“GuGu,” Lost in the New Jersey Parole System: A Hidden Tragedy of American Injustice

Originally published in The Massachusetts Review on December 14, 2025.

In New Jersey (NJ), approximately 7,000 men/women are behind bars. Paul “GuGu” Williams Jr., age 72, SB #224338A, was one of the longest incarcerated persons in the history of the state of New Jersey, serving a total of 52 years. And he is just one example of the rapidly aging population of the incarcerated men/women in American prisons.

HEARTACHE OF A CLOWN

I first met GuGu about a decade ago in the New Jersey State Prison (NJSP) Chapel, where I had started work as a clerk for the prison’s Chaplaincy Department. He was one of the participants in the 12-Step program founded and run under the careful eye of our Catholic Staff Chaplain, Sister Elizabeth Gnam. (The Social Services Department now runs the department.) In those days, the 12-Step group would gather every Wednesday in the North Compound Chapel. Sitting in a circle, they usually started with their “Serenity Prayer,” and then one by one each individual would speak about his issues. The Chapel has a capacity to hold almost 50 prisoners. Prisoners of different faiths gather and share the space for their religious services and classes. It is a well-lit spacious room with a chalkboard and a 48-inch flat screen TV on the northern wall for the prisoners to watch religious and instructional videos. During their sessions, I would try my best to focus on my work compiling lists of participants for upcoming religious services and programs. Once their meeting started, I’d wear headphones to listen to something while I worked, providing some semblance of privacy to the 12-Step guys and myself. But, that particular day, I didn’t have my headphones and I am glad for it because GuGu was asked by one of the fellow prisoners to recite a poem about his addiction. The moment GuGu started his poem, my heart skipped a beat:

I laugh so hard, and yet, so low,

I could hear the silent within, and the cold winds blow,

I could hear the lions roar, the sound of birds,

And the cries of people closed behind doors

Weariness captures my verbal sound,

While I reveal the heartache of a Clown

I have been a sucker for poetry since early childhood. I am not speaking of ‘words’ placed in a sequence to sound good; I am talking about the language of the soul! Because that is what real poetry is all about. It is a way for the soul within to speak, to be heard, to have a voice.

*A captive voice!*

As if under a spell, I slowly raised my eyes to see the one who was speaking this magical tongue I knew, an enchantment of a mystical dimension that enveloped my heart with its sorrow. A trait we both shared in our own particular ways, perhaps a common thread between all confined souls behind bars. And there he was, sitting cross-legged on a chair as if he were an old English aristocrat. A slender, dark-skinned mustached man, about 5’ 9”, with deep lines on his face reflecting the length and breadth of his experience. His demeanor humble, his eyes sad. Yet, there was playfulness to his tone, almost an aloofness that belied his sad and tragic reality. Immediately, I felt a strong urge to get to know him. The poetic angst in his words was palpable. After his recitation ended, I followed Sister Elizabeth to her office in the chapel and inquired about him. “That’s GuGu, isn’t he brilliant. I knew you would appreciate his poem,” Sister said casually, “He has had a long and hard life.”

SAGA OF A LIFE SENTENCE

Afterwards, I came out to the chapel floor and sat next to GuGu and introduced myself. He shook my hand with such a generous manner that I was taken aback. My first question was, “Did you recite it from memory, or did you just make up the poem on the spot?” “No, I wrote it a while back,” he rubbed his forehead as if trying to remember, “but you know, TariQ, I know all my poems by heart. I don’t write so good and it’s hard to keep all the paperwork. So, I just have it in my memory. They can’t take that from me. It’s mine, you know.” He ended with a chuckle. “No, they cannot, GuGu!” I then asked him to recite a few more poems, and he obliged. “Would you like to get published?” I asked, and he seemed excited about it. I told him that I would like to interview him, a suggestion that made him laugh even harder. But something told me that day, this was going to be a voyage of hurt. And slowly, the dust on the canvas gave way, and I found out from other older prisoners and staff members that GuGu, who at the time was in prison for over 40 years, had been denied parole at least 9 times. GuGu’s saga of a life sentence began in July 1972, in his hometown of Jersey City, NJ. He was only 20 years old at the time. Under duress, he was forced to participate in a robbery of a tavern where another co-defendant admittedly shot and killed the tavern owner. The verdict after a trial was armed robbery and first-degree murder. GuGu was a drug addict and his participation in the crime was minuscule by any standards, not to mention under duress, according to the defense. Yet, herein lies the first of many travesties: of all the codefendants, GuGu was the only one who stayed in prison for over a half a century, while every other person involved in that crime, and case, was released decades prior, including the actual shooter. When I asked him about what exactly happened, he said,

