Against Everlasting Punishment
- Arimela
- Jan 2
- 5 min read
Updated: Jan 18
In our previous coverage of Richard Stahursky’s case, we explored the systemic failures that defined his decades of incarceration. While Richard has accepted responsibility for his actions, his journey highlights a critical question: what is the purpose of our correctional system if not to offer a path toward restoration? In this follow-up piece, his loved one Arimela provides an update on their continued fight for basic human dignities, including Richard’s right to pursue a college education, and the right to formalize their commitment through marriage.
What does society want to see in a man who will be released from prison after a sentence of more than 20 years? Most people would say they want someone who has been rehabilitated since being released. What the majority of the public is unaware of is that opportunities for such change for prisoners like my loved one, Richard, are often scarce and difficult to attain. For the past four and a half years, Richard has been asking the New Jersey State Prison in Trenton to allow him access to a college education, but his requests have been consistently denied.
When I inquired about this, I discovered that the Federal Pell Grant for incarcerated individuals was restored in 2022 under the Biden administration; however, the caveat is that prisoners can only receive it if they find an approved Prison Education Program (PEP) in their state. As of today, there are no approved PEP programs in New Jersey, nor in several other states. Essentially, the Department of Education has told Richard that he has this opportunity on paper, but in reality, it is only a mirage.
The response is often something along the lines of “why offer a college education to Richard? Why invest in him when the courts and society have deemed him unworthy?”
I’ll tell you why. Richard was never even able to attend high school. He obtained his High School Equivalency Diploma at the Maine State Prison in 2015, in spite of the Maine Department of Corrections (DOC) continuously blocking him from taking the exam. He has also completed certificates in anger management and taken classes on how to be a father. For Richard, a college education does not only represent a dream; it is a priceless opportunity to unlock his potential. He’s an intelligent person, with a knack for math, logic, chess, and business. Ironically, I cannot even read math problems without feeling dizzy, and I have a college education.
Like most people who have an incarcerated fiancé, spouse, or family member, I cannot afford to pay out of pocket for Richard’s college education. I even tried to take out a loan, but my application was denied. I have consistently and strenuously asked the Assistant Corrections Ombudsperson in New Jersey about college opportunities for Richard, but each time I am told that the New Jersey State Prison in Trenton is one of only three prisons in the state that do not offer college education programs to their population. That is simply not fair.
The DOC won’t say why, but we know the reasoning behind it. The New Jersey State Prison in Trenton is one of the oldest prisons in the country and houses only maximum-security prisoners, individuals who have committed violent offenses. There is no political will to educate violent offenders because critics argue that since free citizens must take out loans to pay for college, prisoners should have to pay for it as well.
The issue is, prisoners like Richard, held in the Restorative Housing Unit (RHU), a form of solitary confinement, are not allowed to have paid jobs. They often must rely on outside support to be able to afford bare necessities. And even those in the general population with paid jobs, most are lucky if they make $20 a month - far less than the federal minimum wage of $7.25 an hour.
In Maine, Richard worked as a janitor and occasionally in the kitchen. He would be more than happy to work a job that paid minimum wage just so he could pay for his own education and help me with my bills, but the system seeks to enslave him, and by extension me, rather than give him the chance to be a productive member of society. An education isn’t about bragging rights or showing off, it’s a chance for fulfillment and normalcy.
The New Jersey State Prison in Trenton praises itself for being a "family-oriented" prison. The reality is that it is anything but accommodating to families. It took the prison administration four and a half years to allow me to visit Richard, and that was held behind glass, because prisoners in the RHU are only allowed visits from immediate family members. What family did they expect to visit Richard? His deceased mother, his deceased sister, his deceased grandparents, his unknown father, his abusive stepfather, or the children he hasn’t seen in over a decade? Apparently, it took the administration that long to realize that being his fiancée makes me his family.
An hour is all we were granted. They knew that I flew all the way from Europe to visit him and had a friend drive me five hours from Massachusetts to New Jersey, and they gave us only an hour together. Not a minute more, and not a minute less. The glass between us was a constant reminder of the fight we had to endure, just for that moment together.
As for our wedding, the administration has been dragging its feet regarding our approval. They made it clear that despite everything I have been through, they are not making any exceptions to their typical wedding procedures. New Jersey is unique in that it requires prisoners to be transported from the prison to the courthouse to sign a marriage license, which means the non-incarcerated spouse must pay out of pocket for the correctional officers to transport their loved one. On top of that, I must also wait three days in New Jersey for the license to be issued, as they make no exceptions for those traveling from out of state.
To us, marriage is not just a ceremony, it’s a lifelong, sacred commitment. We do not believe in divorce. Neither of us has ever been married, which demonstrates how seriously we take this commitment. It is not just a piece of paper, it’s a sacred bond. They want to punish us for commitment to each other, and for our commitment to Richard bettering himself.
In the words of Bertrand Russell: “I do not myself feel that any person who is really profoundly humane can believe in everlasting punishment.”
About the author:
Arimela has been engaged to Richard Stahursky for four-and-a-half years. Richard was sentenced in Maine and later transferred to New Jersey State Prison in Trenton, New Jersey in 2016. While studying law, she decided to reach out to Richard to understand the impact of incarceration on real people. Their relationship blossomed from there. They didn’t predict back then that their lives would forever change. Her goal is to get justice for her loved one Richard, to get him a second chance at life. She describes herself as “relentless, kind and fierce.”
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