By Jeffrey Deskovic

Incarceration, Exoneration.

As a newly-turned seventeen-year old, I found myself in prison having been found guilty of rape and murder despite being totally innocent. The jury had found me guilty based on a false, forced confession, despite a DNA Test showing semen found in the victim did not come from me, and that hairs found on the victim’s body also did not match mine. I was determined not to waste my time in prison as I fought for justice in the court system.
After all, I thought that this injustice would be corrected shortly, never dreaming that it would take 16 years.

I obtained my GED and went on to take college courses, obtaining an A.S. in Liberal Arts, and completing another year of college before Governor Pataki cut off the funding. Nevertheless, I learned how to type, got certificates in general business, painting, computer operation and repair, and plumbing. I also learned how to tutor adults and worked in the GED and Adult Basic Education programs. I was a manager in the food service area. I read a lot of non-fiction books and other materials from the general library. I read on a wide variety of
subjects, including politics and presidential history, self-help, and relationship books.

On November 2, 2006, I was formally exonerated. The Judge and the prosecutor both acknowledged that I had been innocent. Then they apologized to me. Soon thereafter I discovered the hard way that when a prisoner has been released from prison having been cleared, they are given no follow-up support in terms of housing, funds for cost-of-living expenses, mental health services, or education from the state. I was released from prison with nothing, just the clothes that I had on my back, a suit that The Innocence Project had purchased for me. I was released to start over, having been thrown into the financial ocean to sink or swim as I simultaneously wrestled with the psychological baggage of my ordeal, needing to get used to living in what appeared to be like a strange planet where I didn’t belong, with technology unfamiliar to me. I was frequently being overwhelmed by the sheer newness of both having choices and the availability of technology that I had never used before and, in some cases, never even seen.

As residuals of what I went through, being in situations that are not orderly or that involve things I do not fully understand tend to disorient or alarm me very easily. I get a feeling that somehow things will fall by the wayside or go wrong, as often happened in prison when I had to rely on the guards and other civilian employees who simply didn’t care nor treat me as a human being. For the most part, I have had to deal with these elements on
my own, since most of my family live far from me, upstate, where there is no opportunity for me to rebuild my life, unlike some exonerees who are fortunate to have family, spouses, and friends with whom they may resume their lives and receive help on a day-to-day basis.

When I was in prison, one of the things that used to frustrate me occurred when some individuals were cleared who, upon leaving prison, would forget about those whom they had left behind. I don’t mean in a literal sense, as in those whom they knew in prison, but in a figurative sense, as in those who remain incarcerated who are also innocent. As I saw it, they would get the initial blast of media attention, then would fade into obscurity, never
to be heard from again. I felt the thing to do would have been to utilize that initial coverage in order to draw attention to the fact that there were other innocent people in prison, and to advocate for changes in the system. I saw advocating for change as a moral obligation.

Having witnessed that, when I suddenly found myself freed, I enlisted myself. I told myself, “You used to criticize others, now it is your turn. Show them how it is done.” It has therefore become my mission in life, my way to try to take a negative and turn it into a positive, to not only call attention to the problem, but to try my hardest to prevent it from happening to others.

In an effort to achieve those ends, I give presentations at universities, colleges, high schools, churches, and wherever people will listen to me, with the idea of public education as the first step towards legislative changes. I write articles on not just what happened to me but upon the larger picture of how the system really is, and what needs to be done in order to reduce the risk of wrongful incarceration. I also give interviews as a further means of shining the light.

I have been to Albany to lobby some State Senators and Assembly members to both change and pass laws. And, I have plans to continue to do so until laws are changed and passed. I have begun assembling board members in order to form The Jeffrey Deskovic Foundation, which will be a not-for-profit organization
whose threefold purpose is public education/legislative changes, and exoneration of those wrongfully incarcerated.

The organization will also seek to provide assistance with re-integration into the community at large once people are cleared, and I continue to look for those who might be willing to provide the initial start-up costs.

Lastly, I have spoken out on behalf of Frank Sterling at both of my press conferences, when I was initially released and again when I was formally exonerated, as well as a few time after that. Frank is a man from Rochester, New York, whom I have known since 1994 who was wrongfully incarcerated based on a false confession produced by long hours of interrogation while subjected to hypnosis. Am I the only one who thinks this is bizarre? He remains in prison even though someone else admitted to the crime. Fortunately he is currently
represented by The Innocence Project.

Housing: I have not had stability with respect to housing. In the five months since emerging from prison I have bounced around from one place to another. Let me recount my odyssey: I first stayed for three days in Nanuet at my Aunt and Uncle’s house. However, they had to leave to attend to their house in upstate New York.

I then stayed for a couple of days with my mother, who lives in that same rural, underdeveloped town upstate, a town so rural that one had to travel for an hour and a half just to take a train. With few stores or places of business, the economy was quite different. Granted, goods were somewhat cheaper, but for the most part jobs are minimum wage. I quickly realized it was not a place where I could rebuild my life. I spent several days feeling frustrated and bored.

