I spent time this week reviewing the sentencing, media tour, and public comments made by George Santos, who’s now facing 87 months in federal prison. I don’t follow politics—I don’t have time. I run a business, I raise a family, and I read books on ethics when I can steal a quiet moment. But I do pay attention when someone like Santos pleads guilty to stealing campaign funds, lying to the U.S. House of Representatives, and filing fake FEC reports, then claims he’s the victim. I pay attention because I’ve seen this mindset before. And I know what it leads to inside prison and long after the sentence ends.
When I went to prison in 2008, I felt the same way. I blamed everyone around me. I told myself I didn’t really deserve 18 months. I used happy talk. I quoted clichés. I lied to my family and the people who relied on me. I watched others do the same. George Santos is no exception. The only difference is he still thinks he’s smarter than the system that just took everything from him.
Mistake #5: Talking Too Much
In his interview with Tucker Carlson, Santos made one thing clear—he doesn’t know when to stop talking. I’ve met hundreds of people like him inside prison. They arrive loud, defensive, eager to explain their case to anyone who will listen. That strategy collapses fast. The more you talk, the more you reveal. You give people ammunition. You sound weak. You draw attention you don’t want.
Santos said on air that when Carlson’s team reached out, he had to say yes—because “you’re Tucker Carlson.” That’s the logic of someone still playing to an audience. But inside a federal prison camp, nobody cares. And the ones who pretend to care? They’re either setting you up or using you to gain something. Silence builds trust. Silence gives you space to observe. Silence keeps you safe.
Mistake #4: Violating Unwritten Rules
Santos claimed he’s going to a medium-security prison, which is almost certainly false. I’d bet money he’s designated to a minimum-security camp. But even there, rules exist—rules that aren’t posted. Rules that, if broken, won’t lead to a write-up, but might earn you a cold shoulder, a confrontation, or worse.
Changing the television channel in the TV room without asking. Sitting at the wrong table in the chow hall. Hogging the email machine. These are the mistakes new prisoners make when they think prison is about comfort or entitlement. Santos talks as if he’s still entitled. He won’t be for long.
When I arrived at Taft Federal Prison Camp, I made these same errors. I assumed my background gave me leverage. It didn’t. It just made me more visible. It took weeks to reset, and longer to repair the relationships I damaged by trying to control my surroundings.
Mistake #3: Getting Too Close to Staff
Santos will likely gravitate toward staff. People who believe they’ve been wrongfully convicted often do. They spend time near case managers or officers because they don’t see themselves as belonging. But proximity to staff creates suspicion. It creates distance between you and everyone else.
I’ve written before about a prisoner who tried to befriend staff. He went to complain about a bunkmate. The next day, he found feces in his bed. A week later, transferred to another facility, it happened again. Prisoners talk. Labels follow. Even those who haven’t done anything wrong will get pulled into the consequences of that perception.
In my book, I told that story because it stuck with me. He was naïve, not malicious. But in prison, the line between those two things is thin.
Mistake #2: Lying and Breaking Your Word
Santos has built his brand on lies. The resume lies. The donations. The benefits fraud. The stories about 9/11 and Pulse nightclub victims. He admitted guilt in court but continued denying it in public. That behavior doesn’t stop at sentencing. It follows people into the prison yard, into the housing unit, into commissary.
And lying in federal prison—whether about paying someone back or promising to participate in a class—destroys credibility. I’ve seen men lose their standing over a $5 debt or a broken handshake. It’s not about the money. It’s about trust.
If Santos borrows items from someone’s commissary list and doesn’t pay them back, word spreads. If he says he’ll do something and fails, he’ll be written off. Even prisoners who’ve been inside for decades don’t want to deal with people who lie to their face. The ones preparing to come home? They avoid it at all costs.
Mistake #1: Talking About a Pardon
Santos wants a pardon. He’s still talking about it. In prison, such talk can isolate individuals. Most prisoners don’t have political connections. They don’t have access to high-paid lawyers or platforms. They’ve done the work. They’ve served quietly. They’ve built a track record and they are not getting or talking about a pardon.
When someone walks in acting like they’ll be released early just because they know someone or posted a flattering tweet, it’s insulting. It turns potential mentors into skeptics. It undermines the dignity of those actually doing the work.
Michael Santos, my mentor, taught me one thing early: the only way out is through a record of work, not promises or shortcuts. That’s true whether you’re anonymous or infamous.
What George Santos Must Do Next
Before my life began to improve, I had to say something out loud that George Santos hasn’t said yet: It’s all my fault. No more blame. No more stories. No more hoping someone else would fix it. I had to do the work. I had to earn back the trust I destroyed.
So I’ll ask you the same question I had to answer: What are you doing—today—to prove that you’re worthy of leniency?
Join our webinar or schedule a personal call. If you’re serious about preparing for sentencing or surrender, we’ll show you what the stakeholders actually look for—and what they’ll ignore. Start documenting it now. Not later.
Justin Paperny
