The Office of Youth and Community Restoration (OYCR)’s mission to provide comprehensive services for young people involved in the youth justice system relies on collaboration with a range of partners. We spoke with Kent Mendoza, Director of Policy at the Anti-Recidivism Coalition (ARC) and recipient of OYCR’s 2024 Outstanding Youth Justice Advocate Award. Mendoza is an advocate through and through, from his policy work at ARC and leadership roles on government boards and committees, to his mentorship of young people and creative expression as a filmmaker, artist, and more. 

Note: Responses have been lightly edited for clarity and flow. Some answers include excerpts from different parts of the interview to present a cohesive narrative. 

You’ve shared your story in many powerful ways. For those who haven’t heard it, how would you introduce yourself? 

My name is Kent Mendoza. I am the Director of Policy at the Anti-Recidivism Coalition, a nonprofit community-based organization that works with currently and formerly incarcerated individuals. We provide services for youth and adults who are coming home from incarceration, [including] re-entry services inside facilities, and we do policy advocacy. 

More than 10 years ago, I was released after spending five years incarcerated. I was released on April 9, 2014, at the age of 20. Ever since that day, I’ve been crime-free and decided to dedicate my life to changing the system for the better. I’ve used my story to implement policy, change perspectives, and persuade elected officials through public speaking and films. I’m also an artist that draws, paints, and writes. At the same time, I serve on government-appointed boards and commissions. In 2016, I was appointed by Governor Jerry Brown to the State Advisory Committee on Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention, which is a committee that’s now living under OYCR. Now, in 2025, I’m Chair of the committee. 

I can confidently say that I have personally contributed to the passage of at least 35 state laws in California from different capacities, whether by leading the meetings, writing and sharing my story, or speaking in a public space… My organization, along with other organizations, worked on legislation [SB 823] that pushed for OYCR to be created. 

Looking back, what experiences most influenced your understanding of the justice system and your place in it?  

I went to juvenile hall at 14 and 15 years old, but I didn’t really face a real uphill scenario until I was 17 years old when I was tried as an adult despite still being underage. Growing up in a community where unfortunate realities contributed to me making poor decisions, [the fact] that those decisions ended in incarceration as a juvenile really made me think, “Shoot… I came all the way from Mexico as an immigrant kid just so I could end up in a cell?!” That is what led me to start rethinking and questioning my own self and identity within the cell, within the darkest place in my life. 

Before being incarcerated, I had no idea what or how any system was impacting my life. I grew up as an undocumented kid, so you can just imagine the additional barriers that I experienced all the way into high school and eventually juvenile hall. But at 17 in juvenile hall, I began to educate myself by reading books, and that’s where I was first introduced to systems of oppression. I read books about the Holocaust, Cesar Chavez, Malcolm X, Pancho Villa, and Zapata. Nelson Mandela was my greatest indirect mentor. His story about serving 27 years in prison then becoming the president of South Africa was inspiring to me… I didn’t know I was going to get out years later, that I was going to beat my case, because I was facing 25-to-life as a kid. But I would become what I was reading in the books.  

What moments shaped your motivation to become an advocate? 

I feel like having read those books, meeting a mentor that showed me love and compassion I never experienced in my life, and reading the Bible, and eventually coming home early and becoming a resident of this country — those things really helped me.  

They quoted me in The Guardian: “This weird white guy came and visited me.” And when I first saw [my mentor Scott Budnick, founder of the ARC], I really thought he was a weird white guy because he came to visit me at 17 years of age telling me all this crazy stuff, that I’m going to do this and that. “Bro, I’m about to do 25 years, what are you talking about?” But somehow he made me feel like I could believe him, like I could believe in myself and have faith. To this day, he’s still my mentor… 

After five years of incarceration, I was sent to ICE detention to explore my deportation instead of being reunited with my family and despite having approved legal status. So, I felt empowered to share my story. I sat down with the immigration agent and told him this is who I am, this is how I grew up, and this is what I’ve done while I’ve been incarcerated. I told him about how I read books about Nelson Mandela, the Bible, this and that. I told him everything. I told him, “If I get released right now and you don’t deport me, these are the things I want to do. I want to go to college. I want to build a family. I want to help kids.” And because I told him my story, he let me go home [in Los Angeles] that day.  

