Local prisoner rights advocate, Lois Ahrens, doesn’t really remember how she and Luis Perez first met. He may have written her from his Massachusetts prison cell, where he had been incarcerated since 1973. “He probably read one of my comic books.” Lois Ahrens founded The Real Cost of Prisons Project in 2000, which focuses on “ending extreme sentencing such as Life Without the Possibility of Parole and the daily harsh and damaging conditions of confinement faced by every prisoner in the United States.” Using a “comix” format to educate people about the harsh realities of mass incarceration, more than 135,000 copies of her “comix” were sent to prisoners across the U.S.
Lois and Luis have corresponded for decades, as she does with many incarcerated people. Everyday, Lois Ahrens sees that, in Bryan Stevenson’s words, “People are more than the worst thing they have done.” She recently shared Luis’ story with me over a cup of coffee in her Northampton home.
Luis Perez left his home in Cuba as a child, to immigrate to Massachusetts with his mother. In 1973, he was convicted, along with two others, of first-degree murder and robbery. At the age of 19, he was sentenced to life without the possibility of parole. “Mr. Perez became parole eligible following the Supreme Judicial Court’s decision in Commonwealth v. Mattis, 493 Mass. 216 (2024), where the court held that sentencing individuals who were ages 18 through 20 at the time of the offense (emerging adults) to life without the possibility of parole is unconstitutional.” The Mattis Decision was a response to the evolving knowledge of brain development, which held that a young person’s judgment is not yet fully developed by the age of 20. As a result, people who were young and sentenced to life without parole are permitted to go before the Parole Board to make their case for parole.
His time in prison attests to Luis Perez’s capacity for transformation. Alex Burness, in an article he wrote about Perez for the digital magazine, BOLTS, described him as a prisoner who achieved a community college degree, became a minister, and “mentored hundreds of younger prisoners in whom he saw the same societal failures that led him to prison in the first place.” At the age of 73, Luis Perez was the third person to go before the Parole Board as a result of the Mattis Decision. The decision of the Parole Board states, “… by unanimous decision, Mr. Perez has demonstrated a level of rehabilitation that would make his release compatible with the welfare of society.” The list of special conditions that included curfew, drug testing, and electronic monitoring, also included the following instruction, “Release to ICE detainer.” Lois Ahrens had not been aware that her friend was undocumented.
Luis Perez has two daughters living in the U.S. On the day of his release on Jan. 23, 2025, one of his daughters waited outside to take him to her home. It never happened. As Luis Perez walked towards fresh air and freedom, he was surrounded by three ICE agents who cuffed him and took him away. His daughter watched as her father disappeared. Lois Ahrens and Luis, now friends for 20 years, continue to stay connected. She learned that he had first been taken to Maine for 10 days, where he had a heart attack, before being sent to the South Texas ICE Detention Center. After eight months, he was given the “opportunity” to self-deport. The Cuban government wouldn’t take him, and fears of being sent to dreaded places, like the notorious Cecot prison in El Salvador convinced Luis Perez to agree to deportation. Luis Perez, who had spent his entire adult life in a Massachusetts prison, was put on a bus without money or clothing and taken to the city of Villahermosa in the southernmost part of Mexico. He traveled with other ICE prisoners, all shackled, for three days, never being permitted to get off the bus, or go to the bathroom. When he arrived, he didn’t know where he was. Luis Perez spent his first unshackled night alone, a bench for his bed. With Lois’ help, his daughter was able to fly to Mexico, buy her father clothes, food, and medicine, and find him a room to rent.
Massachusetts is currently the only state with a Democratic governor that has a collaborative agreement between the state’s Department of Correction and Federal Immigrations and Customs Enforcement mandating the DOC to notify ICE before an undocumented prisoner is released from custody. While Gov. Healey has been advocating for legislation against new 287(g) cooperation agreements between state agencies and ICE, the only exception is her agreement with the Department of Correction. Massachusetts has transferred between 78 and 172 people to ICE in each of the past 17 years.
According to Lois Ahrens, Luis Perez might exemplify, “the worst of the worst.” He committed murder. He is undocumented. So, why shouldn’t he be handed over to ICE? The DOC’s policy, leading to the deportation of Luis Perez nullifies the unanimous decision of the Parole Board, which stated his “release is compatible with the welfare of society.” The Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court should be commended for The Mattis decision and the Parole Board for implementing the decision. How then in one minute can Luis Perez be viewed as a person who has worked for redemption after more than 50 years of incarceration, while in the next minute he is snatched up by ICE to be deported? Lois Ahrens believes her friend deserved due process. In her words, “Maybe a judge would have said, ‘You have family and friends in Massachusetts. I agree with the Parole Board, that you have rehabilitated yourself. You can remain here.” The Mattis Decision spared many underage people, like Luis Perez, who committed capital crimes, from dying in prison. What is the justification for forcing Luis to live his last years so far from home and family?
Sara Weinberger lives in Easthampton.