In 2020, following waves of protest against George Floyd’s murder, California passed the historic Racial Justice Act as a pathway to confront racial bias in criminal courts. While “the law was a landmark,” in the words of Amnesty International, “it didn’t go far enough.”
Indeed, from my vantage point inside San Quentin — where people of color are housed by the hundreds — the act made little impact for those underrepresented in the criminal justice system.
That is why many of us are celebrating the recent passage of the second phase of the Racial Justice Act, AB 1071, which will take effect January 1, 2026. California’s incarcerated residents have renewed hope for a justice system marred by overzealous prosecutors and a judicial system rife with racial bias and discrimination. As the men who participate in the prison’s legal workshops told me, “We have finally been blessed against the old laws of Jim Crow.”
AB 1071 provides three much-needed fixes to the Racial Justice Act (RJA), improving access to counsel, information, and remedies. Starting in January, courts must appoint an attorney to anyone unable to afford one who wishes to bring an RJA claim. AB 1071 also ensures people can obtain the evidence necessary to prove discrimination, closing an information gap that set many up to fail. Finally, the bill reaffirms that courts must impose remedies when racial bias is proven, and that judges must have the flexibility to match remedies to the harm.
Since 2020, incarcerated men at San Quentin have faced these roadblocks repeatedly in meeting a prima facie showing that relevant evidence exists — evidence that can only be ascertained through appointment of counsel. Furthermore, the courts never indicated what evidence was needed in order for the court to make such a determination.
In June 2025, Roy Brown filed an RJA petition for habeas corpus relief, believing at the time that the act would provide him a public defender and the discovery needed to prove his innocence. The court took less than one month to deny the habeas corpus petition for lack of evidence in explaining his need for a public defender. The court also held that Roy had not been disproportionately sentenced because of his race.
Kevin Fuqua, who has been in prison for 38 years since being sentenced to 27-years-to-life for first-degree murder, maintains his innocence. When the RJA was signed into law, he believed he finally would see justice. After three RJA petitions for habeas corpus relief in 2024 and 2025 were all denied, his hope deflated. The court’s excuse was a common one for people incarcerated here: No discoverable facts were attached to the petition to determine whether a public defender appointment was necessary. The court decided Kevin also had not shown he was disproportionately sentenced “due to a racist comment made by the judge or prosecutor in his case.”
I was also denied appointment of a public defender for the same reasons as Roy and Kevin. To us, it was clear that the RJA did not reach far enough in addressing convictions and sentences. The court’s only discretion mandated that it review racial comments made during the course of trial or when a person was sentenced. Judges were not obligated by law to review juror bias, all-white juries, or police misconduct.
A number of incarcerated people began working with outside activists and organizations to strengthen the bill. I myself dialogued and strategized with organizers and activists, participating in social justice retreats and telephone calls with my prison tablet. The comradeship felt like a Federick Douglas abolitionist movement: we all refused to accept “no” as the judicial system’s final answer to the question of equality.
There’s a wary hope emerging inside the prison. “Even if I’m not afforded a new trial after 35 years of being in prison, at least my sentence can now be reviewed for resentencing as ‘time served,’” Kevin told me.
“I feel the governor did the right thing,” he continued. “But with the wrong people still in power to govern the lives of the wrongly convicted, injustice still has a higher probability of winning than a black man that has been beaten down by the system more than his faith can bear.”
Still, the incarcerated population is asking: Will AB 1071 going into effect on January 1, 2026, truly change the racial discrimination promoted by the judicial system? At the very least, many are preparing to re-submit their RJA petitions for habeas corpus relief. This time around, they will have the benefit of working beside a public defender in a fight for justice, hopefully restoring the faith of a broken-spirited population — faith that justice does stand a chance of prevailing.
