In the Cabinet meeting room of the Florida Capitol building, there are plenty of shaky legs and fidgety hands as the state's clemency board, whose chairman is Gov. Rick Scott, sits down.
Four times a year, ex-felons in Florida petition to get their civil rights restored, including the right to vote.
Among the former felons in the room is Justin (NPR is withholding his last name at his request), who drove seven hours for a five-minute chance to make his case. He waits in the back of the room, clutching an Expando file full of court papers that date back to one mistake.
"1994. Miami. I was snatching a gold chain. And I did 31 months," said Justin. He was 16 at the time.
"I never thought that snatching a gold chain would lead to this. That I'm at the state Capitol at 38 years old trying to ask them for my rights back," said Justin.
Data from the Sentencing Project, an advocacy group, show nearly 6 million former felons will not be able to cast ballots in next year's presidential election, with Florida being home to the largest number — more than 1.3 million as of 2010, the most recent year such information was available.
Justin sent his application in 2004, the earliest he could apply after a mandatory waiting period. Shortly after that, he completed a master's degree in accounting and got a steady job. The 11 years Justin has waited to see the clemency board feel to him like another sentence.
"I don't want a cookie or a pat on the back for not getting in trouble in 21 years," he pauses. "I should've never gotten in trouble in the first place. It's just me being a citizen and there's things I still can't do."
Thousands Of Applications Pending
Since Scott took office in 2011, his clemency board has reviewed 100,000 cases and restored civil rights to fewer than 2,000 people. More than 20,000 applications remain pending before the board.
"When you think of the typical person that cannot vote in the state of Florida, it's not the African-American guy who murdered a million people. It's not that crazed killer or rapist, no," said Desmond Meade, the head of the Florida Rights Restoration Coalition. "The typical person who cannot vote was, probably years ago, convicted of some low-level offense."
The group is collecting signatures to change Florida's clemency process to automatically restore rights to most ex-felons. So far, it has over 43,000 signatures of the 68,000 needed to trigger a review of the clemency process by the state Supreme Court.
Meade says clemency is a complicated and subjective process that has its roots in Jim Crow-era laws. He carries around the 13-page clemency application to show the process's problems. "They're asking you what's the name of your church; what's your denomination; what age you were when you left your parents' home; health; education," he said.
It's personal for Meade, who now has a law degree but can't apply to the Florida Bar or vote because of drug charges from the 1990s.
"Here I am as an advocate to have my rights restored, and it's discouraging to me," said Meade.
'The Risk You Take'
Losing the right to vote is the risk you take for committing a crime, argues Roger Clegg, president of the Center for Equal Opportunity, a conservative think tank.
"If you're not willing to follow the law, then you can't demand a role in making the law for everyone else," said Clegg.
As one of the nation's staunchest supporters of case-by-case rights restoration, he believes states should set criteria for restoring civil rights — criteria based on lifestyle and likelihood to re-offend — and that low-level offenders like Justin should not have to wait more than two years to see the board.
"We're dealing with the government bureaucracy here, and in some cases it just may be that the clemency board has just done a bad job," said Clegg.
But with a quarter of Florida's African-Americans unable to vote, according to data from the Sentencing Project, and 10 percent of the state's total voting age population unable to cast a ballot, Howard Simon of Florida's American Civil Liberties Union is convinced the clemency process needs a complete overhaul.
"The quicker we reintegrate people back into society with a job, with a family, with having a stake in their community, the faster and more effectively we drop the recidivism rate," said Simon.
'Just Keep Going'
Back in the Cabinet meeting room, Justin's case is called up. He stands and rocks back and forth on his feet in front of Scott and other members of the clemency board as he talks about his goals, his family, his traffic tickets over the course of five minutes.
To Justin, the time in front of the commission feels like an eternity.
There's a pause after Justin makes his case, before Scott speaks into his microphone.
"I move to grant restoration of civil rights."
For Justin, this wait is over, but a new one begins. Next, he plans to petition the board for a full pardon, a process that could take years.
"I'll keep pushing through. Just gotta have my little file here. Put it in a little drawer when I get home," said Justin. "And I just keep going. I don't stop."
Editor's Note Dec. 12, 2015
In the production and reporting of this story, there was no formal agreement made about full names with the main subject of the story, whom NPR interviewed at a public clemency hearing. Following the broadcast of the story, NPR heard from the subject, who did not want full names used for privacy concerns and requested that the last name be omitted. The last name has been edited out of the Web version of the story.