Faith Through the Fire of a False Charge

Incarcerated for months under harsh conditions in St. Louis County Jail, James found relief and hope through The Bail Project. His struggle continues, but so does his faith.

James is 44 years old, a native son of St. Louis, Missouri, and a man who has spent most of his life working hard, taking pride in providing for himself. Before July 17, 2024, his days were steady: a full-time job that paid $1,400 a week, his own home, the kind of stability that had taken years to build. Then an allegation of possession of a firearm broke all of that apart.

James insists the charge is false. A younger man he was with carried the weapon, but James, choosing not to run when the police arrived, was the one left behind. His refusal to flee was read as guilt, and he became the one handcuffed, booked, and locked away.

St. Louis County Jail was not just confinement. It was torment. On his first day, James said, he was forced into a line where jailers injected him with shots he did not want: tuberculosis, hepatitis, “normal procedures,” they called it. Soon, his body erupted in blisters, even in the most private places, sores that bled through his boxers at night.

Inside, cells lacked working toilets. Work assignments were compulsory. Refusal meant lockdown. His medical condition kept him from serving in the kitchen, so the punishment was isolation. For four months, James endured what he describes as an assault on his health, dignity, and faith.

Other men in his unit told him about The Bail Project. They called it a lifeline. He listened, applied, and within a week and a half of reaching the organization, his case was processed. By November 22, 2024 – three months after his arrest – James walked free.

The process of working with The Bail Project “was fast,” he recalled, relief mixing with disbelief. “Once they stepped in, it was like I could breathe again.”

Freedom did not mean restoration. Since his release, James has not returned to the stability he once knew. His weekly income has fallen to a fraction of what it was. He has no home of his own, instead rotating between relatives’ houses. Every court date brings a new public defender. His case drags on, unresolved, and the uncertainty hangs over him like a cloud.

“I know I’m going through this for a reason. With faith and positivity, everything is going to work out just fine.”

Still, James holds tight to his faith. He prays daily, attends church, and leans on scripture. Temp agency work keeps him afloat, though it is inconsistent. He refuses to let bitterness take root. “I know I’m going through this for a reason,” he said. “With faith and positivity, everything is going to work out just fine.”

James has a message for critics who argue that bail reform frees dangerous criminals. “That’s being judgmental,” he said plainly. “Not everybody is bad. You’d have to put yourself in that position to understand. If they did, they’d see things differently.”

He recalls the mix of people locked up with him: fathers, workers, homeowners, ordinary people whose lives were upended by allegations. “Some wasn’t supposed to be there, and it’s unfortunate they had to go through it.”

Now, James lives with the hope that his case will be dismissed. He is tired, weary from carrying the weight of accusation, tired of waking with the same thought pressing into his mind. “I’m getting gray hairs behind it,” he admitted. “I just want this to be at rest.”

“I believe God put me through this for a reason. And I believe he’ll bring me through.”

Until then, James clings to the conviction that his story is not finished. “I believe God put me through this for a reason,” he said, his voice steady with quiet resolve. “And I believe he’ll bring me through.”