Sociology
![Larry Krasner - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_a_larry_krasner.jpg)
For the People: A Story of Justice and Power
Philadelphia's progressive district attorney offers an inspiring vision of how people can take back power to reform criminal justice, based on lessons from a life's work as an advocate for the accused.
"Larry Krasner is at the forefront of a movement to disrupt a system. This is a story that needs to be read by millions."-Bryan Stevenson, author of Just Mercy
Larry Krasner spent thirty years learning about America's carceral system as a civil rights and criminal defense lawyer in Philadelphia, working to get some kind of justice for his clients in a broken system, before deciding that the way to truly transform the system was to get inside of it. So he launched an unlikely campaign to become the district attorney of Philadelphia, a city known for its long line of notorious "tough on crime" DAs who had turned Philly into a city with one of the highest rates of incarceration in the country. Despite long odds and derisive opposition from the police union and other forces of the status quo, Krasner laid out a simple case for radical reform and won the November 2017 general election by a margin of nearly 50 percent.
For the People is not just a story about Krasner's remarkable early life as a defense lawyer and his innovative grassroots campaign; it's also a larger exploration of how power and injustice conspired to create a carceral state unprecedented in the world. Readers follow Krasner's lifelong journey through the streets and courtrooms and election precincts of one American city all the way up to his swearing-in ceremony to see how our system of injustice was built-and how we might dismantle it.
In the tradition of powerful critiques of the criminal justice system, from Bryan Stevenson's Just Mercy to Michelle Alexander's The New Jim Crow, For the People makes the compelling case that transforming criminal justice is the most important civil rights movement of our time and can only be achieved if we're willing to fight for the power to make a change.
"Larry Krasner is at the forefront of a movement to disrupt a system. This is a story that needs to be read by millions."-Bryan Stevenson, author of Just Mercy
Larry Krasner spent thirty years learning about America's carceral system as a civil rights and criminal defense lawyer in Philadelphia, working to get some kind of justice for his clients in a broken system, before deciding that the way to truly transform the system was to get inside of it. So he launched an unlikely campaign to become the district attorney of Philadelphia, a city known for its long line of notorious "tough on crime" DAs who had turned Philly into a city with one of the highest rates of incarceration in the country. Despite long odds and derisive opposition from the police union and other forces of the status quo, Krasner laid out a simple case for radical reform and won the November 2017 general election by a margin of nearly 50 percent.
For the People is not just a story about Krasner's remarkable early life as a defense lawyer and his innovative grassroots campaign; it's also a larger exploration of how power and injustice conspired to create a carceral state unprecedented in the world. Readers follow Krasner's lifelong journey through the streets and courtrooms and election precincts of one American city all the way up to his swearing-in ceremony to see how our system of injustice was built-and how we might dismantle it.
In the tradition of powerful critiques of the criminal justice system, from Bryan Stevenson's Just Mercy to Michelle Alexander's The New Jim Crow, For the People makes the compelling case that transforming criminal justice is the most important civil rights movement of our time and can only be achieved if we're willing to fight for the power to make a change.
Editorial Reviews
"Larry Krasner's story is astonishing and compelling because he's flipping the script. After decades of police and prosecutors being lionized in our culture, Krasner rises to power promising to defend the lambs. This is a story not to be missed."-Michelle Alexander, author of The New Jim Crow
Readers Top Reviews
AliceAngie BarkGunne
407 homicides and 135 Suspious cases in Philly this year to date says otherwise …why Krasners Revolving door is the reason for sky rocketing violent crime. It’s not that people won’t speak up n report it’s that people like my family n I getting no protection when We DO testify and Krasner doesn’t charge criminals he finds a deal to keep the repeat felons from going to prison again. Larry Krasner is lying in this poorly written waste of time progressive propaganda piece.
Joseph Psotka
A brilliant white guy sits in front of blown up pictures of Rosa Parks and MLK as DA of Philly. Who is this guy? He just won re-election today. He's a progressive defense lawyer turned DA DISRUPTING a racist judicial system. I love this guy. I agree with him 100 %. How many others like him are in this woebegotten country? I wish I knew.
