Nicole Smith

When Nicole Smith was six years old, her brother James suddenly disappeared from her life. She could not understand why he was no longer there to take her to school. When she learned about his incarceration several years later, she was heartbroken but determined to maintain their special relationship. With James now home almost three decades later, Nicole continues to marvel at his accomplishments and support him as he charts a new journey for himself and his family.

“My Father Figure”

Nicole grew up as the baby of three siblings. What she mostly remembers about their childhood is her oldest brother, James, caring for her like a father. “He used to take me to school, he used to do my hair, to feed me. … He was my father figure,” she says. James “was also caring for our other brother,” she adds. Unfortunately, as Nicole recalls, “I went from being happy, from seeing my brother every day to not seeing him at all. And I wondered, ‘What’s going on?’” 

Her brother’s sudden disappearance was heartbreaking as he was the one showing her love and attention while their mother was working several jobs to make ends meet. “I felt sad and hurt,” Nicole shares with tears in her eyes. To make things worse, “nobody told me anything. So when I was 10, 11 years old, I had to go figure things out on my own. I had to learn on my own.” She continues, “I was going to the library, looking him up, printing out his pictures.” From that early research, Nicole understood that “my brother was away, but hopefully, I would be able to see him again.”

Indeed, Nicole had the opportunity to see her brother again when he was held at the Cook County Jail. Memories of those moments are engraved in her mind. “I remember those visiting days. I was little. My mom would hold my hand as we would get ready to enter the building on 26th and California. I remember those visits because there was a Popeyes Chicken on the corner that we would always stop at after visiting him,” Nicole says. She also recalls seeing her brother during his trials, even though she did not quite understand what was happening. “When we first went to court, I was 11 or 12. We were just sitting there, not fully understanding what was going on.” 

By the time Nicole finally “pieced everything together,” she was 16 or 17 years old. “I never said ‘incarcerated’ until I got older, and I was actually able to explain what incarceration means,” she explains. She was devastated to find out that her brother had been arrested for murder. For her, those moments were filled with anguish and sorrow. “I still get emotional because it brings back a part of me that was sad, depressed, and heartbroken,” she says. Adding insult to injury, “some of our family members were very judgmental of us, of the whole situation.” As a result, “my mother looked depressed. She didn’t have a lot of people behind her, supporting her, and it was very sad,” Nicole comments.

When James received a natural life sentence, Nicole did not comprehend what it meant. “I was like, ‘What is natural life? What does it mean? Does it mean the death penalty?’” she recalls. It took her a few years to realize that this sentence meant that her brother might never be able to come home.

“I Did His Time With Him”

From Cook County Jail to Stateville Correctional Center and then Menard Correctional Center, Nicole visited her brother regularly even though “financially we were not able to go see him as much as I would have loved to.” In retrospect, she realizes how traumatizing these visits were. “I was always scared to go to the buildings. I didn’t like how I was treated, how we were treated, coming inside the buildings. We felt like we were the offenders as well, coming in, having to be searched, the way they talked to us, the way they just treated us. I felt like everything was inhumane,” she explains. “This made me so depressed because I always wondered, ‘Is my brother ok? What are they doing to him in there?’” she adds. Her brother was in a maximum-security prison, and Nicole was terrified that “a cellmate, a warden, or even a guard could hurt him.” Her experience with prison visitation highly influenced her perception of correctional facilities. “Prison is a horrible place. It’s not a place for anybody,” she says. 

Nicole also realizes how James’ incarceration and prison visits impacted her life. “My relationship with my brother was built while he was incarcerated. Everything that happened in my life, he had to see it behind bars. That itself was heartbreaking,” she laments. “It took a toll on me, as I was very young when everything started. I feel like I was cheated out of my childhood with my brother, my father figure,” she continues. “I was part of being incarcerated, too, with him. I feel like I did his time with him, but I just was on the outside while he was on the inside.”

“I Still Count on You, I want You to Still Count on Me”

In addition to visits, Nicole and her brother kept in touch via mail. She made sure he was aware of everything positive that was going on at home to give him reasons to smile and stay hopeful. “I wrote letters my whole life. James was gone from when I was six. He can pull out all the pictures from when I was six to 34,” she says with a smile. “I wrote letters. I only told him about positive things. I never worried him about anything bad going on unless it was extremely bad, and in that case, I would just call him. I also used to send pictures, books, and magazines,” she continues. 

Nicole and her brother also had an agreement to maintain their bond. “We eventually had this little thing set up where every day at 7 p.m., we would look at the sky, and we would talk to each other. So we communicated, whether it was verbally, physically or mentally. At 7 p.m., I would just stop whatever I was doing and just say a prayer or say, ‘I love you,’” she recounts. Nicole wanted her brother to know that he was not alone. “I always let him know that regardless of the situation, I am proud of you! I still count on you, and I want you to still count on me. We still have to keep each other afloat no matter what, no matter where we are.”

Certainly, prison walls did not stop James from helping his family. “He still was our support system. He still was the main person, and we could rely on him,” Nicole says. “I remember him sending me a check, and I asked, ‘How are you sending me a check?’” she recalls. “I never cashed it, but I still saved it because I was like, ‘How are you still able to take care of me in the situation that you’re in?’ I couldn’t believe it.” 

