- “I don’t think the law is written in a good way. I think it allows too many people to be eligible for release, and it eliminates any type of truth in sentencing.” – Melinda Aiello, Chief Deputy District Attorney
Yolo County prosecutors are mounting a campaign against California’s compassionate release law, even as medical experts and advocates say the statute provides a narrow, humane safeguard for people who are terminally ill or permanently incapacitated.
The recent case of 70-year-old Howard Wilbanks, highlighted in a CBS-13 article, granted release after doctors confirmed he has terminal lung cancer that has spread to his bones, highlights both the humanitarian rationale behind the law and the fierce resistance from District Attorney Jeff Reisig’s office.
Wilbanks, serving a life sentence with the possibility of parole at Solano State Prison, was deemed eligible for release under Penal Code §1172.2, a law established by AB 960 in 2022.
Court documents show he is wheelchair-bound and unable to walk following spinal surgery to alleviate cancer pressure on his spinal cord.
His oncologist concluded his illness is advanced, incurable, and carries “an end-of-life trajectory.”
Based on those findings, the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) filed a petition for compassionate release, which a Yolo County judge granted. Wilbanks will be released within 30 days once a care placement is secured.
Chief Deputy District Attorney Melinda Aiello, speaking for Reisig’s office, said the law is overly broad.
“I don’t think the law is written in a good way. I think it allows too many people to be eligible for release, and it eliminates any type of truth in sentencing,” Aiello said.
She argued that prosecutors are hamstrung by rules that restrict them to the medical facts of the case, leaving no room to bring up criminal history or lack of rehabilitation. “If he meets his medical criteria, there really isn’t a legal leg to stand on,” she said.
Aiello also criticized the exclusion of victims’ voices from the process, calling it “a gut punch” that undermines their constitutional right to be heard.
But critics of Reisig’s position point out that California’s law already imposes strict medical thresholds. Only those with terminal illnesses, progressive end-stage dementia, or permanent incapacitation that prevents basic daily living qualify. The statute explicitly excludes people sentenced to death or life without parole.
Advocates argue that narrowing it further to bar people with violent or sexual convictions, as Reisig’s office has urged, would strip the law of its purpose and condemn people to die in custody under conditions the U.S. Supreme Court has already found unconstitutional.
California’s prison health care system has been under federal receivership since 2006, after courts ruled that neglect, inadequate facilities, and lack of access to treatment amounted to cruel and unusual punishment. Despite reforms, systemic problems persist.
Chronic staffing shortages, disorganized medical records, and poor oversight continue to undermine care.
A Vera Institute of Justice report notes that every year spent in prison shortens life expectancy by two years, and mass incarceration has reduced overall U.S. life expectancy by five years. Inadequate care is directly linked to preventable deaths, worsening chronic illnesses, and diminished quality of life.
Advocates also emphasize that releasing gravely ill people poses virtually no public safety threat. Research consistently shows that recidivism among older incarcerated people plummets with age.
A Vera Institute study found arrest rates drop to just over 2 percent for those between 50 and 65, and to almost zero for people older than 65.
Ailing people like Wilbanks, confined to a wheelchair and undergoing palliative treatment, are not a threat to public safety.
A 2012 ACLU report estimated that releasing aging prisoners saves states between $28,000 and $66,000 per year per person, funds that could be reinvested in rehabilitation and reentry programs.
Instead of acknowledging these realities, Reisig’s office is calling for the legislature to rewrite the law to exclude entire categories of people based on their crimes, regardless of medical condition.
Aiello singled out sexual and violent offenses as grounds for categorical exclusion, arguing that “life in prison should have some type of meaning.”
But this approach effectively disregards medical science, humanitarian principles, and fiscal prudence.
It also ignores the reality that most incarcerated people eligible for compassionate release are not simply old—they are dying, permanently incapacitated, or both.
The broader crisis of prison health care further complicates the issue. Incarcerated people frequently miss medical appointments due to staffing shortages or lack of officer escorts. Facilities suffer from poor ventilation and overcrowding, creating conditions ripe for disease outbreaks. People of color, disproportionately incarcerated, bear the brunt of these failures.
Dr. Homer Venters, former chief medical officer of New York City’s jail system, has described the ethical dilemmas of prison health care, including the practice of medical staff clearing people for solitary confinement—a practice he called “unethical” and corrosive to patient trust.
Reisig’s office has previously opposed compassionate release petitions, including that of Kevin Ellis, a twice-convicted child molester given six months to live. Nine months later, Ellis remains alive in hospice care, under strict parole conditions.
Ellis’s son, speaking to CBS Sacramento, opposed his father’s release, saying, “Mercy on the wolf is cruelty to the sheep.”
But compassionate release is not blanket mercy; it is a medically and legally constrained process designed to balance dignity, public safety, and fiscal responsibility. State data from 2024 show that judges reviewed 143 compassionate release cases, granting just 32—slightly more than 20 percent.
Reisig’s critics say the office’s push to tighten the law is more about political posturing than public safety. Compassionate release was designed to confront a reality the courts have long recognized: prisons are failing to provide adequate health care, and people are dying preventable, often torturous deaths behind bars.
To oppose release for dying individuals on the grounds of “truth in sentencing” ignores the Constitution’s ban on cruel and unusual punishment, the Supreme Court’s repeated rulings against California’s overcrowded prisons, and the fiscal burden on taxpayers.
Wilbanks’s case is just one among many that illustrate a larger question: why incarcerate people who are dying and incapable of harm? Compassionate release is not a loophole—it is a recognition of human dignity in a system otherwise defined by rigidity and neglect.
Calls to restrict it further risk entrenching suffering and undermining both justice and public health.
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