Georgia

Tariq Baiyina has lobbied politicians, shaken hands with governors, set up a college program, and delivered dozens of sermons. Despite all this, the 42-year-old has never voted. And the reason is simple: since 2002, when he was convicted of a felony, he hasn’t been allowed.Felony disenfranchisement is commonplace in the US, where 5.2 million people can’t vote, according to a new estimate from the Sentencing Project. While dozens of countries allow all people held in prison to vote, only two states, Vermont and Maine, as well as Washington DC, do so in the US. And in some states people lose their voting rights even after they have been released. In Georgia, where Baiyina was convicted, for example, the ban lasts through probation and parole, which can extend decades after serving time.Black Americans, like Baiyina, are about 3.7 times more likely to lose their voting eligibility than other adults. But as the country begins to confront head-on issues of racism and inequality, more states are scaling back felony disenfranchisement. Earlier this year, Iowa became the final state to lift what had been a lifetime ban. In Florida, voters in 2018 approved a referendum restoring eligibility to people who are off probation or parole, though it was quickly dismantled by Republicans.When Baiyina was convicted nearly two decades ago of armed robbery and carjacking, he wasn’t thinking about how people elected to run the government might affect his life. But soon he would become part of that movement, fighting to win power for himself and others punished by the legal system. In a few years, he would grow into a leading voice against felony disenfranchisement in Georgia. And for Baiyina, the cause is about more than just winning influence over who writes laws, it’s a personal quest to escape lingering punishment, and find citizenship. A quest that his own mistakes could quickly, and dramatically, interrupt.*Baiyina first became entangled in Georgia’s legal system in 2000. He lost his job, and needing money to pay for a plane ticket to visit his son in Rochester, New York, held up a cabbie, driving off with the car and about $100. He and an accomplice were arrested the same night.This was the era when “significantly increased sentence lengths” accounted for an “unprecedented rise” in incarceration rates, according to a report from the National Academy of Sciences. Baiyina was convicted in 2002, and sentenced to 20 years in prison, and 15 years of probation. “It was really foolish,” he said. “I paid a hefty price for that crime. Still paying it.”In prison, while reading in the law library, Baiyina began to realize the power of elections. He learned it was a Democratic state representative who had sponsored the bill requiring a mandatory minimum sentence for armed robbery, one of Baiyina’s charges. “I’m actually affected by this law that these people wrote,” he remembers thinking. But he didn’t wield a vote to influence their decisions. “Power is in the law, and guess what, if you don’t have any access to it, you’re powerless.”In prison Baiyina turned into a leader – channeling his intelligence and charisma. He leaned on the faith he grew up with, Islam, and became an imam for the other Muslim inmates. The stocky man with cropped hair would preach during Friday services, and organize the traditional Eid al-Fitr feast marking the end of the Ramadan holiday. Baiyina attended college courses and helped establish an Islamic studies program.When he was released in 2017 Baiyina enrolled in a job-training and temporary housing program with a non-profit called Inner-City Muslim Action Network (Iman) Atlanta. After he completed the program, he was hired to help run it, and later promoted to community organizer.*The infamous 2018 race for governor in Georgia was the first major election Baiyina witnessed after he was released from prison. Republican Brian Kemp defeated Democrat Stacey Abrams by about 55,000 votes. But Abrams accused Kemp, the state’s top election official at the time, of voter suppression as thousands of people were purged from voter rolls. Kemp called the purges an important safeguard against fraud, although it has been found to be exceedingly rare.In Kemp’s victory, Baiyina saw an election that could have ended differently if the hundreds of thousands of people banned from voting because of their criminal records were able to cast ballots. “That power can be a reality,” Baiyina realized.Power is in the law, and guess what, if you don’t have any access to it, you’re powerlessLiving in Georgia, he started learning more about the history of felony disenfranchisement – a practice that has existed since before the founding of the US, expanding after the civil war when white politicians, particularly in the south, created new crimes targeting former slaves. And it only grew: in 1976 about 1 million people couldn’t vote because of a conviction. By 2016 that number had grown sixfold.At Iman Atlanta, Baiyina convened weekly meetings called “power hours” often attended by other people who were recently out of prison. They talked about being rejected by landlords and employers because of their records, and how that led friends and acquaintances back to crime and prison. Baiyina thought of what would happen if the people dealing with these problems themselves could vote out politicians who didn’t care. He launched a campaign with the goal of ending felony disenfranchisement for people out of prison in Georgia with the slogan “No Taxation Without Representation”.*While civil rights, and criminal justice reform organizations in Georgia supported loosening the state’s felony disenfranchisement policies, none were as focused on the issue as Baiyina. He was often asked by other activists pushing for criminal justice reform to speak at their events, like one in February called “Justice Day” near the Georgia state capitol. Lobbyists, and politicians of both parties attended.“I have never been fully and fairly represented by this government,” Baiyina preached to the audience, swaying behind the podium. “I want my right to vote back. I need my right to vote back.” Cheers, applause and calls of “that’s right” rippled through the crowd. More