Man sentenced to death at 16 hopes to break effects of post-incarceration syndrome

SLIDELL, LA. — Shareff Cousin, who was sentenced to death at 16 for a French Quarter murder, is traveling the continent in an RV with his two sons as he works through the effects of prison on his life.

“They are excited about learning new things, seeing new places,” Cousin said.

The trip is more than a vacation for Cousin, who has spent two decades trying to build a new life.

“We’re going to do it together. We’re going to build our own schedules. We’re going to build our own life,” Cousin said.

“My children don’t know what freedom is because I haven’t taught them that. I can only teach them what I know,” he said.

Sentenced to death at 16

In 1995, at 16 years old, Cousin was convicted and sentenced to death for a French Quarter murder.

“When you think of 1994 and 1995, New Orleans had over 430 murders during that time,” Cousin said. “So if there’s a crime that happened in the French Quarter, then someone has to go down for that crime and someone has to go down for that crime fast. Unfortunately, at that time, I was a young, Black kid and I fit the profile.”

Cousin said he had an alibi. Video showed him at a New Orleans Recreation Department (NORD) basketball game at the time of the murder. Cousin said the video was kept out of the trial, along with testimony from his teammates and his coach.

“I was 16. Now this country, you cannot even put a 16-year-old on death row no more. It’s against the law. The United States Supreme Court said that’s cruel and unusual punishment,” Cousin said.

After nearly three years on death row, his conviction was reversed. In 1998, the charges were dropped for lack of evidence.

“My case is the only case in Louisiana history where a prosecutor was disciplined for prosecutorial misconduct,” Cousin said.

Release from Angola and life afterward

Cousin spent another eight years in prison on unrelated robbery charges. He said he was coerced into pleading to those charges during the murder trial.

He walked out of Angola in 2005. He went to college, graduated from Morehouse and built a re-entry program to help others coming home.

Cousin said an internal prison remained.

“Every aspect of my life, it was structured. When to eat. When to go take a bath. When to do everything. In relationships, I’m not trusting. I’m being emotionally distant, thinking I’m being strong. Not being vulnerable. Don’t even know how to be vulnerable. Fearful of being vulnerable. Everything is just rigid,” Cousin said.

Cousin, a twice-divorced father of seven, said he sees that pattern in his own relationships.

“Not because love wasn’t there, it’s just because I didn’t know how to give it or receive it,” he said.

He said the hypervigilance that kept him alive as a teenager in Angola now locks him out of normal life.

“I’ve found that what kept me alive in that cell has limited my life now,” Cousin said.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m in a safe space. I’m always thinking about danger. How to get out of a dangerous situation. If something bad happened, what I’m gonna do,” he said.

Post-incarceration syndrome

Psychologists call it Post-Incarceration Syndrome, the transitional toll of the abrupt shift from survival to freedom.

Edward Harris met Cousin in Angola.

“You’re still trying to get away from habits that you use to survive,” Harris said. “And now that you’re free, even though you’re not in that situation and have to use those survival tactics, it’s still embedded in you because you’ve been a part of the abnormal for so long.”

Harris said the habits the men developed to cope now prevent them from healing.

“The smaller things, it’s what hinders us from moving forward,” Harris said.

Harris said it leads to indecision and caution.

“It’s like every day is a struggle,” he said.

Taking healing on the road

Health clinics, such as Tulane’s Formerly Incarcerated Transitions Clinic, are expanding to offer support groups for this mental health issue.

Cousin decided to take his healing on the open road.

He gave up his house, began homeschooling his sons and bought an RV.

“Once I bought the RV, and once I gave away everything, I knew it was serious,” Cousin said.

Cousin is traveling from historic civil rights landmarks to the open frontier. He said he is learning to let down his guard.

In an essay describing his experience he writes:

“I’ve come to understand this isn’t about the absence of bars. It’s the presence of agency, dignity, and the courage beyond survival. The RV moves, the landscape changes, my children ask questions I can’t always answer. I’m learning how to live inside freedom without fearing it,” Cousin said.

Cousin said freedom means sharing the story of his rehabilitation so others know they do not have to heal alone.

“We talk about all these different systematic changes policy-wise that a person can have a successful transition. But we’re not having an honest discussion about the psychological harm and the institutionalization that prison has on a person. And I want to use my story. And I want to begin to have these discussions on a national level. And I want every person that comes home from prison to understand that it’s okay to talk about these things. You’re not alone,” Cousin said.

Cousin’s journey can be followed through his social media video blogs.

The Formerly Incarcerated Peer Support Group meets the second and fourth Tuesday of the month from 6 to 8 p.m. at 4930 Washington Ave, New Orleans, LA 70125.

You can read Cousin’s full essay below.

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