Paul Davis
Honest accounting from the one of the best legal practitioners who has been on front lines of social justice for decades. Larry redefines how ambitious activists can be and what we can expect from elected officials. The book is heartbreaking, inspiring accessible and fierce. This voice is an important one.
Alex L
For the People makes a compelling case for the need for criminal justice reform. One can't help but be inspired by the story of Krasner's rise from very humble beginnings, perfecting what he calls "broke skills," to District Attorney of Philadelphia. Krasner never pulls any punches as he takes on an unjust system and the individuals and policies that have failed to make the city safer over the last several decades. There's even a For the People playlist at the end!
MA
This book gives an inside view of Krasner's ideology and the data backing it up. Change is NOW in the city of Philadelphia and one size does not fit all, this new approach to punishment and human nature is the future of Philadelphia as well as our nation. This book allows you to look at past practices and envision the future promoting human behavior and best practices. Thought provoking and motivating read, well worth your time!
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1
Chasing Power
Campaign Announcement
Don't you know
They're talkin' 'bout a revolution
It sounds like a whisper
-Tracy Chapman, "Talkin' 'bout a Revolution"
For thirty years of my career, I did the kind of work that makes you unelectable, or so the political insiders say. Voters said something else.
I was in the dark, holed up in the control booth of a television studio in Philly's public access television station, getting ready to announce my candidacy for district attorney. At fifty-six, I'd spent my career in court as a criminal defense and civil rights trial lawyer. I had tried and won a lot of cases. I got some justice for a lot of individuals, but that justice was never quite ideal. It was unbalanced, incomplete, and unsatisfactory. Even the wins showed me that the system needed to change. But as I tried case after case and the decades passed, the system didn't change. It was only getting worse. Our city was one of the most jail-happy cities in the most incarcerated country in the world. Too many serious crimes went unsolved, especially when the victims were powerless. In one area of concentrated poverty in Philly, the solve rate for shootings was only 15 percent. And, rather than being cared for and supported, too many victims were used for political purposes. Day after day, driving around Philadelphia, I saw for-sale signs on too many of our public school buildings. For years, while visiting clients in custody and their families in their homes I kept wondering why jails and prisons and new courthouses just kept growing like an unchecked tumor, while the things we all needed fell apart. The problem behind it all was the criminal justice system. We were coming together that day, to change it.
It was February 8, 2017, only ninety-eight days before the primary election, the only election that mattered in a one-party town like Philadelphia. The incumbent district attorney, Seth Williams, was in trouble: He was under federal investigation for improperly accepting gifts he didn't declare, possibly in exchange for special treatment in his handling of cases as DA. His potential indictment had drawn into the race five other candidates willing to challenge him. I knew most of them well-and, as always in Philly district attorney races, the challengers were like the incumbent-predictable, conventional, connected. None of them was a real reformer, regardless of what they claimed. I was frustrated by the lack of change in the system-by the never-ending squandering of lives and resources. So, despite my dislike for politics, I decided I had to run for DA, at least as my own kind of protest. Yes, my team and I wanted to win. But more than that, we had to speak the truth as we saw it. At least our platform might move the conversation.
I hadn't found the light switch yet in a room full of switches and controls. Sitting in darkness, I looked through the glass that separated the control room from the brightly lit, black box studio. The studio was starting to fill up with my people, many of them activists I had defended for free over the years.
"My people" looked powerless to others. They were anything but powerless. They had fought AIDS, fought for disability rights, were disabled themselves, gave out clean needles under elevated train tracks, did pirate radio, were advocates for homeless people or were homeless themselves, said their Black lives mattered, worked to end global warming, were queer, camped out with Occupy, fought pollution, opposed casinos, wanted peace, were sex workers fighting to be safe, were addicted to drugs and seeking treatment, were clergy who shut down dirty gun shops with hymns. Or they weren't activists at all, but they cared deeply and found ways to support the ones risking arrest. I admired them all for having already changed the world with their selfless pursuit of justice and for aspiring to do more.
