Larry Sapp fought a long legal battle to serve as a trustee in south suburban Sauk Village, and he lost — badly — in three court venues. The final blow came July 3, when the 7th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals ruled that Sapp has no right to take public office in Illinois.
He is not eligible to vote on budget issues, village ordinances or personnel matters, and he will not be receiving a $600 monthly stipend that Sauk Village pays its trustees.
Sapp, you see, is a twice-convicted drug felon. And while the law permits felons to serve as president of the United States — witness Republican frontrunner Donald Trump — Illinois and most other states bar them from serving in thousands of lower-level elected offices. Many felons also are barred from occupational licenses, job opportunities, access to housing and other freedoms. Consequences, albeit generously less onerous, apply to those convicted of some misdemeanor offenses as well.
Lawmakers on both sides of the aisle have recognized how this officially sanctioned discrimination makes it harder for ex-offenders to earn an honest living, among other ills. The restrictions disproportionately affect people of color and the poor, imposing what amounts to a permanent sentence.
Trump’s conviction in May for falsifying business records in New York (which he is appealing) has put a spotlight on the entanglements that felons face. As in Illinois, felons in New York generally aren’t allowed to serve in elected offices across the state. Felons aren’t eligible for permits to own firearms. Most can’t get government security clearances. Dozens of foreign countries bar most U.S. felons from entering. And while New York allows felons to vote if they are not incarcerated, other states can and do strip away even that most basic of rights.
Not all felons are created equal. Felons with resources and connections sometimes sidestep the restrictions, and getting elected president is not necessarily required. New York, for instance, offers certificates of good conduct that restore all rights after a certain period for certain felonies.
While the rules vary from state to state, governors across the country periodically issue pardons that can have the same effect, erasing convictions for state crimes. In a case the Illinois Supreme Court decided in 2021, Mayor Roger Agpawa of south suburban Markham was allowed to remain in office despite a 1999 mail fraud conviction, after former Gov. Bruce Rauner restored his citizenship rights.
Another option involves expunging and sealing criminal records. Though subject to widely varying rules in each state, the goal is removing the record from public access so it can’t be seen by employers, landlords, lenders, schools and, for the most part, law enforcement. Illinois, which already has relatively loose restrictions on felons, has a well-organized movement of people dedicated to using these legal steps to give felons a so-called second chance.
Given the lifelong impact of felony convictions, the support behind clearing criminal records is understandable, especially for long-ago, nonviolent crimes. But the push to wipe away the past should proceed with caution. Public safety needs to be protected, law enforcement deserves to know who it’s dealing with, and the victims of crime should be able to rest assured that criminals will be held accountable.
Consider how a sealed record could hinder law enforcement’s ability to assess the risk when responding to a domestic incident, or a judge’s decision related to child custody and visitation. And especially in a state such as Illinois notorious for official misconduct, shouldn’t voters be made aware if a candidate has a hidden criminal record?
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In the case of Sapp, who won election to the Sauk Village board in 2021, an Illinois court swiftly concluded that, without the pardon or restoration of rights that he requested but never received, state law barred him from holding public office. After being ousted in 2022, Sapp kept fighting.
In an interview with the Tribune-affiliated Daily Southtown, Sapp explained that his drug convictions in 1988 and 1998 stemmed from his efforts to self-medicate after being sexually assaulted while serving in the U.S. Army. Locked up for more than a year as he awaited trial in the second case, he jumped at a plea deal. “They didn’t tell me that this was an albatross I was placing around my neck,” he told the Daily Southtown.
Sapp put drugs behind him and launched a new life of community service, starting two nonprofits, mentoring addicts and becoming prominent in his small community. In 2021, the people of Sauk Village elected him to a four-year term on their governing board. But then the Cook County state’s attorney got wind of a felon taking office and petitioned for his removal.
After the state court disqualified him, Sapp turned to federal court, claiming the Illinois laws amount to cruel and unusual punishment. Turns out, the laws he challenged have stood up to challenges before, and federal law was no more friendly to his cause than the state. While acknowledging that Sapp had become a productive citizen, the 7th Circuit demolished his legal arguments and affirmed his ouster.
Sapp is a sympathetic figure, and he seems to us to be a fine candidate for some kind of pardon with his rights restored. Meantime, we can only imagine what he and the millions of other U.S. felons might be thinking as the Republican Party prepares to nominate a candidate for the nation’s highest office with 34 fresh felony convictions to his name — a candidate who under Illinois law, supported by these latest rulings, would be unfit to serve as a trustee in Sauk Village.