I never thought I would find these gems in my experience in jail, [that I would] change an immigration agent’s perspective about me. Those moments really made me feel like I have a bigger purpose than just being a normal person in this society. 

When I got out at 20, I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do in life, but I knew I didn’t want to go back to jail. I automatically went to East Los Angeles College and decided to pursue political science as my major because I wanted to leave a legacy and do public safety work. We look at the past at how people used to fight in the civil rights movement, [against] slavery, all those things. I wanted to be one of those people. 

Why is mentorship so important for young people who are systems-involved? 

For Black and brown youth, most of us are in jail for gang-related stuff, and there’s a lot of reasons why we join gangs, but I think one thing we all lack is positive male role models. Male figures in our lives didn’t allow us to show vulnerability. But, in reality, we just want to be loved, and we want the same stuff any other kid wants.  

We’ve [also] been lied to all our lives. People tell us they’re going to be there for us, but they’re never actually there. When someone shows up in our lives, we expect them to leave. When you have people that believe in you, show you love and compassion, and they are still there through thick and thin, that’s when you start opening yourself to be more vulnerable, to accept the positive tool they’re giving to you versus pushing them away. 

Beyond your role at ARC, can you share more about the work you do with young people? 

I am a person that’s doing this work not just for the check… I enjoy my work, and I’m really good at working with young people. I can talk to them and motivate them. And when I do policy advocacy, I like to take them with me — a whole delegation of young people that are all suited and booted, dressing fresh.  

Going back to my stories about reading books, every book that I read was about some leader that came from the hood… I grew up in the hood as a troubled youth, and I never had real leaders. I never had nobody teaching me stuff, so now I’m teaching other young people.  

It should be cool that you are a nerd, and you’re going to college, and you know how to hold your ground and speak in front of 600 people. Those are leadership qualities. Wouldn’t a boss want to have that leadership quality? Wouldn’t a boss-level person want to talk to senators, those who run your county and state? That’s what I try to teach young people, and that’s why I do this work… In the hood, the homie has a car, the homie has a girl, the homie has drugs. But guess what? I got a suit. You’re going to go on a flight with me to Sacramento. You’re going to meet with a senator. You’re going to be doing some high-level stuff that anyone in the hood could do but doesn’t. 

I’ve been doing this for 10 years, and I’ve never had to glorify my gang or lifestyle to any youngsters. A good mentor, a credible messenger, is someone that knows how to motivate and inspire young people without glorifying… I feel like if there were more like me, if I could duplicate myself or create more youngsters that can see it like this, then we can really make change in our communities. 

What makes advocacy directly led by young people so essential to change that’s lasting? 

One thing that happens a lot is that we tend to silence our own people. Sometimes our allies are advocating on our behalf, but not really for what we want, or it’s not rooted in real experiences but simply academia. You must make sure you’re listening to the people before you try to implement a policy that’s going to impact that population. If you’re just talking about it from a perspective of data, then you’re going to miss the authenticity of that experience, and you’re going to come up with a policy that’s going to cater to everything else. 

Know that it’s easier for someone that’s never been locked up and has gone to school to speak in a public space. It’s easier for someone that’s never been locked up to write a report or understand things or be in a conversation. It’s harder for someone that’s been locked up, traumatized, who probably lacks confidence. It takes time. We must keep that in mind as we’re working in these spaces. 

If you could give one piece of advice to OYCR and other stakeholders as they continue to evolve in this post-DJJ era, what would it be? 

Please continue to figure out creative ways to utilize your community, see them as assets to get the things that you want to done. I think I am probably one of those examples. Do not tokenize us, do not abuse us, but use us as a resource and see the value in your own community. People sometimes are looking elsewhere for solutions when it’s right in front of you.