the crest of the upside of the wave. Marijuana will eventually become legal. The plant has so many cures and powers to it the powers that be want to suppress it. To make a long story short, I use universal laws to train my mind to stay on the positive side and turn this terrible situation into something positive. Your help is greatly appreciated.” These are the stories that expose the hypocrisy of cannabis prohibition. These are the people the Last Prisoner Project fights for every day. Freedom must be more than a slogan. It must be a reality for everyone—including those still incarcerated for cannabis and those struggling to rebuild their lives after prison. This 4th of July, we renew our call... FREE THEM ALL!
By Stephen Post June 13, 2025
As families across the country come together this Father’s Day, thousands of children are spending the day without their dads—not because of violence or harm, but because their fathers remain locked away for cannabis-related convictions. In many cases, these men are serving long sentences for conduct that is now legal in much of the United States. Despite cannabis being decriminalized or fully legalized in the majority of states, the human cost of prohibition continues to devastate families—especially those in historically marginalized communities. These are fathers raising their children through prison phone calls and video visits, relying on letters and photographs to stay connected while missing birthdays, report cards, and everyday moments. Behind every sentence is a story. And behind every prison wall is a child wondering why their dad can’t come home. Daniel Longoria is one of those fathers. A U.S.-born, Hispanic man serving a 30-year sentence for a nonviolent cannabis offense, Daniel has not seen or held his children in years. The pain of distance, separation, and injustice weighs heavily on him. He shared the following: “When a Dad has not seen his kids, held his kids and who's son no longer speaks to him because I am over 1,000 miles away from home without a good cause puts such a heaviness in my heart that if I did not have God to turn to, I might have probably already ended my life. My son has now been diagnosed with Mental Behavior Disorder and has attempted suicide three different times. These things as a Father kill me inside because I was a great Dad and my kids loved me, and so Father’s Day is really hard to celebrate anymore. How can I celebrate this day, when I know my kids are struggling out there because of a plant that many states are now making millions, if not billions, of dollars off of it? I have also become a grandfather of two and have yet to meet them. I keep the faith and remain strong in the Lord. One day, I pray to be home and this nightmare be over.” Daniel’s experience is not an isolated one. At Last Prisoner Project, we work with dozens of fathers currently incarcerated for cannabis convictions—men who are missing milestones, parenting through prison walls, and holding on to hope for freedom. These dads include: Terrence Pittman – Father of five, serving a 30-year sentence Rollie Lamar – Father of six, serving an 18-year sentence Antoine Turner – Father of three, serving a 13-year sentence Malik Martin – Father of six, serving a 10-year sentence J’lyne Caldwell – Father of four, serving a 5-year sentence Vinh Nguyen – Father of two, serving a 6-year sentence Rendy Le – Father of two, serving a 5.5-year sentence Sean Scott – Father of one, serving a 5-year sentence Sean Scott’s story is particularly heartbreaking. A former Division I football player and successful real estate entrepreneur, Sean is serving over half a decade for a nonviolent marijuana offense involving nine kilograms and a legally owned firearm. While he remains proud of his past and hopeful for the future, he’s devastated to be missing out on his two-year-old son’s life. “This is my third time away,” Sean said. “And it’s extremely difficult to just watch my son grow and miss another holiday with him.” His fiancée is raising their son alone while also caring for Sean’s elderly mother. Sean is one of many fathers who should be home—not behind bars for something legal in so many parts of the country. Then there’s Rendy Le, a father of two, who reminds us what’s at stake. “You can always make money—but you can’t always make memories,” he said. “Cherish the good times.” It’s a sentiment echoed by every man we work with: time is the most precious thing they’re losing. Despite all this injustice, we also see the other side—stories of reunion, resilience, and redemption. Bryan Reid is one such example. After serving six years of a 12-year cannabis sentence, Bryan is now home and rebuilding his life with his children. “When I went in, my son was just one and my daughter was three,” Bryan told us. “I missed every first and last day of school. But now? Now I’m their sports dad, Santa, and biggest fan.” In the 15 months since his release, Bryan has made new memories—picking his kids up from school for the first time, visiting trampoline parks, and watching his oldest daughters graduate college. “Watching them grow into strong, independent women and seeing how hard they’ve worked for everything they have is nothing short of incredible,” he said. “It was an honor to stand beside them.” Bryan’s return to fatherhood, though hard-earned, is a reminder of why we fight. No one should be separated from their children over cannabis. No child should grow up wondering why their father is in prison for something now sold legally in dispensaries across the country. This Father’s Day, let’s do more than celebrate. Let’s commit to changing the laws, freeing the fathers, and reuniting families. Join us in advocating for clemency, resentencing, and restorative justice—for Daniel, Sean, Rendy, and the thousands of others still waiting to come home. Want to help this Father’s Day? Share their stories and donate to support our work! Bryan Reid Enjoying Freedom
June 12, 2025
Wednesday, October 15 at Sony Hall in New York City Notable Guests Include Carmelo Anthony, Calvin “Megatron” Johnson, Dr. Wendy & Eddie Osefo, Fab 5 Freddy, Keith Shocklee and Studdah Man of Public Enemy, and Guy Torry with a Performance by Joy Oladokun PURCHASE TICKETS & MORE INFORMATION