At some point, I had begun to refer to the activists and organizers I usually represented for free, or to people in their worlds I respected who provided support for their work, as "my people." I used the phrase to mean they were doing God's work, fighting the good fight, willing to sacrifice so that others would be okay. "My people" and I weren't the same. I didn't control or possess them any more than they possessed me when I did their legal work for free. But we were a team of people who wanted the same things: We wanted fairness, equality, freedom, the protection we deserved from our government rather than its contempt, justice for marginalized people. We liked to knock down bullies and to speak about it as the Constitution mandated we had the freedom to do.
Chasing Power
Campaign Announcement
Don't you know
They're talkin' 'bout a revolution
It sounds like a whisper
-Tracy Chapman, "Talkin' 'bout a Revolution"
For thirty years of my career, I did the kind of work that makes you unelectable, or so the political insiders say. Voters said something else.
I was in the dark, holed up in the control booth of a television studio in Philly's public access television station, getting ready to announce my candidacy for district attorney. At fifty-six, I'd spent my career in court as a criminal defense and civil rights trial lawyer. I had tried and won a lot of cases. I got some justice for a lot of individuals, but that justice was never quite ideal. It was unbalanced, incomplete, and unsatisfactory. Even the wins showed me that the system needed to change. But as I tried case after case and the decades passed, the system didn't change. It was only getting worse. Our city was one of the most jail-happy cities in the most incarcerated country in the world. Too many serious crimes went unsolved, especially when the victims were powerless. In one area of concentrated poverty in Philly, the solve rate for shootings was only 15 percent. And, rather than being cared for and supported, too many victims were used for political purposes. Day after day, driving around Philadelphia, I saw for-sale signs on too many of our public school buildings. For years, while visiting clients in custody and their families in their homes I kept wondering why jails and prisons and new courthouses just kept growing like an unchecked tumor, while the things we all needed fell apart. The problem behind it all was the criminal justice system. We were coming together that day, to change it.
It was February 8, 2017, only ninety-eight days before the primary election, the only election that mattered in a one-party town like Philadelphia. The incumbent district attorney, Seth Williams, was in trouble: He was under federal investigation for improperly accepting gifts he didn't declare, possibly in exchange for special treatment in his handling of cases as DA. His potential indictment had drawn into the race five other candidates willing to challenge him. I knew most of them well-and, as always in Philly district attorney races, the challengers were like the incumbent-predictable, conventional, connected. None of them was a real reformer, regardless of what they claimed. I was frustrated by the lack of change in the system-by the never-ending squandering of lives and resources. So, despite my dislike for politics, I decided I had to run for DA, at least as my own kind of protest. Yes, my team and I wanted to win. But more than that, we had to speak the truth as we saw it. At least our platform might move the conversation.
I hadn't found the light switch yet in a room full of switches and controls. Sitting in darkness, I looked through the glass that separated the control room from the brightly lit, black box studio. The studio was starting to fill up with my people, many of them activists I had defended for free over the years.
"My people" looked powerless to others. They were anything but powerless. They had fought AIDS, fought for disability rights, were disabled themselves, gave out clean needles under elevated train tracks, did pirate radio, were advocates for homeless people or were homeless themselves, said their Black lives mattered, worked to end global warming, were queer, camped out with Occupy, fought pollution, opposed casinos, wanted peace, were sex workers fighting to be safe, were addicted to drugs and seeking treatment, were clergy who shut down dirty gun shops with hymns. Or they weren't activists at all, but they cared deeply and found ways to support the ones risking arrest. I admired them all for having already changed the world with their selfless pursuit of justice and for aspiring to do more.
At some point, I had begun to refer to the activists and organizers I usually represented for free, or to people in their worlds I respected who provided support for their work, as "my people." I used the phrase to mean they were doing God's work, fighting the good fight, willing to sacrifice so that others would be okay. "My people" and I weren't the same. I didn't control or possess them any more than they possessed me when I did their legal work for free. But we were a team of people who wanted the same things: We wanted fairness, equality, freedom, the protection we deserved from our government rather than its contempt, justice for marginalized people. We liked to knock down bullies and to speak about it as the Constitution mandated we had the freedom to do.
