They earned law degrees in prison. Now comes the next test

Highlights:

• Inmates serving life sentences after violent crimes hope to take the bar exam and become licensed attorneys
• Minnesota inmates are first to earn ABA-accredited law degrees
• Program aims to expand to other states

Word spread via a postcard passed inside a Minnesota state prison in 2022: A new program would allow inmates to apply to attend law school virtually and graduate while serving time. Were any of them interested?

The postcard, circulated by the program's organizers at a prisoner advocacy group and the Mitchell Hamline School of Law in St. Paul, made its way to 48-year-old Jeffery ​Young, who has been incarcerated since 2004 for the murder of his cousin's alleged abuser.

Young applied, was accepted and this June became one of the first two people to receive degrees from the Prison to Law Pipeline program, which claims ‌to be the first in the US to offer inmates a chance to earn a degree from a law school that is accredited by the American Bar Association.

Young had written briefs in his own unsuccessful 2006 appeal. He told Reuters during a phone call from prison that he saw the postcard's offer as an opportunity to further develop his advocacy skills and strengthen his bid for parole when he becomes eligible in 2027.

Many US prisons have long maintained law libraries and offered educational programs geared toward prisoner rehabilitation. The Minnesota program goes further by giving inmates a professional path into the justice system that convicted them.

Obtaining a law degree from prison has been theoretically possible through a ​small number of correspondence law schools that are not accredited by the ABA. But a law degree from an accredited school allows graduates to take any state's bar exam. Passing the bar and an accompanying character and fitness review are required to be licensed ​as a lawyer in most states.

Young and fellow program graduate Maureen Onyelobi, who is serving a life sentence for aiding and abetting a 2014 murder, attended online classes for four years, navigating prison security lockdowns and ⁠technology restrictions to complete their coursework. Donations and scholarships from the private Mitchell Hamline law school covered their tuition.

During a phone interview with Reuters from prison, Onyelobi, 41, said the program has bolstered her optimism about the future.

"I have a renewed sense of pride in my life and hope that ​I can do whatever I'm meant to do," she said.

An uphill battle 

Their futures as lawyers remain an open question.

Program administrators at The Legal Revolution, the Minneapolis-based nonprofit serving current and former prison inmates that is spearheading the initiative, are working to secure permission from the Minnesota State Board of Law Examiners ​for Young and Onyelobi to take the two-day bar exam in February. That would require leaving their respective prisons to sit for the test, according to The Legal Revolution executive director Jon Geffen.

Mitchell Hamline agreed to participate and obtained permission from the ABA in 2021 to waive its in-person class requirements to enroll a small number of incarcerated students, said former dean Anthony Niedwiecki. Participants must have a bachelor's degree and apply to law school just like anyone else — Niedwiecki personally administered the Law School Admission Test behind bars for the first applicants.

If they pass the bar exam, which 72% of Mitchell Hamline graduates did on their first try in 2025, Young and Onyelobi would ​next face a standard character review conducted by the state's Board of Law Examiners. The reviews are mandatory for licensure and are intended to protect the public from unfit lawyers.

Anoka County Attorney Brad Johnson, whose father oversaw Young's prosecution as county attorney in 2002, said in a statement to ​Reuters that the possibility of Young becoming licensed was "offensive" to the Minnesota legal profession. By appealing his conviction, Young did not accept accountability for his actions, Johnson said. Nor did he mention his victim during his graduation speech, which was posted to YouTube, he added.

"I will keep an open mind about Mr Young's future ‌requests for supervised release," ⁠Johnson said. "However, I do not see this office ever supporting his admission to the practice of law."

The Hennepin County Attorney's Office, which handled Onyelobi's prosecution, did not respond to requests for comment on her potential bid to become a licensed attorney.

Felony convictions, murder included, do not automatically disqualify people from becoming licensed attorneys in Minnesota. But the severity of the graduates' crimes would raise significant obstacles, said Aaron Sampsel, who counsels law graduates on Minnesota's attorney licensing practices and is not affiliated with the prison program.

"It's great that they were able to get through law school and earn their law degrees, but they are facing a difficult, uphill battle," Sampsel said. He said the state's board of law examiners will likely consider the circumstances of their earlier crimes and evidence of their rehabilitation, among other factors.

Other states have admitted formerly incarcerated lawyers, including with violent felonies on their record, said James Binnall, a ​lawyer and criminal justice professor at California State University, Long Beach. Binnall ​served four years in prison for his role in a ⁠fatal car accident before going to law school and becoming an academic.

Binnall said he has assisted more than 200 formerly incarcerated people in the lawyer licensing process in California and elsewhere and has not heard of others attending law school while in prison like Young and Onyelobi.

"To just simply say categorically, 'We're not going to allow you to do that,' creates this brain drain and this perspective loss," he said.

Minnesota Department of Corrections Commissioner Paul Schnell ​said he green-lit the state's participation in the program with the idea that using a law degree to help others is a way for incarcerated people to make up for their past actions. He said ​he hoped Young and Onyelobi's attendance at ⁠real-time classes via Zoom, instead of pre-recorded online courses, would challenge their classmates' perceptions of the incarcerated.

No 'blueprint'

For Young, studying on a noisy cell block populated by 250 other men proved challenging.

"It's all bars on your cell so you hear everything," he said. "It's extremely loud and we're not allowed to sit in the library."

Onyelobi said the toughest part was simply being the first participants and navigating the myriad logistical hurdles posed by their prison setting.

Security restrictions on the prison's computer systems limited the students' access to certain legal research tools and online resources, and lockdowns meant missed classes, they said. Onyelobi and Young completed remote externships, performing legal ⁠work under the supervision ​of the Legal Revolution and The Sentencing Project — a criminal justice reform group. Onyelobi earned high enough grades to graduate cum laude, while Young was summa cum laude.

The goal ​of the program has always been for participants to seek licensure and practice law, according to The Legal Revolution's Geffen, though he said the organization doesn't "have a blueprint" to get them there.

One option upon their potential release is for Young and Onyelobi, who is eligible for parole in 2041, to work in the nonprofit's small law firm as attorneys or staffers. ​If they don't become licensed, they could still handle work such as preparing and presenting clemency requests, Geffen said.

"I would love for other people to have this opportunity and sense of self-worth while incarcerated and to know, 'Hey, one day I will be able to help someone,'" Onyelobi said.