Bill would seal records of past offenders
It’s been more than 15 years since Fiani Johnson was sentenced to a year in prison for having marijuana in the trunk of her car. But the counselor from Fremont can’t seem to shake her old record.
Every time she applies for a job, Johnson, 44, said she feels a wave of anxiety because she knows she will be questioned about her conviction. Even as she works to complete her master’s degree, she worries a state board might not approve her counseling license. And she still struggles to find housing in a nice neighborhood.
“I feel today that it’s still, still haunting me,” she said. “Once they see that charge, they really don’t want to know the details. It’s hard to process rejection when you’re doing the right thing.”
Johnson is one of 8 million people in California — 1 in 5 state residents — who have a past arrest or conviction on their record. Criminal justice advocates say those records, because of the popularity of criminal background checks, often unfairly prevent many from living normal lives, sometimes decades after they’ve completed their prison
sentence and parole.
Democratic legislators are on the brink of approving a bill that would allow many to have their prior offenses shielded from public view. SB731 would let people with previous arrests or convictions have their record electronically sealed if they’ve completed their sentence and kept clear of the justice system.
State Sen. Maria Elena Durazo, a Los Angeles Democrat who’s carrying the bill, said that because California maintains a person’s conviction records until they’re 100 years old, people often unjustly face lifelong sanctions after they’ve paid the price for their crime. She said that makes it hard for rehabilitated people to rebuild their lives and avoid reoffending.
“They’ve done what they’ve been asked to do, why should they continue to be punished?” Durazo said. “We’re holding them back. Whatever hope and motivation they have to move forward, it’s uphill.”
California already has a “ban the box” law, which prohibits employers with five or more workers from asking a job applicant about their conviction history before making a job offer. But nothing prohibits employers from running a criminal background check.
Supporters of SB731 estimate the state loses about $20 billion per year in gross domestic product because barriers prevent some people with past felony records from gaining full employment.
Hundreds of people with Californians for Safety and Justice, a sponsor of the bill, and other justice reform groups rallied outside the state Capitol on Wednesday, many of them middle-aged and older adults who were incarcerated as young people but have seen decades of their lives shaped by their old criminal record.
On the steps of the Capitol, supporters erected a giant 20-foot wall covered in handwriting listing the more than 48,000 restrictions that people with past convictions face across the country. The wall proclaimed “time done” in large letters.
Beyond barriers to finding employment, housing and education, the limits people with previous felony convictions face are sweeping. Many cannot serve on homeowners association boards, volunteer or attend field trips at their children’s schools, coach sports teams, adopt a child or care for an elderly grandparent.
If SB731 passes, California would be the first state to create an automatic system for sealing felony records. The bill comes after legislators approved a series of more incremental measures in recent years to make it easier for people to expunge their records.
Elena Durazo proposed the same bill last year, but it failed in the state Assembly on the last day of lawmakers’ session. The effort fizzled after a grisly Sacramento killing in which a woman and her two dogs were slain and their home set on fire; the man charged in the case has a long criminal record.
She said that while SB731 wouldn’t have prevented that tragedy, it caused some legislators to get cold feet. This year, the bill has fared better: It passed the state Assembly by a comfortable margin in July.
SB731 faces one more procedural vote in the Senate, where it was previously approved, before the measure can be sent to Gov. Gavin Newsom’s desk. Newsom hasn’t said whether he will sign it.
Under the bill, a person convicted of a felony could have their record automatically sealed if they complete all terms of their court sentence and remain convictionfree for at least four years. People arrested but not charged with a crime could also have their record sealed.
The bill wouldn’t apply if the person was convicted of a serious or violent felony, such as murder, kidnap or rape. It also wouldn’t apply to felonies that require someone to register as a sex offender.
Law enforcement associations and a handful of professional licensing boards have opposed the bill. The Peace Officers Research Association of California said in a statement that criminals would have “less deterrent to commit another crime” if they are allowed back on the streets with a clean record. The group also warned that the bill’s language doesn’t exclude some violent crimes.
SB731 would not expunge or erase a person’s criminal record. Rather, it would seal their conviction and exclude it from background checks. Judges could still see a person’s full record and the state would be required to provide a person’s full criminal history to schools and educational institutions.
Jay Jordan, CEO of the Alliance for Safety and Justice, an advocacy group that supports SB731, said the notion that people who commit a felony should be branded for life is a vestige of feudal law and creates a permanent caste system in society, particularly for Black people and Latinos, who are incarcerated at much higher rates.
“The word criminal has been used to dehumanize for, literally, like centuries,” he said.
Jordan, who lives in Los Angeles, was 19 years old when he was convicted of robbery and sentenced to eight years in prison. After his release, Jordan said he quickly learned how limited his options were. He couldn’t find work as a barber or salesman. He was briefly homeless and lived in his car before he found work with a nonprofit.
Eighteen years later, Jordan, now 37, said his conviction still feels like a “life sentence.”As a father of two young boys, he said he cannot coach his sons’ sports teams, volunteer at their schools or even join the parentteacher association.
“Have you ever been in a room where it feels like ‘I don’t belong here’? That’s what it feels like every day,” Jordan said. “I am not criminal, I’m a person that committed a crime.”