Then, I got a phone call from the mother of an old childhood friend, inviting me to spend a couple of days with her. I seized the opportunity to jump on the train and get out of where I was. I had hoped to visit with as many people as I could, looking for some way to stay in a more active area.

One thing led to another, and a a couple days visit stretched into two weeks. My friend’s mother helped me get
on public assistance. Despite having gone through the ordeal that I had, I discovered that I would be able to get only standard assistance, That was sixty eight dollars and fifty cents in cash every two weeks plus one hundred and fifty dollars in food stamps per month which meant I would somehow have to eat for less than forty dollars a week. I was informed that they would also provide $271 a month rent money which they would send directly to
my landlord.

The last seemed kind of comical to me since as even I knew that I couldn’t obtain even one room for that amount. Yet, after utilizing her connections and asking around, by talking to a friend, there suddenly appeared the opportunity for a place where they were willing to accept that amount. As luck would have it, that apartment was in Ossining, where I had never lived, and worst of all, faced Sing-Sing, the prison that I was last at, and one
could not help but see the prison wall, security towers, and all.

Of course, I was not happy with the location, but I had to take the place. It needed some repairs which were being made and needed a couple of days to complete. It was therefore agreed that I would stay a couple of
extra days with my friend’s mom, and then go out to Indiana see Martin, a childhood friend whom I had lost touch with but who had reached out to me upon learning of my release. He was so eager to see me that he
had volunteered to pay for my trip, knowing that I could not afford the ticket.

When it came time for me to move to Ossining, however, the room still was not ready, leaving me with a two-day gap. I spent the next two days frantically calling all of the people who I had met since I had been out, all of whom in addition to expressing sympathy to me had told me “If ever you need anything, just give me a call.”

I soon discovered that it was all just a bunch of bluster, for now that I was in a desperate situation needing a place to stay for just two short days, there were all kinds of reasons why nobody could let me stay with them.
While trying to solve my problem, I decided to meet with a Muslim who had called The Innocence Project a few days before, informing them that he wanted me to call him, and that he wanted to be of assistance to me. I called him, and we agreed to meet at the Peekskill library. I arrived early and while waiting, I was approached by a
Muslim girl who appeared to be around college age. She had recognized me from the newspaper. After confirming that I was in fact the person who had been in the paper, she offered to help me put together a resume.

I thanked her, and told her that prior to doing that I had to find a place to stay that night. She said she would talk to her family and they would call around for me. We exchanged numbers and she then left. I then met the Muslim fellow that I had been waiting for, and he gave me some money. By then it was 3:30pm and I knew I had to leave by five or six. In my desperation, lacking any other ideas, I privately considered going to Nanuet to my Uncle’s house.

Even though I knew that he was not there, I knew there was a park bench on the little strip of land there that I could sleep on, and, as the day got later and later, it was looking more and more as though I would have to do that. Fortunately, Martin had contacted his brother who agreed to let me stay with him for the next two days.

I reached the girl I had met at the library and she put me in touch with the Hudson Valley Islamic Center, who advised me that I could stay, along with a couple of other Muslims, at an apartment they were renting in Mohegan Lake for as long as I liked, at no charge.

I felt it was very nice of them to do that for me, a stranger to them, that they did not know from a can of paint, and I was very grateful. I had a room of my own, and the rest of the areas within the house were common areas. e room initially had a bed and a carpet and, as time went on, I was able to get a couple pieces of furniture here and there, some of them donated.

I was living amongst other people who were also struggling to make it as well, and who were working long hours. They would come in really late at night, leaving early in the morning. So even though they lived there, I was by myself for most of the time.

Though I was very grateful for the shelter the Islamic Center had freely provided, unfortunately the structure
was in need of much repair. there were leaks and problems with electrical service. And, after a few months, it became urgent to once again find housing. It was beginning to look that I would have no choice but to go to a homeless shelter.

However, I had received a scholarship from Mercy College, and there was a press conference scheduled for the purpose of announcing that. While speaking with a college staff person in preparation for the event, I informed him that in light of my impending homelessness I would have to make the focus of the conference the fact that I was homeless so that if anyone was so inclined they could come forward and offer help. The man immediately went into action and was able to get me a room in the school dorm, which had suddenly become available when somebody canceled. The offer of living at the dorm was extended to me only for one semester. That semester,
incidentally, will conclude in about a month and, therefore, I am once again facing yet another housing crisis.

When people speak to me, those I know and total strangers who recognize me from the media coverage that I have gotten, usually the second thing that they say to me, right after offering their condolences/empathy, is, “You are suing, right?”

The implication is I’m all right financially. Many people do not realize that although I am suing, it generally takes between two to seven years to actually receive compensation, and that the State will not voluntarily offer anything. The issue of whether I am entitled to any financial compensation for what happened to me will be
contested, with the government taking the position that I am deserving of nothing.

