The Daily Show: Ears Edition - ICYMI - Ian Manuel on "My Time Will Come"

Episode Date: May 17, 2021

Activist and poet Ian Manuel talks about being sentenced to life in prison without parole at the age of 14, his advocacy for criminal justice reform and his memoir "My Time Will Come." Learn more about your ad-choices at https://www.iheartpodcastnetwork.comSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

You're listening to Comedy Central. When 60 Minutes premiered in September 1968, there was nothing like it. This is 60 Minutes. It's a kind of a magazine for television. Very few have been given access to the treasures in our archives. But that's all about to change. Like none of this stuff gets looked at, that's what's incredible. I'm Seth Done of CBS News, listened to 60 Minutes,

a second look on Apple podcasts starting September 17. Ian Manuel, welcome to the Daily Social Distancing Show. The Daily Social Distancing Show. Thank you for having me, Trevor. Man, you have lived a life that I wouldn't wish on anybody. You've written a book about it, and I'm not gonna lie. Your story has all of the most surprising conclusions because you were 14 years old and you got sentenced to life. That was it.

What was really fascinating in the story is how the judge explicitly says, hey man, there's no second chances even if you're 14 years old, you know? When that judge says, you're sentenced to life. Did you know what that actually meant? Or like how long did it take to sink in? I didn't recognize that life meant life until I was nearly in my 20s or 30s.

As a child, you don't recognize what life without parole means. And that was based on a Florida law that says a child of any age indicted for a life or death felony shall be treated in every respect as if he were an adult. And that law is still on the book so children can still be subjected to this, no matter if they're eight, nine, or 10. It felt horrible, man. No human being should be treated like that, especially a child.

You weren't just sentenced to life with no parole. You at some point were sent to solitary confinement. And you spent over a decade in solitary confinement? Actually I spent 18 consecutive years from the time George H.W. Bush was president to when Barack Obama was on his second year of his first turn. So from 1992 to 2010, if it wasn't for me diving within the depths of my imagination and learning how to write poetry, I would have, I would have, I would have, I would have, I would have, I would have, I would have, I would have, I would have, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, a., a. a. a. a. a. a. a. a, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, a. A, I, a the, a the the the the the the the the the the the to the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the the to., I to., I to. to. to. to. to. to. to. to. to. to. to. to. to. to. I, I, I, I to. I the to. I the to. I the the the to. I to. the to. to. the to. to. theea. toea. toe. to. to. to. to. to. to. to. to. to. to. to. to. the me diving within the depths of my imagination and Learning how to write poetry I would have I would have went crazy in there I really need to understand this like on a human level

You know everyone every therapist every research every scientist has said one of the key things human beings need to exist is human connection For those who really don't understand solitary confinement, can you explain that? What is it like existing in a box for 18 years? About the size of a walk-in elevator or a free the elevator. There's a still bunk. There's a door. It's about five or six steps from the wall to the, to the front door

with a size nine and a half shoe. And it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's it's th it's th, and it's just it's just th, and it's just th, and it's not, and it's not, and it's not, and it's not, and it's th, and it's th, and it's th, and it's th, and it's th, and it's th, and it's th, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's, and it's th, it's not, it's not, it's not, it's not, it's not th. It's not not not not not not th. It's not not not th. It's not not not not thi, thi. It's not not not th. It's not th. thi. th. th. th. th. th. th wall to the to the the front door with a size nine and a half shoe and it's just and it's not like they put me in that cell and left me there right I was tortured I was gas with chemical agents I was beaten I mean if what happened to George Floyd happened in broad daylight imagine what's happening behind closed prison walls when there's no one to videotape it. And what makes your story closed prison walls when there's no one to videotape it. And what makes your story interesting is, one of the advocates who said we need to let this man out of prison, he cannot spend his entire life behind bars, was the woman who you shot in the face, Debbie Bagry, who you are now friends with.