By Stephanie Shepard May 14, 2025
When Alexander Kirk walked out of prison on December 10th, he stepped into a world that had shifted beneath his feet. But the shift wasn’t universal. In Iowa, where he lives, cannabis is still fully illegal. Drive two minutes across the bridge into Illinois, and that same plant, once the root of his decade-long incarceration, is not only legal but a booming, billion-dollar industry. That contradiction sits at the center of Alex’s story. He’s a father, a mechanic, a reader, and a deep thinker. He’s also someone who spent more than ten years of his life behind bars for the same substance that dispensaries now sell with flashy packaging and tax revenue incentives. “It’s crazy,” he says. “One side of the bridge is legal, the other side isn’t. It’s hard to believe.” A Life Interrupted Alex’s most recent sentence—ten years in federal prison—started with a bust that was as much about timing and proximity as anything else. He was on federal probation for a previous cannabis offense. A raid at a residence he didn’t live in, but where his truck was parked, ended with a federal indictment. A tip from his child’s mother, who was angry about a disagreement over vacation plans, helped open the door for the investigation. “She made a call, gave them a tip,” Alex recalls, without bitterness, just clarity. “And that’s all it took.” The charges? Conspiracy to distribute less than 50 kilograms of marijuana—a charge that, while less than the quantities tied to large-scale trafficking operations, still carried weight under federal law. He received 80 months for the new charge and another 40 months for violating parole. The math added up to a lost decade. “I had already done ten and a half years the first time,” Alex says. “I was institutionalized. Prison became familiar. It’s where I knew how to move.” But even when you know the rules, prison isn’t easy. The hardest part for Alex wasn’t the food, the routines, or the guards—it was missing his children growing up. “I got five kids. Three of the older ones talked to me after and explained how I chose the streets over them. That was hard. But it was true.” He reflects on it now with a kind of painful honesty: “I didn’t want to pay for weed, so I started selling it. I smoked, and I hustled. Eventually, it got out of hand.” Knowledge Behind Bars Alex didn’t spend his time in prison passively. He worked in the prison garage, learning to fix cars—something he’d loved as a kid. He dove into books and self-help titles. One that stuck with him was The Voice of Knowledge by Don Miguel Ruiz. “That one changed things,” he says. “It helped me realize everyone’s got their own story they’re telling themselves. That helped me stop taking things so personally.” He also began thinking about the world beyond prison. He drafted a business plan for a youth program designed to keep teens from ending up like him. “I wanted to show them they had options,” he says. “You don’t always get that when you grow up in survival mode.” The Politics of Legalization What’s jarring about Alex’s story is not just the sentence—it’s the fact that it happened while the national conversation around cannabis was changing rapidly. By the time Alex was halfway through his sentence, multiple states had legalized recreational marijuana. Billion-dollar brands were being built. Politicians were posing for ribbon-cuttings at dispensaries. Celebrities were launching product lines. And people like Alex were still behind bars. “It’s unjust,” he says bluntly. “There’s no reason someone should be locked up for weed while companies are out here getting rich off it. The little guy got crushed. They legalized it after locking us up, but didn’t let us out.” The irony was never lost on him: that he was doing hard time for something that was now a tax revenue stream in neighboring Illinois. A Second Chance and Real Support Alex’s sentence was reduced under the First Step Act—a federal law aimed at correcting some of the harshest penalties in the justice system. Thanks to that and a longer placement in a halfway house, he was released earlier than expected. Through a friend, he reconnected with a woman from his past who introduced him to the Last Prisoner Project (LPP) . At first, he was skeptical. “We never heard about people helping folks like us. I didn’t think it was real.” But he gave it a chance—and found not just advocacy, but consistency. “Even getting emails, updates, hearing from people… that helped. It made me feel like someone gave a damn.” Through LPP, he learned that he qualifies as a social equity candidate in states with legalization programs. That means access to business licenses and support that could help him transition into the legal cannabis industry. He also learned he might qualify for early termination of his probation—a process he’s now pursuing. “I want to get into the legal side,” he says. “I know the game. I lived it. Now I want to do it right.” Life After Prison Alex is currently working in the halfway house kitchen. He’s trying to stay grounded, focused, and patient. Reentry is never easy. “You come out and everything is fast. You feel like you’re behind. But I remind myself: it’s not a race.” He’s rebuilding relationships with his kids. He’s focused on starting a business—maybe something in cannabis or something with cars. He hasn’t fully decided, but he knows he wants to help others, too.  “There’s still a lot of people inside,” he says. “And they shouldn’t be. Not for weed. If we’re really gonna legalize it, let’s legalize it for everybody. That means letting people go.” “Get to Know Their Story” Alex doesn’t want pity. He’s not asking for a handout. What he wants is what most people want: a chance to live free, to work, to be with his family. To matter. “Just because someone’s been to prison doesn’t make them violent. Doesn’t make them a bad person. Get to know their story.” Alex’s story is one of transformation, not because the system rehabilitated him, but because he did the work on his own. Now he wants to use his experience to change the system itself. He’s already started.
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