Dale Pughsley has spent more than half of his life in Virginia prisons, and could very well die there for something he did when he was a kid.
“I was 18 years old, and it was a crack deal. I was selling drugs. I grew up selling drugs to my father. You know I was in a real dysfunctional household," he explains. "I’m not making excuses, but that was my life. I was a career criminal by the time I was 14.”
And that meant being ready to defend himself.
“I had a gun – a 25 automatic – and a guy got to arguing over crack. He was refusing to pay me, the former Lynchburg resident recalls. "I pulled out the gun, really to intimidate him, and he tried to take it, and I shot him, and killed him. I say ‘accidentally’ because it wasn’t my intention to kill him."
Pughsley was charged with second-degree murder. Sentencing guidelines for the crime dictated a prison term of five to 40 years, but Pughsley got 58. The jury might have assumed he would be eligible for parole, but it had just been abolished in Virginia, and courts were not telling juries about the change.
Pughsley settled in at Red Onion prison in Wise County and began the education he didn’t get outside.
“I came at a time where older guys would give you books. Conversations were happening back then: What does it mean to be a Black man in America? What does it mean to be in prison in America? How much should you be held accountable for being a victim of certain circumstances? Does society owe us anything?”
One of them lent him the selected works of Vladimir Lenin, but Pughsley wasn’t much of a reader. He asked his mentor for a simple explanation – a summary.
“He’s like, ‘Hell no! Take my dictionary. I don’t give a damn if it takes you three days to read three pages. You read it, and you come back and tell me what it means to you, man.’ Now I read and study all the time by myself, and I try to pay it forward to some of the younger guys.”
He chose a new name for himself, drawing from several African languages – Askari Danso M.S. Lumumba, a reliable, learned and gifted soldier. He was transferred to a lower security prison where he worked with professional counselors to help fellow inmates manage anger and address substance abuse. He talked to them about the way Virginia handles people convicted of crimes. When it comes to long sentences from state courts, a recent study found Virginia was number nine.
Which is why about two dozen people gathered in Lynchburg recently to celebrate Askari – among them 38-year-old Brandon Seward, who was his cellmate at the Buckingham Correctional Center.
"You know back then I didn’t care about anything but the nonsense.," Seward says. "Now I care about common sense. He gave me The New Jim Crow Book. He gave me the MalcolmX book. He really unlocked my mind."
Now a free man, Seward and his friends have started a podcast and are circulating a petition in support of parole a man they say could do more good in the community than behind bars. They’re asking the local Commonwealth’s Attorney – Bethany Harrison – to support his release, arguing he poses no threat to public safety.
"I’ve never seen that man – ever – be in a fight, my entire time that I’ve known him," says Seward. "I’ve seen him break up fights. I’ve seen him stop inmates from stabbing each other. He’s all for brothers that deserve a second chance."
And his mother, Susan Kee, says her son is also entitled to that second chance.
"My son was a teenager when he was sentenced. He’s written to the families. We’re just saying after 27 years – at the age of 45, having gone in when he was 18. It’s time!"
But Askari has been politically active in prison, organizing inmates to demand human rights, and that has gotten him into trouble with the administration. So what are the odds he’ll win parole? In our next report, we’ll look at the current parole board’s record in setting prisoners free.
