Late into Wednesday night in his prison cell at Springhill Institution, Renford Farrier found himself laughing and dancing.
“I knew this was it,” he said from his lawyer’s car on Thursday, as he put the Nova Scotian federal prison in the rear-view mirror. “I was never going to be in a cell again.”
After more than three decades of incarceration – most of which have been served in maximum-security prisons – and years of efforts by advocacy groups and lawyers to secure his release, Mr. Farrier, 52, has been granted day parole by the Parole Board of Canada, a decision his lawyer says is precedent-setting for Black prisoners.
Mr. Farrier, who was profiled in a 2022 Globe and Mail investigation into the biases in Canada’s federal parole system, was handed a life sentence in Toronto for second-degree murder in 1992 with 10 years of parole ineligibility, but proceeded to spend the next 31 years in prison. He has long argued that his race was a critical factor in his long term of imprisonment.
“If you look at the precedents from the Board, this is way outside the scope of where they normally land on cases like Renford’s,” said Emma Halpern, Mr. Farrier’s lawyer. Ms. Halpern serves as a director at PATH Legal, a prison law firm and advocacy organization based in Nova Scotia.
Crucially, the Parole Board’s decision points to the impact of “overt and systemic racism” as a factor contributing to Mr. Farrier’s criminal history and lengthy term of incarceration.
In its decision, the Board writes that “despite being sheltered by a loving family, the pressures of racism, marginalization, socio-economic drawbacks and exposure to negative associates as a means to fulfill a need to belong crafted a path towards normalizing negative – and criminal – behaviours.”
At the federal level, the majority of prisoners, including those serving life sentences, are eventually released through the parole process, which is administered by the Parole Board of Canada and Correctional Service Canada (CSC). Prisoners must work with CSC’s parole officers during their incarceration and answer questions from a panel of Parole Board members, who decide whether to order a release.
In early 2022, a Globe and Mail investigation examined the racial biases in parole decisions and found that Indigenous, Black and other racialized men were, respectively, 26 per cent, 24 per cent and 20 per cent less likely than their white peers to be paroled in the first year they were eligible – even after controlling for factors such as age, sentence length and offence severity.
A 2022 report from the Office of the Correctional Investigator, a prison watchdog, found that Black prisoners accounted for 9.2 per cent of the federal prison population, despite representing about 3.5 per cent of the overall population in Canada.
Mr. Farrier had to overcome extreme odds to secure his release, Ms. Halpern said.
It is highly unusual, even among lifers, for a prisoner to spend such an extended period in maximum security. At one point, Mr. Farrier spent 18 consecutive months in solitary confinement – in part because of his “poor behaviours,” according to a 2016 correctional document, which cites his involvement in the trade of contraband and disregard for prison rules. The last instance of violence in his prison files is from 2011.
He was released directly from a medium-security prison when most people serving life sentences are expected to first progress to minimum-security facilities, Ms. Halpern said. The Board also ordered his release despite the CSC’s recommendation that parole be denied. There are few statistics on how often the Parole Board orders a release when CSC recommends against it, but it is rare: In 2010, the most recent year for which these data are public, these events accounted for one out of every 45 day-parole decisions.
CSC’s official position notwithstanding, Mr. Farrier had extensive backing within the walls of Springhill Institution. Thirteen of the 16 letters of support he submitted to the Board came from prison staff.
Akwasi Owusu-Bempah, a University of Toronto criminology professor, said Mr. Farrier’s prison term was indicative of a “troubling pattern” experienced by Black prisoners. “Black people appear to be over-securitized, deemed as higher-risk than perhaps they might be otherwise judged if there were another race,” he said.
“I don’t think that CSC has a fulsome understanding of both the offending and criminal justice trajectories of Black people, and I don’t believe that CSC’s programming has been developed in a way that meets the needs of the diverse Black prisoner population,” Dr. Owusu-Bempah said.
Catherine Latimer, executive director of the John Howard Society of Canada, a prisoners’ rights organization, said that Mr. Farrier has “blazed a really important trail.”
“Normally, you would hope that a prisoner would adjust to CSC’s expectations in order to get out,” she said. Instead, Mr. Farrier insisted that CSC and the Parole Board should understand how being Black negatively affected how he was treated in prison.
“I think this is going to be quite inspirational for a lot of other Black prisoners who have been in for long periods of time.”
As he prepared to leave the prison on Wednesday night and Thursday morning, Mr. Farrier gave away his clothes to other lifers and shredded all but his most important documents.
His first stop after getting out was a Lebanese restaurant, for lunch. (He had the falafel platter.) His second was Walmart.
“You know, I’ve never been in a Walmart,” he said. “They weren’t around when I came in.”
By the afternoon, he was at his new home, a halfway house in Dartmouth, N.S., where he will slowly rejoin society over the next several months.
He recognizes his release is unusual, but in hindsight it feels inevitable. “I truly believe the Board realized they could not side with CSC on this one,” he said. “There was no way to say ‘no’ and not have it appear racist.”
He hopes his case will open a door other prisoners can walk through. “I want that responsibility,” he said. “I want that mantle.
“I want people to say, ‘If Ren did it, I can.’”