Myron Medcalf
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There is a video on YouTube that shows a 16-year-old Marvin Haynes, tucked into an oversized shirt, shivering as Minneapolis police officers ask him if he's been involved in the murder of Harry "Randy" Sherer at a flower shop in 2005.

"I ain't did nothing, man," he says as an officer removes his handcuffs.

"Marvin," the officer says, "if I were you, I wouldn't let someone else speak for me. … This is your one and only chance to straighten it out."

"I ain't did nothing," Haynes repeats.

"So you're telling me you're a cold-blooded killer?" the officer asks.

On Thursday, Haynes — who was recently released after his wrongful conviction for a murder he did not commit — will tell his story as part of the Mary Ann Key Book Club's community discussion about Anthony Ray Hinton's book, "The Sun Does Shine," at Minneapolis Central Library at 6:30 p.m. Hinton, who served more than 30 years on death row for a crime he did not commit, has a story that's familiar to Haynes, who spent his entire 20s and most of his 30s in prison.

Although he had rehearsed this opportunity to finally tell his story, he still gets nervous, he said, about opening up and discussing the most difficult chapter of his life.

"Every time I talk about it," he said, "I just get emotional."

I told him that's OK.

In that interrogation video, you can see he's just a kid — confused, concerned, scared. And then he asks for help, help that never comes, help that he's denied before a legal entanglement that would change his life forever.

"I want to have my mom down here," he says.

That moment demonstrates the irreparable harm Minnesota's justice system imposed upon a teenager whose family told police he had been home when the murder occurred. He also didn't fit the description of the assailant.

"Almost twenty years ago, a terrible injustice occurred when the state prosecuted Marvin Haynes," Mary Moriarty, the Hennepin County district attorney, said in a statement in December. "We inflicted harm on Mr. Haynes and his family, and also on Harry Sherer, the victim, his family, and the community. We cannot undo the trauma experienced by those impacted by this prosecution, but today we have taken a step toward righting this wrong."

On Thursday, Haynes will join other Minnesotans who can also relate to the impact of an unfair justice system. Minister JaNaé Bates is the co-director at Isaiah and her husband is incarcerated. Moseka Nhya is a staff member at All Square, "a nonprofit social enterprise that channels wealth and power to those impacted by mass incarceration" and a woman who has also been affected by the U.S. justice system. And Kevin Reese started Until We Are All Free, a human rights organization for formerly incarcerated individuals, after he served a 14-year stint in prison.

I was nervous to call Haynes for the first time a few weeks ago. I had not seen him since I was a Star Tribune reporting intern in the courtroom on the day he was convicted in 2005. He had read my story, where I quoted him telling the jury, "You all are going to burn in hell for this!"

"That was you?" he asked when we finally spoke.

"Yeah, man," I told him. "That was me."

I thought about including in this column a bunch of quotes from my conversation with Haynes, but I'd rather give him and the rest of the panel the floor to tell their own stories in their own words.

Those who have been affected by the American justice system are often overlooked while they're incarcerated and after they're released. Hinton spent more than three decades in prison for a murder he didn't commit, but he never received a dollar from the state of Alabama.

"Man, you spoiled it for me," said Haynes, disappointed, when I mentioned that to him because he hadn't finished the book at the time.

But he could relate to Hinton's stories. I hate that he can relate to Hinton's stories. But he can.

There's a fine line between fostering education and exploiting someone's pain. So I made Haynes a promise about Thursday's discussion, which I'll be moderating.

"If you need to cry, if you need a break, if you need to pause, you can do that," I told him.

I ask the folks who attend Thursday's panel to help me fulfill that promise.

When Haynes and the other panelists tell their stories, please hold space for them to be whoever they want to be and need to be on that stage. Give them room. Let them breathe.

I always wished I could have done more to help Haynes after I covered the verdict nearly 20 years ago. I hope Thursday is another opportunity for him to see that people in his community care about his experience and the journey that will continue now that he's free.

"It's a full circle moment," he said.