An Illinois documentary takes a deep dive into the Illinois Prisoner Review Board and the politics that influence its decision-making through one man's fight for a second chance.

"In their Hands" follows the life of Ronnie Carrasquillo, who was charged with murdering a plainclothes Chicago police officer in 1976. He was 18 years old when a judge sentenced him to 200 to 600 years in prison. Despite earning a bachelor's degree in theology and creating a committee with other prisoners focused on education and rehabilitation, Carrasquillo was denied parole more than 30 times.

"Every year I went to the parole board, they said, 'You're the same guy, you're still the same gang kid, you're still the same gang leader,'" Carrasquillo recounted. "So they can evolve, but they want to marginalize me and hold me in that position that 'you're still this.' So I used to say, 'I'm the oldest 18-year-old that you know.'"

Carrasquillo spent nearly 50 years in prison before finally being released at age 65 in 2023. An appellate court ruled his sentence was excessive and his profuse parole denial unfair. The film is available on all PBS digital platforms.

Carrasquillo grew up in Chicago during a time where racial violence and street gangs were prevalent. Along with highlighting the factors leading to Carrasquillo's crime, the documentary offers a snapshot of the kinds of extreme sentences young people receive that lead to mass incarceration.

Dan Protess, producer and director of the documentary, said he used Carrasquillo's story to expose the systemic issues in the criminal legal system, including how officials prioritize economic interests over rehabilitation.

"Who are these parole board members?" Protess asked. "What are the political considerations in their appointment? Who in Springfield, the state's capital, is looking over their shoulders? And what other parties might be able to influence them in their decision-making?"

Protess added he hopes the film draws attention to the parole process he believes often gets overlooked, and the great need for reform.

According to state law, the review board consists of 15 people appointed by the governor and the Senate, who must have five years of experience in areas ranging from law and policing to medicine and social work. At least six must also have juvenile experience and no more than eight members may be of the same political party.


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With demand for assistance dogs on the rise, people in two West Virginia prisons are getting involved in their training.

At Saint Marys Correctional Center and Lakin Correctional Center in West Columbia, incarcerated men and women can participate in the paws4prisons® program, learning how to train assistance dogs. They begin by teaching basic and advanced commands to rescue dogs, then graduate to training assistance dogs which learn around 100 commands.

Amanda Rubenstein, associate superintendent of programs for the West Virginia Division of Corrections and Rehabilitation, said the dogs have an effect on everyone around.

"Even the facilities in general, the other inmates that aren't in the program have so much respect for it," Rubenstein observed. "We have inmates that haven't petted dogs in years that come here, you know, 'Oh my gosh, there's dogs in prison.' They may not want to be a part of the program, but they love interacting. They love the mission."

She noted the dogs go everywhere in the facility with their handlers and sleep in kennels next to their beds.

Recent research shows veterans with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder have seen their symptoms reduced, reporting lower rates of depression and anxiety after three months with a service dog. Incarcerated people often suffer from PTSD and Complex PTSD. Research also suggests prison-based dog training programs help people involved feel hope and develop a number of life skills.

"It teaches them responsibility, how to be better mothers, fathers, better family members, better citizens overall," Rubenstein outlined. "I think that responsibility aspect, and then, just the feeling of normalcy again for them."

paws4prisons® is an offshoot of paws4people®. They train Labrador Retrievers, Golden Retrievers and a mix of the two breeds known as Goldadors. Dogs begin training at around 5 months old. Trainers have weekly meetings by phone and video conference with paws4people® staff. Incarcerated people must apply to join the program, and given the amount of training involved, Rubenstein stressed they seek candidates who have enough time.

"We also look at inmates that are going to be incarcerated a little longer, because the academics last anywhere from six to nine months," Rubenstein explained. "We want to make sure they have time to complete that and then use those skills that they learned in academics. I prefer someone that has at least 18 months before they see the parole board or discharge."

She added assistance dog training takes between a year and 18 months.


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New data shows incarceration has ballooned in Kentucky's rural counties, and less populated regions are building more jails.

The findings come from an analysis of jail-offenses data by the nonprofit Prison Policy Initiative. Wanda Bertram, a communications strategist for the organization, said small towns and counties pour a huge amount of public resources into arrests for minor offenses. She added that those same counties are doubling down on policing and prosecution policies.

"Incarceration is a costly business," she said. "It is extremely destabilizing for people who go to jail, and it may or may not actually do anything to improve public safety."

The average county in Kentucky had about 12,000 people incarcerated in 2019. That number has decreased to around 10,000 in 2024, according to the Kentucky Association of Counties.

Across the country, Bertram said, most counties see jails as a place to hold people charged with low-level offenses or misdemeanors.

"Two thirds of people are being held on charges that did not involve physical violence against another person," she said.

According to federal data from 2023, 20% of people in jails were held for misdemeanors. According to the Jail Data Initiative, the actual number of people in jails that year for non-violent offenses is closer to 35%.


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More than 60 Pennsylvania counties do not have enough public defenders for their caseloads, forcing some, including in Erie County, to each handle more than 400 cases a year.

A report by Quattrone Center at the University of Pennsylvania said the state needs more than 1,200 full-time public defenders but has about 850.

Sara Jacobson, executive director of the Public Defender Association of Pennsylvania, said the state was one of only two providing no funding for public defense but $7.5 million was allocated in the last two state budgets. Jacobson acknowledged it has helped, although spread across 67 counties, it is not enough to make real change in places like Erie County.

"Erie got in 2023-2024 a little over $102,000. The second appropriation: $106,723," Jacobson pointed out. "The problem is that when you add the cost of an attorney's salary and benefits, the money that's there is not enough when it gets divided up."

The report found Erie County would need 28 full-time attorneys to handle the large caseload but currently has nine full-time and eight part-time attorneys. At a recent news conference, Clinton County Commissioner Jeff Snyder said the state's allocation of funding for indigent defense would have to double, to $15 million a year to handle the growing need.

Jacobson noted heavy caseloads cause delays, both for public defenders and clients. She added prior to the pandemic, Erie County had top public defender pay but now, some attorneys are leaving for better-paying work in the Erie conflict office.

"Conflict Counsel in Erie County gets paid more and has a far lower caseload," Jacobson explained. "Every time someone leaves, their 400 or however many cases have to be distributed among the other lawyers. So those caseloads go up and the service to those clients goes down because of it."

Jacobson cited a Vanderbilt Law School study, which found each exoneration for a wrongful conviction costs a state $6.1 million. With at least 140 exonerations, it adds up to $856 million in costs for Pennsylvania.