A person's story of incarceration is all too often depressingly familiar.

Yet each story is as unique as a fingerprint, as distinctive as every individual's life experience.

Life in prison is bracketed by what came before and what comes after.

Seth Williams was Philadelphia's first black district attorney.

While he was in office, he ran afoul of the law and served nearly three years in a federal prison.

His story upon his release at first was one of struggle and uncertainty.

It was tough to find work, a place to live, to regain his place in civil society.

Now he's on a journey to rediscover the meaning of life beyond incarceration.

Returning citizens is made possible by...

The United Way, fostering the success of those who as they return to our neighborhoods, remain a largely untapped resource, the formerly incarcerated.

Waterman II Fund of the Philadelphia Foundation at the recommendation of David Haas, the Independence Foundation Five this morning.

It was about 10:15 in the morning that Seth Williams acknowledged that he was going to enter this guilty plea.

So what this means is that he is facing a potential maximum of five years in prison.

Prosecutors are seeking the maximum term of five years in federal prison.

Williams officially lost his law license last week.

Philly's Eastern State Prison was the first penitentiary in the world, and now is an official historic site.

It's spooky, but it felt weirdly appropriate to meet Seth there.

The district attorney who got locked up and now is a returning citizen.

I needed to hear his story.

So, where'd you grow up?

Sure.

Well, I grew up in West Philadelphia and I was given up for adoption at birth, and I was blessed to be adopted by wa, a wonderful family.

Did you ever meet your birth parents?

I have now met my biological father, and that's a. Wow.

We'll have to talk about that at some other time.

Yeah.

But, uh, he attended Georgetown Law School as well.

Is that right?

[crosstalk].

That was 20 years before me.

Wow.

Um, And did you know he was at the law school?

That's the same law school you went to?

I did not.

I did not know that.

Wow.

But I grew up in Philadelphia.

My father was a school teacher.

He ran a recreation center at night, every night from 6:00 PM to 10:00 PM.

He ran a day camp, uh, in Philadelphia for kids.

So his whole life was, um, trying to increase the opportunities for kids in our neighborhood.

Um, but I was very fortunate.

I went to a wonderful Quaker school, a private school.

I went to Catholic school for two years.

I went to Philadelphia's Central High School.

I was nominated by my congressman to go to West Point.

Wow.

I tell people I got a medical discharge.

They found out I was allergic to calculus and chemistry.

And so then I was accepted to become a public interest law scholar at Georgetown.

Through my criminal justice clinic experience at Georgetown, I found that, you know, the person with the most power in the criminal justice clinic isn't the best criminal defense attorney like Johnny Cochran or the defense of the public defender.

It's actually a young assistant district attorney that's deciding who gets arrested, who doesn't get arrested, what are the appropriate charges, who has an arrest warrant approved, who has a search warrant approved or not.

Um, and so I wanted to become an assistant district attorney.

And in September of 1992, I became an assistant district attorney here in my hometown of Philadelphia.

And, and so you were locking up a lot of people?

Uh, you could say that.

Yeah.

I mean, I.

And how did that feel?

Um, well, again, at the time I thought my role was to get my cases ready to try my ready cases, but I didn't really have any philosophical understanding of what I was doing, how it affected the individuals or how it affected the community.

Did you get any, like, tough sentences?

Like did you get guy sentenced to life without parole or death, anything like that?

Yeah, so when I was in the major trials unit, I filed, um, I tried the first two cases in Pennsylvania under Pennsylvania's new three strikes in your Outlaw, which is different than California.

It's been in Pennsylvania.

You had to have been convicted of, um, at least two prior felonies of the first degree gunpoint, robbery, a shooting, a gun, a bank robbery, rape.

And I tried two cases, and as a result, individuals were sentenced to life without the possibility of parole.

Wow.

And how did that feel knowing that you were locking up guys basically like for the rest of their life?

At the time, I just thought, I, I still, I didn't, hadn't evolved really to understand the scope of it, what it meant, what the statistics were like nationally.

Um, didn't...

So you were sentencing people to die in prison, but it didn't like make a real impact and you, at that time, At that time, I thought, well, this is what the prior record score is.

