Alvin Jardine spent more than a third of his life in prison for a rape he did not commit.
After his release, he spent another decade fighting the state for money he was entitled to through Hawaiʻi's wrongful conviction compensation law.
Legislators are now poised to approve a $600,000 payment in Jardine's case, but it's too late for him to receive the money.
The 56-year-old Maui man was found dead Dec. 27 near North Honokala Road in Haʻikū after struggling for years with poverty, substance abuse and the trauma of his 20-year wrongful incarceration.
Jardine had planned to use the money to move to Hilo and buy a house and a truck, his sister said. Instead, the man whose case served as the impetus for Hawaiʻi's 2016 wrongful conviction compensation law, died with no support from the state, said state Sen. Karl Rhoads, one of the sponsors of the original bill.
"It's a horrible human tragedy," he said, "and the state, the criminal justice system, is responsible."
Toni Schwartz, spokeswoman for the Attorney General's Office, declined to comment on why it took so long to settle Jardine's case, saying in an email that the office doesn't comment on "pending or recently resolved claims."
"In general, the time required to reach a settlement in civil cases can vary based on the complexity of the case, procedural requirements, and ongoing legal considerations, including court proceedings and related court matters that may affect the timing of resolution," the statement said.
As of last year, Hawaiʻi had not paid any of the five people who have sought wrongful conviction compensation. Of the 38 states with similar laws on the books, Hawaiʻi is the only one that has never paid a claimant.
Part of the holdup was caused by the law's wording, which requires petitioners to prove they are "actually innocent" even after being exonerated by a court. Defense attorneys said this standard was impossible to meet.
But a 2024 Hawaiʻi Supreme Court opinion issued in Jardine's case said the law should be interpreted more broadly. As long as the court order reversing a person's conviction supports "the conclusion that the petitioner did not commit the crime," the person's request for compensation can move forward, the opinion said.
This session, lawmakers are slated to approve payments in two wrongful conviction cases -- the $600,000 settlement for Jardine and a $420,000 settlement for Roynes Dural, a man whose 2003 sexual assault conviction was overturned after he spent eight years in prison. Dural filed his claim for compensation in 2021.
The state will still have to pay Jardine's money even though he is dead, Rhoads said. The sum will go to his 37-year-old daughter, Ashley Jardine, who is his next of kin. But Rhoads said he's disappointed that the law hasn't done what it was intended to do -- help wrongfully convicted people get back on their feet and reintegrate into society.
People who were wrongfully convicted don't get the same support upon leaving prison that many other formerly incarcerated people get, such as help obtaining identification documents and assistance with housing and employment, Rhoads said.
It's a "cruel irony" that he's hoping the legislature can rectify this year.
"When someone comes out, it should just be more or less automatic. File the paperwork, get the money and try to put your life back together," he said. "Instead, we strung him along for nine years until he died."
Jardine was tried three times for the 1990 knifepoint rape of a woman in her Haʻikū home. After the first two trials ended in hung juries, he was convicted by the third in 1992 and sentenced to 35 years in prison.
Jardine maintained his innocence throughout his incarceration. He had multiple chances to go before a parole board, accept responsibility for the crime and join a sex offender treatment program to get released, said his sister, Naomi Aloy.
She recalled talking to him on the phone and encouraging him to take the offer so he could come home sooner. But he refused to admit guilt.
"He kept his integrity," she said. "He knew who he was, he knew his heart, and he knew he didn't do it."
Shortly after the Hawaiʻi Innocence Project was founded at the University of Hawaiʻi Mānoa in 2005, one of the founding attorneys, Virginia Hench, visited him at the Tallahatchie County Correctional Facility in Mississippi, where he was being held.
She took his case, and attorneys moved to retest DNA evidence preserved from the scene of the crime. Thanks to advancements in DNA technology, the new analysis excluded Jardine as the source of bodily fluids found at the scene.
In 2011, a Maui judge ordered a new trial, but the prosecutor declined to retry the case.
Jardine was free, but his struggles weren't over.
He stayed with Aloy in Kahului for a few months, and she noticed how prison had affected his mind. He always asked permission before getting up to do something and sometimes called her "boss."
"A couple times he would say, 'Oh boss can I use the bathroom?' and I'd be like, 'I'm not your boss,'" she said. "He was pretty much brainwashed into the jail mentality."
She got him his own apartment in the same building, but he wasn't able to maintain the rent, she said. He later went to live with a girlfriend in Kula.
Before he went to prison, he had been a carpenter; but two decades later, he'd lost those skills and was never given the support to learn skills required for a job in the modern world
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