“It was eight of us all together; three of us and five of them. Well, it was three of us, me, and my friends. We were all drug addicts, man. My friend owed this dude $20, and he wasn’t the type of guy you owed money to. So, the dude and his friends basically told my friend that he had to get their money back or he was going to lose his life. They basically forced him to commit a robbery. My friend begged me to help, and being young, 20 at the time, I didn’t think much and agreed. Because, it was either that or my friend was going to get dealt with for not having the $20. We had to make it up to them somehow.”

What happened next is contentious, but according to GuGu, first, the guys they owed money to stopped and picked up guns (actually, one real gun with one bullet, according to GuGu). They then checked out a few bars in the area and then settled on one. Before they went into the tavern, they gave that gun to GuGu’s friend who owed the $20. GuGu was provided with a knife, and his third friend was given a blank gun. They, the five goons, then told GuGu and his friends to “go in there and get their money.” GuGu reported that the group of bullies then blocked both entrances, “so we couldn’t run out.” GuGu recounted sadly, “Looking back, well, three young teenage black boys entering an all-white bar didn’t look right. I entered first and then as soon as my friend with the gun entered the bar the bartender ran and wrestled with him and the shot went off accidentally.” In the aftermath, GuGu was given a life sentence. The shocking dis- parity is that the person who actually fired the gun received 18 to 25 years behind bars. GuGu’s third friend was sentenced to 17 years with a minimum of 6 months before being eligible for parole. Each of the other codefendants (the bullies) got a sentence of 5 years or less. The only cause for the tremendous disproportionality in sentencing among GuGu and his codefendants is that GuGu exercised his constitutional right and chose to stand trial instead of accepting the State’s plea offer. “Despite my co-defendant, the actual shooter, stating on the witness stand that he shot the bartender, they convicted me and I got life. And as my lawyer failed to put in my appeal, it took me five (5) years to get my Direct Appeal (the initial appeal in NJ court systems to challenge the convictions). I was subsequently denied on all my legal efforts.” During our interviews, GuGu stated that he “can’t believe” that he was behind bars for over 50 years. “I wanted to finish High School and go to college,” he said, of his early years, prior to incarceration. “But I was sidetracked and started to skip school—in the end, I got my GED while locked up.”

LIFE IN PRISON

GuGu’S life in prison was even more tragic. In the 70s and 80s, NJSP was a violent and sadistic place. Physical attacks and sexual assaults were the norm. And the NJDOC, like other DOC’s around the country, was in denial of the unsafe conditions of its wards and seemingly considered such violence as regular living conditions of prison life. It was only in 2003, following the Federal Legislature’s passing of the Prison Rape Elimination Act (PREA) protocols, and subsequent 2012 issued standards for the states, that the tragedy of sexual assaults was finally, and officially, addressed by the NJDOC authorities. Entering the system as a young teenager some 50 years ago, first at the county jail and subsequently in NJSP, GuGu suffered countless vicious rape attempts and sexual assaults. GuGu for his “manhood”—(however, GuGu insisted and remained adamant that he was never actually raped and was able to repel his assailants)—and incurred a hundred and thirty institutional charges. As a result, he spent over twelve years in Administrative Segregation in isolation. Expectedly, after years of abuse, both by fellow inmates who preyed on vulnerable prisoners, and the system itself, he became mentally sick. According to GuGu, his mental illness developed due to being on constant guard for his safety. He told me that it seemed danger lurked on every corner. Whenever he walked, he felt that he was being watched. And instead of providing him with help, the NJSP authorities actually punished him for fighting and trying to protect himself from his assailants by throwing him in lock-up. He was eventually placed in a special housing unit 2-FF in 2003, “a mental health unit,” in NJSP’s South Compound because of the trauma he suffered due to being repeatedly abused, and remained there for the rest of his time in prison. Prisoners housed in here are some of the most “severe” cases who are diagnosed with serious psychotic disorders and require constant watch by the mental health professionals. 2-FF has a nurse triage station and standing psychiatrists on duty. Most of the unit is on psychotropic medications and therapy. Once here, prisoners have to be medically released by the NJSP Psych Department. GuGu stayed there for nearly two decades. He still suffers from that shock and pain. And more importantly, GuGu will require constant mental health treatment for his life on the outside.

