The Politics of Pardons: How Minnesota’s Process Is Failing the People It Was Meant to Serve

As headlines fill with stories of presidential pardons and political commutations—acts of mercy that spark outrage or admiration—there’s a quieter, more complex battle unfolding here in Minnesota.

Jason Sole – Hamline University professor, Bush Fellow, recipient of the John Legend and MnEEP awards and founder of the Humanize My Hoodie movement – has been waiting nearly four years for a state pardon. Not because he hasn't done the work, but because our state’s process, like so many others across the country, has become a confusing, political labyrinth.

Jason’s journey is the very definition of redemption. He went from earning 12 cents an hour in prison to earning a mayoral appointment in Saint Paul. His work has shaped community safety initiatives, birthed cultural movements, and redirected funding toward community-led crisis response. His record—both criminal and civic—is no secret. What’s unclear, even to him, is why a man who meets every unofficial metric of “rehabilitation” still can’t get an answer.

Clemency in Minnesota: A System Some Call ‘Unclear & Unjust’

Clemency—pardons for completed sentences, commutations for those still incarcerated—is supposed to be a tool of mercy. But in Minnesota, the process for some feels less like justice and more like politics dressed in procedural red tape.

On paper, a pardon sets aside a criminal conviction, restores a person’s rights, and removes many of the conviction’s lasting consequences. Our state’s process has two steps. First, a nine-member Clemency Review Commission (CRC) developed in 2023 reviews applications and decides whether to advance them. Second, the Board of Pardons—made up of the governor, attorney general, and a chief justice—makes the final decision to grant or deny the pardon.

“I’m an abolitionist so I don’t see cages as a solution, not even for violent offenders but the state listed me as a violent offender and none of my cases involve violence. I don’t have a co-defendant for any of my convictions. Those things should matter,” said Jason.

Jason’s criminal history includes three felony convictions: possession of a firearm and two felony drug possession charges. The second drug charge was highly contested and almost caused him to miss his daughter’s birth and lose his job. His sentences ranged from brief stay in a halfway house to years in prison, followed by extended probation. His last charge was in 2005 — 20 years ago. 

His cases involved no violence, no co-defendants, and no victims. “Those things should matter,” he says. “And they simply don’t. I deserve a clean slate at this point.”

Jason first applied for a waiver hearing in 2021 to avoid waiting until 2026 to be eligible for a pardon. During that hearing, he received enthusiastic endorsements from both Governor Tim Walz and Attorney General Keith Ellison. But when it came time for the third vote—from the then-Chief Justice Lorie Gildea of the Minnesota Supreme Court—he was denied. No explanation. No appeal. Just a “no” and a pivot to the next case. 

Since then, the rules have changed multiple times. In 2023, the requirement for a unanimous Board of Pardons three-person vote dropped to a 2-3 majority. If these new guidelines were retroactive Jason would be pardoned, but they weren’t. So in October 2024, he applied again after giving the new structure of the CRC time to settle. He didn’t hear back for five months and only got a response after reaching out himself.

“The pardon process is completely politicized. There’s no clear metric. No objective standard. Just bias—based on who’s voting that day,” Jason said. “Your freedom depends on politics, not progress. That’s the injustice we’re fighting.”

When Pardons Become Political Currency

Nationally, the timing of high-profile pardons is often strategic. Presidential clemency announcements are rarely acts of grace, but political moves. We see this with Trump’s recent commutations of Todd and Julie Chrisley, Larry Hoover and even rumors of a federal pardon pending for Derek Chauvin, the cop convicted for murdering George Floyd. 

But here in Minnesota, the politicization of clemency is more insidious. It’s cloaked in administrative restructuring and buried in bureaucracy. What used to be a three-person decision is now a two step process starting with the Board of Pardons equally appointed nine-member Clemency Review Commission.  Each member of the Board of Pardons gets to appoint 3 people to the commission. While the CRC is required to meet a minimum of 4 times a year the dates have often been determined and rescheduled with short notice to applicants.

“It feels like another tool that’s being weaponized,” Jason says.

At the most recent CRC hearing in May, the commission heard 24 cases they deemed time-sensitive. Among them, a woman in her twenties who was approved to move forward to the Board of Pardons for something she just did in 2023. 

“You are giving pardons to people who did the thing two years ago and they didn’t even go to jail. How’s that fair?” asked Jason.

For 20 years, Jason has demonstrated true rehabilitation. If clemency is meant to reward transformation and second chances, then he is exactly the kind of person the system should honor. 

What’s at Stake

Jason’s work impacts real people every day. The community crisis response team he helped build—Relationships Evolving Possibilities—responds to calls others ignore. His cultural contributions through Humanize My Hoodie have shaped national and international discourse on policing and race. He is not asking for special treatment. He’s asking for the process to function with transparency, equity, and fairness.

With Juneteenth approaching—a day that symbolizes freedom—the delay of justice feels especially cruel. Sole puts it plainly:

“I'm a new man, I'm committed to my family, I'm committed to my community. And those who are dedicated deserve to be able to actually live freely and enjoy their full freedom after they serve their sentence. Pardon me by Juneteenth—that’s my demand.”

The next CRC meeting is scheduled for June 13 but Jason says as of right now, his application is not on the agenda, despite communicating to the commission’s Executive Director that he feels it is time sensitive. 

“You can't say I'm a new applicant, even though this is a new commission,” said Jason. “I'm still dealing with the remnants from when I applied in 2021, and I'm trying to explain that.”

Jason has received conflicting communications about his next hearing. An email he received said it would be in August or September and a letter in the mail said his application wouldn’t be reviewed again until next year. His declaration of urgency is a reminder that behind every pardon application is a person, not a case file. And yet, despite his frustration, Jason is not just fighting for himself.

“I don't know what the metric is at this point,” said Jason. “People don't know much about the process. It's ambiguous. It’s unjust.” Jason says he can’t imagine how incarcerated applicants are navigating the constant shifting of deadlines and criteria. “They’re hopeful, but is it false hope?”  

Clemency should not be a backroom privilege—it should be a public promise. A promise that when people change, the state has the courage to meet them with dignity, not delay.