“Relief and Hope”

James had spent more than a decade in prison when he met Eric Anderson, a positive turning point in his life and his family’s. At his recommendation, Nicole connected with the Communities and Relatives of Illinois Incarcerated Citizens (CRIIC), a group led by Eric’s mother, Julie Anderson. One of CRIIC’s main activities is to organize prison visits for families with incarcerated loved ones. 

For Nicole and her family, CRIIC became a major source of support. “We used to go to Menard on those Greyhound buses. Sometimes, we would pay a lady who had a transportation service,” she recalls. “And then we met Julie and other members of the group, and we didn’t have to pay anything.” As the family was struggling financially, this was a great relief. “I can never forget Julie,” Nicole says. With this group, Nicole “now had people to talk to, people who understood what I was going through.” This emotional and mental support was pivotal in keeping Nicole and her family strong throughout James’ incarceration.

Then, in 2012, there was a major change in law. In a seminal case, Miller v. Alabama, the U.S. Supreme Court made mandatory life without parole sentences unconstitutional for children aged 17 and under at the time of their offense. This decision meant James could petition for a resentencing hearing. 

Despite the positive prospects, Nicole was very skeptical, mostly because James had already lost several appeals. “I didn’t have any belief in it at first. I was like, ‘Oh, we’ll go back to court, they’ll hear about the case, but that’s probably it. They are not going to give anybody a second chance,’” she recounts. Nicole shares how she started believing in the opportunity of a Miller resentencing “only because of my brother, how much faith and hope he had. That made me jump on the bandwagon.” As she researched and found out more about what the decision entails, including recommendations to consider the mitigating factors (including family and home environment, circumstances of the offense, and peer influence) of adolescent immaturity, she became even more optimistic. “I started being happy. I was like, ‘We got this!’” 

Five years after this landmark decision, James was indeed resentenced pursuant to Miller. However, as he served the last few years of his sentence, the COVID-19 pandemic hit the world. In overcrowded jailhouses, people were at higher risk of infection. As part of a program to relieve some of the risk of COVID-19 spreading throughout the prisons, James was granted clemency. 

“I Still Can’t Believe This!”

Nicole cannot stop smiling when talking about her brother’s release from prison after almost three decades. “I was nervous because I hadn’t seen him, I hadn’t been able to hug him, give him a big kiss, jump on his back, irritate him, or be a little sister to my big brother,” she says. The day he came home, she was among the first to welcome him. “I looked at him and cried. I held my head back. I couldn’t believe it was real,” she recalls. “I was happy, overwhelmed with joy. I felt that part of my heart was actually healed.”

Nicole was not the only one filled with joy. “It was the best feeling in the world not only for me but for my mom because growing up, I felt like there was something that she needed, that her son would come home,” she says. “I was happy, my mom was happy, James was happy, his kids were happy. It was a great feeling.” Friends and neighbors also partook in this joy. “It was big in our community. People were like, ‘Wow!’ I talked about it my whole life, so everybody who knew me knew my brother’s story,” she shares.

Years after her brother’s return, Nicole says the feeling of that first day still lingers. “Sometimes, I’d just touch him and shake my head because I still can’t believe this; I just can’t believe he is out.” Their relationship is still great after withstanding the test of lengthy incarceration. “I still make sure I give him positive feedback and let him know he is doing good.” She couldn’t ask for a better big brother or father figure, adding, “It feels like I got a father times two. I love our relationship.”  

Nicole is extremely proud to see her brother thrive, especially given how challenging social reacclimation can be after decades behind bars. “I think he did the rehabilitation that he was supposed to do. So, when he came out, he was ready,” she comments. Nicole insists that her brother “did everything that he said he was going to do from day one, times 10. You look at him, and you will never even think he was incarcerated.” 

James has indeed achieved a lot since his return, from being an apprentice at Restore Justice to becoming the organization’s Policy Manager. As a registered lobbyist in Springfield, James uses his story to advance reform and advocate for a more humane criminal legal system. “He is making himself happy, and he is making other people happy, and I love that about him,” Nicole shares.

“You Know Better, You Do Better”

Nicole’s happiness supersedes her anxiety and fears of her brother being rearrested. “In today’s society, you can just have the wrong color skin. You could have on the wrong outfit; you could have on the wrong hat. You could have your hat turned the wrong way, and not even mean any harm to anybody, but authorities might not take it that way,” she says. “I don’t want my brother to be with the wrong people, or at the wrong place at the wrong time,” she clarifies. 

Having been impacted by the system, Nicole understands how important it is for people to be aware of what the Illinois criminal legal system entails – from the financial pressures that result from supporting a loved one in prison to the emotional trauma of lengthy separation. “If people know about [the system], they will probably have a different perspective on it,” she says. Nicole emphasizes that “people shouldn’t say ‘this topic has nothing to do with me.’ Knowledge is power, and when you know better, you do better.”

Nicole also believes her brother is just one among many who deserve the opportunity to show that they can contribute to society. “I know people think those behind bars are bad people. But there are actually some very good people behind bars who deserve a second chance. I think second chances are a very big deal!”