And she said, hey man, if I can forgive this person and if I can move forward with them, the American legal system needs to do the same thing. Talk to me about how you made contact with her, why that journey began, and what that did for both of you as human beings. I was going through my paperwork and I seen Debbie's phone number and address in the police report. So I reached out to her and I called her, and I remember the first first first first first first first first first first first first first first first first first first first first first first first first first first first first first the first the first the police report. So I reached out to her and I called her, and I remember the first thing I said was Debbie, I like to wish you and your family a Merry Christmas and to apologize for shooting you in the face.

Then she asked me a question that no 14 year old should ever have to answer. She said, Ian, why did you shoot me? And I just remember saying it was a mistake. It all happened so fast. And I asked her, could I call back? And I called back and I just asked, I don't remember much about that second conversation except I asked her, could I write her? And she said, yes, and that's how I corresponded it.

And then that led to Brian Stevenson, sending me a letter, and taking my case, and appealing it to the US Supreme Court, to overturn my life's sentences. If you were appealing to people who would in no way shape or form be on the side of anybody who's committed a crime, how would you explain to them why they should consider not having a life sentence, especially for a minor who the courts or the justice system considers an adult? Yeah, I would just say that as children, our brains are still developing. And I am nowhere near this person I was at 13, at 14, at 15.

I evolve. We as human beings, we begin to evolve and we become different people. So to say to a child that you will never change is scientifically untrue. It's proven through science that we develop and we grow. So you should not eradicate, because that's what the judge sought to do. He started to eradicate me from earth.

And I just feel like we as humans deserve a second chance at life. What do you think it is about poetry that saved your brain? Like, you know, because you talk about it with so much passion, you go like, this is the only thing that kept me copus, mentis. What is it about the poetry that helps you cope? Well, I'll give you an example by reciting one of my poems, my time will come. It says, I promise you, the brunt of my oppression has a

purpose, and the same person that you persecute will one day be worshipped. Though I stand before you bare-chested and shirtless with my soul and emotions naked, just wanting to be nurtured. Yeah, despite the desperation, desertion, and hurting, my time going to come. So I compose this poem not knowing if I'll ever be able to perform it in an auditorium. I do it with the faith of a poet that believes he was born to do it like an acorn caught up in a storm, flung from the branch where it was born. You can only hold me back for so long. My time going to come. Despite the difficulties and disappointments, my determination remains undaunted. Though the waters of my tomorrows are deep and uncharted, the buoyance of my tomorrows are deep and uncharted,

the buoyance of my character will float unwavering towards them, like a song written, yet unrecorded, my time going to come. Though you wrapped me in chains, and sprayed me with chemical flames, and did all of the things you did to add to my pain, my circumstances will change. I believe this with the deaths of my being, that as long as this world continues to spin, it cannot end until it's been enjoyed by end. Remember this day, because things won't always be this way. My time gonna come. My time gonna come against all conceivable odds.

My time gonna come. Thank you. Man, ah, your story isn't easy, Ian. It's complicated. The issue isn't easy, it's complicated. But I think one thing I appreciate about your book and your conversation is that we're dealing with human beings. You're a human being. The person you shot was a human being.

The people who are incarcerated every day are human beings, and we hope that they'll become human beings when they come up. But we don't treat them like human beings when they locked up so thank you for the time Ian thank you for joining us and best of luck brother I appreciate you man thank you true tryvon watch the daily show week nights at 11 10 Central on Comedy Central and stream full episodes anytime on Paramount Plus when 60 Minutes premiered in September 1968, there was nothing like it. This is 60 Minutes.

It's a kind of a magazine for television. Very few have been given access to the treasures in our archives. But that's all about to change. Like none of this stuff gets looked at. That's what's incredible. I'm Seth Done of CBS News. Listen to 60 Minutes, A Second Look, starting September 17th, wherever you get your podcasts. This has been a Comedy Central Podcast.