This is their offense gravity score.

The legislature has said, has, has said this is appropriate.

My role in it is just to get the witnesses here to, you know, try to do the best I can to present the evidence to the jury and the judge.

You're just doing your job.

Doing, doing my job.

You ran against your boss.

You lost the first time.

Uh, so you got a different job, uh, and then you wanted to run for DA again?

I ran again in 2009.

And you got 75% of the vote.

I won 75% of the vote.

I became, - Dude, how'd you do that?

Um, I think again, it was about just retail politics and going out and talking to people, looking them in their eye and just listening.

And you were the first black district attorney?

Yeah, I was elected.

I became the first African American district attorney, not only in the history of Philadelphia, but the entire history of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.

Wow.

And how did that feel being the first African American prosecutor, head prosecutor?

I was very proud and very grateful for the opportunity.

Um, I didn't think about, everybody was telling me, you're gonna have a target on your back.

You're gonna have a target on your back.

And I never really thought about that.

Um, and I should have more.

So, you know, you were charged with a number of felonies.

Correct.

How, how did that come about?

Well, I should have reported all the gifts that I ever received and some gifts from my friends I probably should not have accepted.

But the bigger point is I found myself in federal prison.

Um, I lost my pension.

I lost my reputation.

I lost my liberty.

I spent five months in solitary confinement.

Um, and it wasn't until I ... Why why were you in solitary confinement?

They placed me in solitary confinement.

They claimed for my own safety.

They thought that people might want to kill me or beat me up in prison.

Because you had been up... Because I had been the DA.

Um, so I spent the first 152 days of my 60 month sentence in solitary confinement.

And the United Nations, um, uh, Amnesty International all say that anything more than 10 days in solitary confinement is deleterious to your mental health.

So I experienced all those things.

I went through that process.

Um, I then befriended people that were in jail, people that I had been, I spent my life prosecuting or defending 'cause I was a criminal defense attorney as well.

Um, I found my... - And now you were in prison.

I found myself in prison.

- What was that like?

I mean, when you were convicted, they put handcuffs on you in the courtroom.

Correct.

You asked to see your mom and the judge was like, hell no.

Right.

I had been told by the federal prosecutors that I could enter the guilty plea, remain on bail for about four or five months until the sentencing, help my daughters get everything at our, our affairs in order, as they say, take my kids to therapy, sell the house.

I went to court that morning.

I entered the guilty plea thinking I was going home that day at lunch, I had told my daughters I'd be home for lunch.

Um, the judge had his own idea.

I got handcuffed in court, taken underground, strip searched, given an orange jumpsuit placed in my own single solitary confinement cell where I remained for five months.

How, how did you literally get to the federal prison from Philly?

Right.

So, um, there's a bus, the Federal Marshals bus transport people all around the country.

They also have airplanes that are known as Con Air.

Colon Air.

- Convict Airlines.

Wow.

- Right.

At the airport there surrounding the tarmac were US marshals with shotguns and M16s.

Uh, I heard my name Rufuss Williams, 75926066.

I had to board a plane.

What, what's that number?

That was my federal prison inmate number.

And you still remember?

- Of course.

That's how I was known.

I was just a number.

I was no longer a person.

I was just the number.

Um, and I boarded that airplane, handcuffed to the men in the row.

And I spent the next 29 months at the Federal Correctional Institution in Morgantown.

Um, and so I, once I got there, I taught GED, I learned how to play the saxophone.

I became the beginner saxophone instructor.

Who taught you how to play the saxophone?

I was self-taught.

There was the instructor that was before me left.

Um, I learned how to play the piano.

I began teaching Bible study.

Um, I was on the over 40 basketball team and we won the championship.

Um, and so I really learned a lot from that experience.

And just seeing... You're kind of making it sound like prison was, was good for you.

Prison, um, was great for me in many ways, but not because of the Bureau of Prisons.

And how, how did the other inmates react to you?

Did they all know that you were the DA?

So they put me originally in solitary 'cause they thought these people might want to kill me.

Um, the truth is, I was helping people write letters to their lawyers, write letters to their family.