DRIVE FOR FREEDOM

And yet, despite suffering trauma and abuse that would break even the strongest of men, GuGu’s drive for freedom never wavered. Since his sentencing in 1972, GuGu had qualified for parole multiple times. However, for one reason or another, he was denied every time. Throughout 50 plus years of incarceration within the NJ prison system, he was repeatedly denied parole over and over again. Still, he never gave up fighting for his freedom. The day I first met Gugu in the NJSP Chapel, he had already been denied parole 9 times. Over the next decade, this number would go up. Although the prison population has declined in recent years, there remains a hidden population of aging prisoners in NJ penitentiaries that have been virtually lost in the system due to tremendous variationsin the State’s subjective parole process. Paul “GuGu” Williams Jr. was one of those lost men, buried deep in the crevasses of the prison system. And even among a plethora of repeated denials to other incarcerated individuals, GuGu’s case stands out. The NJ Office of the Public Defender Parole Project’s 2021 Revised Report states that the “parole release process” in the state is “fatally flawed.” Applicants are thrust in front of the parole board with no representatives. The Parole Board confronts the applicants with “some evidence that is used against them” - yet any other evidence that is deemed “confidential” is not disclosed to the applicant even if he/she hires an attorney. The entire parole process in NJ is veiled in secrecy and as a result the Parole Board “can decide to keep the applicant in prison for as long as it wishes, without limit.” In NJ, usually a two-member team conducts a parole hearing. This hearing can be conducted without the prisoner and can instead be decided administratively. But, in the case of convicted murderers like GuGu, the majority of a so-called “Full Panel” must approve the parole. In making its decision, the Panel primarily relies on the reports prepared by the NJSP officials that include a “complete psychological evaluation.” The hearing, an administrative formality, was your best chance to get parole. Once you were assigned a Full Panel, your chances went down dramatically. This proved true in GuGu’s case, too. For him, in some hearings, the Parole Board kept using the institutional infractions as reason to deny him parole, having no consideration for his attempts to defend himself against attempted sexual violations. In other hearings, the “Panel” denied GuGu relief by relying upon the aforementioned “confidential psychological assessment.” Thus, GuGu was judged on a secret document to which he was repeatedly held accountable for, yet unable to challenge or question. According to the Prison Policy Initiative (PPI), NJ’s parole system is notoriously murky as it is largely discretionary and the state grants merely 32% of parole hearings per year. However, even that percentage is foggy as it does not account for the repeated denials of parole to the same individual over the years, and does not account for a person being released to another community-based (not parole) status, as highlighted by the PPI. The NJ Public Defender Parole Project’s 2021 Revised Report pronounced that the “Parole Board consistently fails to uphold its mandate to release parole-eligible applicants.” Consequently, applicants remain in prisons “sometimes exceeding the initial sentence itself.” Thus, GuGu remained lost in the judicial system for years. Aging slowly, as one year after another, one decade after another, slipped by.

FREEDOM, FINALLY!