And that while this protracted legal process plays out, I will receive nothing. In fact, even after I win, it is will still not be over, because the State will file appeals as many times as they can, thus tying up whatever money is awarded. Is there anyone who truly believes that any of that legal process is morally right?

Lest anyone get the wrong idea, I want to say that there is no amount of money, no matter how much, which is worth having gone through what I endured. If someone came up to me today and said that “We are going to give you a billion dollars, but you have to serve sixteen years and go through everything that you went through”, my
unhesitating answer would be “no.” There is no price tag on freedom or on human suffering and deprivation of the type that I went through as a result of being in prison for something that I did not do.

Trying to make ends meet (in the short term): While I wait for the legal drama to play out, and hopefully receive
something, I still must make it from this point to that. A big problem is that although I have an Associates Degree, I am ten classes short of a Bachelors, and am scheduled to graduate by December/January. A lot of my education is informal, and we are a society that likes to see things documented, as in diplomas and degrees. I don’t understand what the difference is myself; either a person knows how to do the job and is competent, or
they are not. How they know something is, to me, irrelevant. Yet employers, for the most part, haven’t seen it that way. Additionally, there is a 16-year gap in which I did not work. I think that both of these factors have been critical in terms of the job offers I have received. They have involved making seven, eight, perhaps ten
dollars an hour, doing such things as insect extermination, and pouring coffee at Dunkin Donuts, not enough money for me to dig myself out of the financial hole I find myself in, especially after one considers travel expenses and taxes.

In addition, those are dead-end jobs. I want something that is meaningful and fulfilling. After 16 years, I have had enough of forcing myself to do things that I dread. I want to do something that is meaningful and fulfilling, and the money has to make sense.

I am starting my life over, and I am in need of many things. I am trying to do it on my own because my family is neither here nor in any position to help me financially. Rent is expensive, as is food and other necessary living expenses. I am 33 years old; too old to be making the type of money I’ve been offered by the hour. Looking ahead, I need to make enough money not only to support myself, but ultimately get married, have a family, and actually enjoy life.

For now, I need a job flexible enough so that when I get an opportunity to travel to give a presentation that I can do so and still have a job to come back to Giving lectures at colleges, universities, high schools, churches, wherever people are willing to listen to me, is essential to who I am and to the mission that life has unfolded for me. When I speak, I am not only educating the public as a first step towards legislative changes, it is also
therapeutic and cathartic for me. And while it is true that I receive an honorarium for most presentations, I am, however, at the beginning of my career, and it takes a while to build a following.

I used to dream in prison of doing things that I had never done before, jet and waterskiing, going to amusement parks I had seen on television, sporting events, visiting people and seeing various parts of the country that I had never seen before. I have been able to do very little of anything that is pleasurable, because I simply don’t have
the money. What money I do have, I have to hold on to for emergencies. Additionly, I am often busy because I am preoccupied with my financial and housing concerns, and, of course, my school work.

Even if I had the funds to do some of the things I would like to, I don’t have anyone to do them with, having spent the last sixteen years in prison. It is not easy for me to initiate relationships, reaching out to people as a result of my experience because in prison, to start talking to someone you don’t know was to open the door to a lot of potential problems. It is easier on me when others reach out. Once they do I am able to feel comfortable and determine their character.

Unfortunately that does not happen often. There have been some individuals who have been friendly, to be sure, and who, I believe, have my best interests at heart, that I like talking to, but they are not my age and usually
not into the same things that I am.

When I look at my current situation, everything about it is the result of what was done to me, in one way or another. I say that, not wishing to characterize myself in the mold of “the victim”, but merely making a truthful and precise observation.

The system wrongfully imprisoned me for 16 years, half of my life. at is the reason that I am not in the position in life where I should be at age 33, and why I am experiencing such a hard time now.

I should have had all of my education completed and should have had five to seven solid years in career work
and be well on my way towards financial freedom. at is also the reason why I am not already married, with a family, and why, even if I wanted to get married, assuming I have found the right person, I couldn’t afford to do so. Additionally, prison is the reason I lack a naturally developed network of associates and close friends who I might feel safe with, and who I might share common interests and activities with.

Finally, prison is the reason, even now, though I am out, that I am still not happy. For there are still obstacles, frustrations, in my way, that so far I’ve been either unable to overcome on my own or even with help. All that I have revealed above while personal to me, Jeffrey Deskovic, is by no means unique to me. In many ways I am better off than many exonerees who have emerged before me and will follow me. My purpose in sharing the circumstances of the past several months is to make clear in the most revealing and personal terms possible, the
very real need for society and for state legislatures, in particular, to take heed and make provisions in law which may bring about substantial justice and remedy to those who have been unjustly and unlawfully imprisoned.

I ask rhetorically, in light of all of the above, are innocent individuals, emerging from prison, really free?