Um, and then I began teaching GED.

I learned a lot though teaching GED in prison and by being with these men that most of them never had problems getting jobs.

They had problems keeping jobs, poor conflict resolution, addictions, traumas as, as young men.

And when you came home, you had a problem getting a job?

Yeah, everybody gave me the Heisman.

People treated me like I was radioactive.

I had been canceled by the society.

Talk about a full circle moment when Seth was District attorney, George Mosey was his right hand man.

Now George leads the Philadelphia Anti-Violence Network.

George knows how much returning citizens have to contribute.

That's why he offered one of them, his old boss, Seth Williams, a job.

The day you leave prison, what happened right after that?

Well, I was told the conditions of my release.

I had to have a job.

I had to have a place to live.

Um, but the Federal fire support didn't help me get either of those.

They put a monitor on my ankle, told me best of luck.

So I began working at Lowe's.

Lowe's?

Lowe's, just, um, unloading trucks, stocking shelves.

Then I was... Dude, you had a law degree.

No one would hire me.

I applied for jobs.

I taught GED for almost three years in prison for I could teach GED when I got home, but those people wouldn't hire me.

And how did you end up in this space?

Um, at the end of my tenure as being the district attorney, um, George was my first assistant.

So he basically ran the office of 600 people and was the heart, um, and the conscience of that office and just was the right person at the right time.

I'm very thankful for that.

But when George found out I was home, you know, and as a result, also what I learned while I was away, that any solution to reducing gun violence, preventing crime, we're gonna have to engage the men primarily who are most likely to be shot and to do the shooting.

That was the concept of our focus deterrence and the diversionary programs that George helped run while, while I was the DA.

And that's exactly what he's doing here at the Philadelphia Anti-Drug, Anti-Violence Network.

And so when I learned more about credible messengers while I was in prison, and I talked to men who were in prison who told me what they wish they could have done differently or how they wish they could talk to their young brothers that were on the street now to make a different path and to make different choices and to, you know, do other things in a positive way for the community.

It was just a, it was a blessing that George reached out to me and allowed me to become a part of the Pan family.

And when he came home, you wanted to help out?

Well, um, you know, I could make it seem like I was doing this benevolent act, but this is a brilliant young man, you know, he's, uh, an asset everywhere that he goes.

And I jumped at the opportunity to bring him on board to help us with our mission.

And was there something about the experiences he had even in prison that you thought would make him a really good fit for you?

Well, uh, our primary strategy employs on using credible messengers.

You know, people who have lived lives that are consistent with the lives of the people that we're trying to reach.

Often that means that they've served time in prison.

Uh, and I heard you do - house calls That's our motto.

And what's that?

- House calls what?

Uh, so, you know, there are programs that operate behind the four walls.

Uh, and we are brick and mortar operation, but you'll see our vehicles throughout the city of Philadelphia.

We deploy our people every day into the areas that are hit hardest by violence.

And so we're on the street canvassing, uh, we respond to every shooting.

Uh, so if someone gets shot, unfortunately in the city of Philadelphia, Pan is gonna be there within 24 hours.

So I, I can't imagine what it would be like for somebody who's just suffered a traumatic act.

Maybe their, their son was shot and then you got people, strangers knocking at the door.

Like, how do, how do they respond?

Well, we hope that they're not strangers because they're in the community every day.

And we hope that they've developed a relationship with people who know the people, if not directly with the people who have been impacted by the trauma.

Uh, but if that's not the case, that's why you got these people who are credible in the neighborhood.

They know how to approach someone from that neighborhood to speak to them in a way that's gonna put them at ease so they won't be turned off.

I mean, uh, I think one of the biggest hurdles for us to overcome in terms of addressing the violence is we have to make sure that people know about the resources that are available to them.

And the best way to do that, in my opinion, is with people who are credible.

That credibility boils down to common sense, a kind of spider sense that they've developed over the years.

It's part of what helped them to survive in those communities.

It's part of what helped us to survive where we grew up.

And, um, you simply put 'em out there and, and they know who to talk to.

In many cases, they already know who the shooters are.

