A Knock at Midnight: A Story of Hope, Justice, and Freedom

When she first met Sharanda in prison, Barnett was struck by her beauty and radiance at age 42. Sharanda replied, “Black don’t crack” (98). From that first meeting, Barnett befriended Sharanda, who became more than a client.

Sharanda’s mother, Genice Stribling, was paralyzed from the neck down when Sharanda was very young. Her grandmother Pearlie took on the care of Genice and her four grandchildren, all under the age of five. While Pearlie did her best and ensured the grandchildren graduated high school, she sometimes drank too much, and Sharanda had to take over the daily care of her mother. Sharanda learned to cook from her mother, who instructed Sharanda from her bedroom. After graduating high school, Sharanda moved to Dallas for a time, and her “entrepreneurial spirit began to blossom” (105).

Sharanda opened a hair salon called “A New Attitude” in Terrell, Texas, following her completion of cosmetology school. While she was making ends meet, things were tight, and she now had a three-year-old daughter named Clenesha. She then opened a burger joint, following up on her passion for cooking. Given the small size of her hometown, Sharanda knew some of the local drug dealers. Because she had contacts in Dallas, a friend asked if she knew any drug suppliers. While money and drugs were prevalent in Dallas, there were occasional dry spells in Terrell. Sharanda contacted Spider, who occasionally supplied her with a kilo of cocaine, which she gave to her friend Baby Jack, or Keith Jackson. When Spider went down, Sharanda got out of drugs completely and moved on.

In 1999 the police raided Terrell, indicting 165 people, including Sharanda’s friends Keith Jackson and Julie Franklin. Julie then hounded Sharanda to find another drug source. After repeatedly saying no, Sharanda simply said that she would see what she could do, mainly to get Julie off her back. Unbeknownst to Sharanda, Julie secretly recorded the conversation to reduce her own prison sentence. On April 7, 1999, the police raided Sharanda’s childhood home, even arresting her mother, though Sharanda was the real target. After turning herself in, she was charged with six counts of distributing crack cocaine and one count of conspiracy to traffic crack cocaine. On the advice of a rather naive attorney, Sharanda went to trial instead of attempting to make a plea deal.

After reviewing six volumes of Sharanda’s trial transcripts, Barnett concluded that federal prosecutors wrongly depicted her as a “queenpin drug dealer” (119) without any physical evidence to support such accusations. They used a strategy called “stacking,” whereby they added on charges to increase the sentence and entice Sharanda to accept a plea bargain. To do so, Sharanda would have needed to lie about the involvement of a Dallas police officer in her drug runs, which she refused to do.

Contrary to any commitment to justice, prosecutors gave lighter sentences to those heavily involved in drug trafficking because they testified against others and accepted plea deals. For example, Sharanda, who played only a temporary and minor role, was given a life sentence, while Spider, a major trafficker, got 19.5 years. Anyone who went to trial was essentially punished for doing so.

Sharanda was convicted on conspiracy charges. These laws were very broad, requiring only that there be an agreement to traffic drugs between two or more people who joined the agreement voluntarily (125). There was no need for drugs, money, or any other physical evidence. Convicted on the testimony of those who received lighter sentences in return, Sharanda then faced harsh sentencing because the drug quantity was calculated based on “ghost dope” (129), or testimony, not the actual presence of drugs. Additionally, prosecutors invoked several enhancements, permitted under the drug laws, to lengthen her sentence.

Barnett realized that these broad drug laws could have ensnared her when she was dating Red, her abusive boyfriend. Prosecutors did not truth and justice, just convictions. She vowed to “fight for Sharanda’s life as if it were [her] own, because it was” (127). At this point, her tools were limited. Although there were some promising court decisions, including one that noted the racial disparity in crack and powder sentencing, they were not made retroactive. Neither was the Fair Sentencing Act, which reduced the sentencing disparity from 100:1 to 18:1. In the following months, however, the US Sentencing Commission retroactively modified the sentencing guidelines. That still did not help Sharanda, given the alleged quantity of ghost dope, but it did reduce Keyon’s sentence to 32 years.

As a successful corporate attorney pursuing partnership, Barnett worked long hours and made a good salary. Yet she experienced an “almost surreal double consciousness” (152), working in the corporate world but also doing everything she could to help her imprisoned clients gain their freedom. While at Mama Lena’s for a family meal and much-needed respite, Barnett was called by an old friend named De-Ann Coffman, who was desperate to help her friends serving life sentences for federal drug charges. By now, this story was familiar to Barnett.

De-Ann, her boyfriend Mike Wilson, Mike’s brother Wayland, their cousin Terry, Donel Clark, and four others were guilty of selling drugs, but not anywhere near the amount that the government claimed. Despite the “ludicrous” allegations, three of those charged, all white women, testified against their former friends and received no prison time. De-Ann, Mike, Wayland, Terry, and Donel went to trial and were convicted by an almost all-white jury in Dallas, “one of the most segregated cities in the United States” (151). All but De-Ann were Black, and all received sentences ranging from 30 years to life, as the prosecutor sought the harshest punishments possible. President Bill Clinton pardoned De-Ann after she served eight years. De-Ann now appealed to Barnett for help freeing her friends.

Soft-spoken and laidback, Mike had already served 20 years by this time. He had suffered a stroke in prison, making his speech difficult. Wayland was the quieter and more introspective of the two brothers, and he became somewhat of a jailhouse lawyer in prison. The two brothers were close but had now been separated for 20 years. Barnett realized that she needed “a fast track” (153). Reminded of De-Ann’s pardon, she considered opting for that route, wondering if President Obama could be a source of hope.