Inside San Quentin: Telling Stories from Behind the Walls
In 2017, I had the rare opportunity to film inside one of America’s most notorious prisons – San Quentin State Prison – not once, but twice. These weren’t just film shoots. They were immersive, emotional experiences that reshaped how I view storytelling, justice, and the power of second chances.
My work centered around two remarkable organizations working in and around San Quentin: The Last Mile and the Nonprofit Exchange (NPX). Each is helping reimagine what rehabilitation and impact look like in America’s prison system in its own way. One through in-prison education, and the other through an innovative funding model that helps scale nonprofits changing lives from the inside out.
The Last Mile
The Last Mile is a nonprofit that teaches incarcerated individuals how to code. Inside a high-tech classroom within San Quentin, participants learn software development, web design, and digital entrepreneurship. These are not watered-down classes, they’re rigorous, practical, and designed to give people the tools they need to step into meaningful employment upon release. The program’s mission is clear: prepare incarcerated individuals for successful reentry and reduce recidivism by connecting them to the tech economy.
The Nonprofit Exchange (NPX)
NPX is a bold rethink of how social change gets funded. Rather than relying on traditional philanthropy, NPX developed an innovative model called Impact Security. This allows donors to invest in outcomes, not just efforts. NPX helps raise and direct capital toward programs like The Last Mile, aligning incentives between donors and nonprofits, and helping scale the life-changing work happening behind prison walls. Through NPX, impact is measured and rewarded, backing successful interventions like The Last Mile with the financial power they deserve.
Inside san quentin
With support from both organizations, I was granted rare access into San Quentin. We filmed in areas few civilians ever see: the main yard, the cell blocks, and the coding classroom where The Last Mile operates. I even received permission to launch a drone outside the prison gates. I was able to capture sweeping aerial footage of San Quentin, its sharp walls set against the vast beauty of San Francisco Bay and Mount Tamalpais. That aerial shot would later become a visual metaphor for the story we were telling: confinement surrounded by possibility.
Security protocols were strict, and for good reason. One detail still stands out: everyone on our team was required to wear all black. Why? Because all incarcerated individuals at San Quentin wear light blue. In the event of a hostage situation, guards needed to be able to immediately identify who wasn’t an inmate. The symbolism of that uniform choice was stark and sobering.
Inside the main yard, life moved with a quiet rhythm. Some men played basketball, others sat in small groups under the sun, and many simply walked laps. But inside The Last Mile classroom, the energy was entirely different, alive with ambition, focus, and hope. Men were learning full-stack web development, designing apps, and planning futures that had once felt unimaginable. One man told me, “The world told me I was a failure. The Last Mile told me I had potential.” That quote has never left me.
One Man’s journey from incarceration to freedom
Among those I interviewed was a man named Chris, who would soon become the central figure in our story. He had served 17 years inside San Quentin, and spoke with clarity and humility about his transformation. He described how The Last Mile had not only taught him to code—but helped him rediscover his own worth. During the interview, Chris casually mentioned that he often ran laps in the prison yard as a way to clear his mind and maintain a sense of routine. It was a small detail, but one that stuck with me.
Only minutes after we wrapped filming, Chris was called aside by prison staff and told something life-changing: he had been granted early release.
It was a surreal, unforgettable moment, to witness someone processing – in real-time – the news that they were finally free. The joy and disbelief in his eyes spoke volumes. He had no idea that day would be the turning point. And I had no idea I’d just filmed a man speaking as an incarcerated individual for the last time.
A few weeks later, I met Chris again. This time, outside of the prison gates.
One of the traditions of The Last Mile is to take newly released participants on a hike up Mount Tamalpais. From the summit, you can look down and see San Quentin in the distance, a powerful, symbolic act known as walking “the last mile.” After years inside, that hike is a moment of reflection and release. It represents the transition from incarceration to freedom. From the summit, Chris stood silently for a while, looking back at the prison. Then he said, “That place taught me the hardest lessons of my life. But it’s also where I learned I could change.”
It was quiet. Just wind in the trees and the wide-open view of a new life ahead.
A few weeks after that hike, I invited Chris on another outing—something I thought might feel symbolic in its own way. Reflecting on his interview, I remembered how he talked about running laps inside the yard. So I offered up an idea: “What if we went for a run somewhere with no walls, somewhere wide open?”
We laced up our shoes and ran across the Golden Gate Bridge together. With the city behind us, the Pacific ahead, and the wind off the bay rushing past, each stride felt like a declaration of freedom. It wasn’t something Chris had dreamed of doing, it was just a simple act, born from a place of contrast. A man who had spent years circling the same concrete yard now running freely across one of the most iconic landmarks in the world. It was honest. It was powerful. And it said everything that needed to be said.
The Power {and responsibility} of storytelling that matters
Filming inside the cell blocks had been intense. The weight of confinement was everywhere, in the sounds, the shadows, the routine. But even there, I saw signs of growth. Men mentoring each other. Restorative justice circles. Quiet efforts at transformation. The Last Mile wasn’t just changing careers, it was changing culture.
The story we filmed helped raise awareness about The Last Mile’s powerful work and NPX’s innovative approach to funding high-impact nonprofits. It’s not just about teaching code. It’s about creating dignity, restoring identity, and offering a path forward that breaks the cycle.
As a filmmaker, I’ve always believed in the power of story to bridge divides. But filming inside San Quentin, and earning the trust of people who had every reason not to trust, showed me that storytelling can also be an act of service. When someone shares their truth, especially after being silenced for so long, you carry a responsibility to honor it with care.
I’m proud of what we captured inside San Quentin. Proud of the work The Last Mile and NPX are doing. And proud of people like Chris who are rewriting their stories, one mile at a time.
At Two Doors Down Productions, this is why we do what we do. To tell the stories that matter. To bear witness to transformation. And to remind people, whether it’s inside a prison classroom, on a mountain trail, or running toward the horizon, that no one should be defined by their worst mistake.
Even behind bars, redemption is real. And for some, the last mile is just the beginning.