And they make it a a point to reach out to them, to speak to them.

And we assure them that we're not there to help to investigate.

We're not there to bring them to justice for something that they may have done or something that they will do.

We're trying to prevent it.

Pan deploys teams to the most under-resourced neighborhoods in Philly.

They work with anybody who can use their help, including crime victims and people at risk for getting caught up in the system.

Some team members have survived the same issues.

They're now helping their neighbors work through.

They get respect on the street because they've earned their job title.

Credible messengers.

And there was a shooting in this area?

Yeah, it was a shooting here.

A little girl got shot, 11-year-old, 11-year-old child, got shot, went through a shot in the arm and went, came out underneath her arm.

Now how did she get shot?

Well, uh, she, when we spoke with the family about a week or so ago, right after it happened, the young lady said that she was out playing with her siblings, her two little sisters and a little brother.

And they heard a, a little domestic going on and her argument, um, uh, man and a woman was arguing and the young lady somehow just happened to see what was going on.

And she saw a gun and she had her little siblings and she literally jumped on top of her siblings as the shots was fired.

11-year-old girl, - 11-year-old young lady, shots were fired and she was hit in her shoulder, came through her armpit.

Oh my God.

Is she okay?

Uh, she's doing well.

She's in good spares.

Right.

Great.

Spares.

You, you be shocked.

But you know, it's just the fact of the matter that the kids, they got a new place to play and stuff and stuff still going on.

So, and it don't matter who does it, it is women, guys and whoever.

We all still gotta look after our youth, regardless.

And how soon after the shooting did you guys come out?

We came out the very next day.

- The very next day.

Because it happened like after, like after a little later.

Right.

Where we get it the next day, we come right out.

Right.

You know what I'm saying?

We be the first one on it just to see can we help with the families, support them in any way we can 'cause we know the feeling, we know how things go.

And what type of services do you try to provide to folks?

Well, we provide like, um, mental services, aftercare, clothing, food, you know, uh, uh, uh, trauma.

Right.

- Whatever we can do.

We, we here, that's what we do.

That's why they call us Pan.

Right.

Try to get it done.

And so you were here right after the little girl was shot.

Correct.

- And now you're back.

Why are you back?

Well, we back, we, we back, me and my partner, we back because we promised the families, you know, people come and see you one day, then you don't see or hear from no more.

Yeah.

We make sure and keep coming back and check up on you, make sure you, okay.

So let you know we still supporting you regardless after the fact.

- Right.

And that's what the other organizations don't do.

But we do.

We doing what we call a follow up.

So we make sure we give 'em all the, all the, uh, services that we do.

We call it a referral that we give to our human service.

And we, you know, we help the family.

Like I say, we do our trauma care.

Uh, she got wound care.

She has a wound.

So we, we help 'em out with bandages and they need bandages and talk to 'em to keep their spirits lifted a little bit.

She's, uh, she's in great spirits for 11-year-old shooting victim.

Yeah.

She's, she's strong, she's strong.

Little, little kid.

You talk about this.

So like, matter of factly, but 11-year-old girl got shot.

Yeah.

Very unfortunate.

It's unfortunately, you know what I mean?

But she's here so she can live and talk about it and try to get, you know, I and try to help other youth pay attention to what's going on too.

Also, even though you are a youth, but you still gotta feel aware.

Where, where do you guys get the strength to do this work?

Just give it back for being, you know, coming up in the, around it, you know what I'm saying?

Being around it, you know.

Where you stem from, but just comes.

It's something that happens every day.

We deal with it.

It feel good to give back, you know what I mean?

Because when you come up as, you know, a street person, so you want to give back sometimes.

It ain't all bad.

- Right.

You know what I'm saying?

- We can kind of see it coming.

For a lot of the, uh, teenagers, we kind of see it coming.

So we, our job is kind of deterred them from getting into the streets like that.

So we offer jobs, uh, schooling, training, a lot of other stuff that when we out here, what we call canvassing and we walk up on these corners and talk to these young guys, we got something to offer.

And that, and that's kind of our way of giving back.

We offer them jobs and, you know, try to get 'em off the street.