However, GuGu persevered and kept on working towards the goal of freedom. He wrote countless letters to solicit outside help and assistance, including letters to Kim Kardashian, some which I helped him in writing. His loving family, especially his niece, kept him going and so did his prison community. He used his pen and let his talent flow, wrote to share his message, and defined his narrative through his encompassing poetry. He became a published author and told his own story (see his published poetry on Captivevoices.com). His writing became more popular, his case more prominent. Although we suspect this may have helped, the murkiness of the NJSP system means we will never know for sure what changed. Public pressure, compassion, or plain dumb luck? Regardless, with the help of prison paralegals and countless prayers GuGu was finally recommended by the Parole Board’s Full-Panel in August of 2022. Two years after being recommended, GuGu was finally granted parole on Thursday, January 25, 2024, at the age of 71. This was 52 years after he entered the New Jersey State Prison on October 25, 1972, at the age of 20 for being a participant in a robbery-homicide. The news spread like wildfire. Upon hearing it, a fellow prisoner sarcastically stated to me, “They got more than their pound of flesh; they tried to take his soul. GOD Bless him, he did not give up.” GuGu told me that he was 20 years old when he arrived at NJSP from the county jail. And prior to this crime he had a few small B&E’s (breaking and entering charges) and related offenses but nothing of a violent nature. Thus, GuGu’s incarceration for almost half a century with no parole opportunities given to him remained baffling to everyone who encountered his case. Given his age and the amount of time he served behind bars, especially when considering the nature of his involvement in the crime, the repeated denial of parole was beyond incredulous. Despite his tribulations, GuGu continued to strive to be a positive person. He contributed stories to the now defunct Prison Newsletter, and continued writing his poetry. Although the prison environment has morphed into a more restrictive one in the recent couple of decades, in the past, when it was allowed, he was a part of two different music groups. “We did gigs all over the prison, I also recited my poetry,” said GuGu with a smile during one of our interviews. According to the Census Bureau, “the U.S. median age rose to a high of 38.9 years; an increase of three and a half years in the last 23 years.” But in comparison, the nation’s older prison population is increasing “at a much faster rate.” According to a report by the PPI, “The Aging prison population: Cause, costs, and consequences,” by Emily Widra, August 2, 2023, “from 1991 to 2021, the percentage of state and federal prison population nationwide aged 55 or older swelled from 3% to a whopping 15%.” It further highlighted the perils of aging in prison and the detrimental dangers of physical, mental, and emotional toll on people like GuGu. There is a whole parallel population of people aging invisibly and hopelessly within the cruel logic of the prison system, while Americans live obliviously on the outside.

HOPEFUL AS EVER

I last met GuGu a few weeks before his release after seeing ourfamilies at the visit hall. He was all smiles and pointed at his niece and she waved back at me. “Thank you, Tariq,” he said in a sincere manner. “I didn’t do anything GuGu,” I replied while holding on to our handshake. “Nah, you helped me with my poetry and getting published. You got my voice out!” I just smiled, feeling beyond happy for him. You see, after 52 years ofncarceration there is simply nothing that you can say to a man to make him feel better. But, at the time, I had been imprisoned for 21-years myself, and I could read the lines on his face as if Braille. Unlike others, GuGu and I share that trait too, understanding that ethereal vernacular of the captive men and women of this country. Remaining positive and hopeful as ever, he still planned on a future where he was not in a cage. He said, “I still have my family out there who are waiting for me, and they love me. I’m planning on making a lot of money with my songs and poetry. And I’m going to help my entire family reach their dreams. I’m going to also support and help the homeless because I used to be a homeless and a drug addict. I hope that my time in prison makes the family of the victim happy; I just ask [the society] and God to forgive me for my transgression.” I teared as he spoke, his humbleness left me speechless. Despite the multitude of tragedies, travesties, and injustice that GuGu had to suffer, his kindness and resilience was still intact. And yet the fact remains: GuGu’s youth and years were whittled away by a cruel system that operates under the mask of “discretionary”. He will never get those years back. And he’s not the only one. Although my friend GuGu finally got his long awaited second chance after a half a century, there still remains an ever-growing population of elderly men/women who are struggling to survive behind bars. As if forgotten, and frozen in time, hoping—perhaps hopelessly—not to die by incarceration.