I don’t fault George Santos or Sean Combs for wanting a commutation or pardon.
No one should.
If you’ve ever been inside the system, or even near it, you understand that instinct. When you’re counting days, any hint of hope looks like light.

But asking for mercy and earning it aren’t the same thing.
That’s the distinction we keep ignoring.

The Case for Sean Combs

I’ll start with Combs because, frankly, he’s earned a more honest look than the headlines give him.

He’s spent more than a year at MDC Brooklyn — not in a comfortable halfway house, not on home confinement — a grim federal detention center where teaching a class or mentoring anyone requires focus and humility.

Yet he’s done it.
He’s been leading a business and entrepreneurship course for other prisoners. Not a PR stunt. Not a staged appearance. Real work that gives men in custody something they rarely get: a chance to build a skill before they get out.

That’s contribution.
That’s using your platform the right way.

I’m not suggesting a class makes someone perfect or wipes out their past. But inside a system built on idleness, teaching is a radical act. It says, “I still have something to offer.”

So if Combs eventually receives clemency, I’d call it earned consideration. He’s done time — hard time — and documented tangible work.

The Problem with George Santos

Santos, on the other hand, has shown none of that.

No volunteer work. No record of service. No evidence of mentoring others. Just another round of self-promotion and victimhood.

And yet, he walks free.

That’s what sticks with people who’ve actually done the work. It tells them the game is rigged — that effort matters less than attention. When the public sees that, it doesn’t make them believe in second chances. It makes them cynical about all of them.

When Mercy Looks Political

Let’s be honest — this isn’t new. Presidents from both parties have stretched mercy beyond reason.

Take Hunter Biden.
President Biden issued a full and unconditional pardon for his son, covering gun and tax offenses, despite saying publicly he’d never do it. Whether you view it as compassion or corruption, it feeds the idea that mercy depends on proximity, not principle.

Then there’s Michael Conahan, the Pennsylvania judge behind the kids-for-cash scandal. He funneled children into private detention centers for profit — and still got his 17-year sentence commuted. The families of those kids didn’t get mercy.

Or Trevor Milton, founder of Nikola Corporation, convicted of securities fraud. His commutation shocked prosecutors and investors who saw it as an erasure of accountability for white-collar crime.

Add to that a long line of other questionable clemencies: lobbyists, donors, insiders, even political allies. Both Trump and Biden have used the same tool — sometimes for people who did nothing to show remorse or contribute meaningfully afterward.

That’s not mercy. That’s marketing.

And it’s exactly why Combs’s case stands out.

He’s the rare example of someone inside actually doing the work that should precede mercy — while others collect favors on the outside.

Mercy vs. Access

What bothers me most isn’t that presidents use the power. It’s that we’ve accepted a version of mercy that looks more like access.

Clemency shouldn’t be a reward for loyalty or family ties. It should be a recognition of contribution and time served doing something to make the system better.

Combs has done that.
Santos hasn’t.
And neither political party seems interested in drawing that line.

Because when clemency becomes a press release, not a process, it punishes the quiet ones — the men and women inside documenting progress, mentoring others, making slow, unglamorous change.

What Real Mercy Should Mean

In every prison I’ve been in, I’ve seen people earning their way back.
Teaching GED classes. Helping others write letters home.
They don’t get headlines or presidential signatures. But they’ve done the work.

So when I see Combs, inside MDC, still teaching and creating opportunity, I pay attention. That’s work separates him from others who just talk about doing the work.

Contrast that with Santos — a man freed on narrative, not record — and you see exactly what’s broken about mercy in America.

Until the standard becomes contribution over connection, we’ll keep watching the same movie: the powerful getting passes while the disciplined wait quietly behind bars.

Bottom Line:
Mercy should be earned, not granted through politics or proximity.
If clemency means anything, it should go to the person who’s shown work, humility, and discipline — not the one who simply knows the right people.

Combs is doing the work.
Santos played the victim.
And our presidents, past and present, keep blurring the difference.

Thank you,

Justin Paperny, Author of Lessons From Prison and After the Fall.