- Give 'em hope.

Yeah.

Give 'em hope.

What, what makes you a credible messenger?

No, un unfortunately, when I was 17, I was convicted, first degree murder.

Since life without parole, I ended up serving two and a half years in prison.

Wait, how, how old were you when you...

I was 17 when I went in.

And you were sentenced to... Life for without parole in 27 and a half to 55 years, running a consecutive.

Wow.

You know, so basically I saw I was never getting out again.

You know, that was it for me, you know, so, But here you are.

- Yeah, I am.

And how did that happen?

You know, while outside I did a lot of work.

President NAAACP, they worked with different, different organizations, created organizations.

I worked with a lot of politicians inside the walls.

I did a lot of things, you know, to better myself.

And it changed who I was, you know, and, and unfortunately in 2000, uh, 12, a law changed called Millerford, Alabama.

The Supreme Court decided a case Exactly.

When that changed, they gave me the opportunity to make parole, you know.

So it changed, it changed in 2012.

They fought four years [indistinct] for a couple years.

I came home in 2019.

Wow.

Know upon coming home, I worked in reentry.

You know, my first day home I was doing re-entry work.

Then somebody told me about the program mayor, you know, he said it was George Moey runs the program, so you might, you might know him.

I said, well, I heard a lot about him, you know, from a prosecutor, very, very fair individual.

I said, let me interview.

And I interviewed and I, I got the job, you know.

Wow.

And last question.

How, how do you feel about your work now?

It's my life.

You know, I feel like, oh, the death to society.

You know, I paid my debt to the system by doing the time in prison.

But I took a life, you know, how can you repair taking a life?

You know, my religion that says you take one life, like heal the life of the whole world.

You save life.

Like, it's like you saved life for the whole world.

So my penance man, and you know, is to do the right thing.

Try to save lives out here.

You know, unfortunately I made a terrible mistake that I can't reverse.

But I can use my story to use my, my knowledge and my journey to make sure other people don't make the same mistake.

So there might, there might be some people who say, this dude locked up all these people when he was the DA, then he gets locked up and now he gets it.

Well, he should have got it a lot earlier.

Well, that's a fair assessment.

I can't argue with that.

All I know is about my own life journey, my own spiritual journey.

And I really believe now, and I used to tell people, um, if I could do it all over again, I would've been more like my father.

'cause what I think now is I can do more to prevent crime and to reduce recidivism by teaching vocational skills, workforce development to returning citizens.

So if you could do it over again, you would not have become a prosecutor?

No.

If I could do it all over again.

Um, well, I think I would've been happy being a, a, a high school history teacher and football coach and running a day camp in the summer like my dad.

And really addressing the individual needs that people have to help them become the best that they can be.

And do you feel like you deserve to go to prison?

Um, well, for the crimes, no.

But I think God had me where he wanted me to be, to become the person I'm supposed to be and to shed myself of the people and the places and things that had got me into this kind of like a self-destructive cycle of trying to prove my worth to everybody and trying to have to tweet every day as a DA, oh, I did this great thing, I did this.

That whole lifestyle was really kind of phony.

Um, and I really found that the people that I was most real with were the guys I was in prison with.

Um, and so I think my tribe now is those people and the people who are really the underdogs and the people that no one else wants to help.

Um, I really find my real passion in that now and just trying to talk to those folks.

Most former prisoners find out pretty quickly that a lot of people see incarceration as disqualification.

Some returning citizens find a way to make lemonade outta lemon, realizing that the roads they've traveled, the isolation, the shame, maybe even the harm they've witnessed, suffered, and sometimes even perpetrated, maybe that can make them uniquely qualified to be of service now.

With like-minded people of goodwill, Returning Citizens are best qualified to persuade others from going down those same roads of anger and despair, or to help folks make headway when they leave prison and decide to find another way.

Returning Citizens is made possible by...

The United Way, fostering the success of those who as they return to our neighborhoods, remain a largely untapped resource, the formerly incarcerated.

Waterman II Fund of the Philadelphia Foundation at the recommendation of David Haas, the Independence Foundation.