36 Years, Two Days, and a Parole Board
Thirty-six years ago today, late on the evening of August 20th, 1989, two prominent people in Beverly Hills were murdered in their home. The cold shots that echoed through the quiet evening came to define a painful, complicated story that the nation could hardly look away from.
Today marks the 36th anniversary of that double homicide, one that would become a media saga and a flashpoint of debates around abuse, justice, and redemption. Today marks the 36th anniversary of Eric and Lyle Menendez taking the lives of their parents, Jose and Kitty Menendez.
For decades, the Menendez brothers’ case has been picked apart by the media, the courts, and the public. At first, their claims of abuse were mocked and dismissed. The narrative centered only on wealth, entitlement, and brutality. But as time passed, truths began to surface. Documentation, testimony, and a deeper cultural shift around how we understand trauma and abuse revealed what many had once refused to believe: Eric and Lyle endured immense, untreated trauma inside the very home where they later committed unthinkable harm.
If the universe ever arranged a full-circle moment, this is it. Tomorrow, Thursday, August 21st—36 years and one day after that night—Eric Menendez will appear before the California Parole Board for the first time. On Friday, August 22nd—36 years and two days after that night—his older brother Lyle will follow.
These hearings are not simply another chapter in a true crime saga. For all of those who have loved ones serving life without the possibility of parole (LWOP) sentences, and for all of us who fight for reforms around LWOP, this moment is deeply significant. It represents not only the lives of two men who have spent decades behind bars, but also the broader question of whether redemption, growth, and healing can ever outweigh punishment.
The Menendez brothers caused real harm — but they also lived through immense, untreated harm. They have done their time. It is time for them to come home.
Their potential release would not erase the past, but it could mark the beginning of a new narrative: one where LWOP is no longer seen as a permanent erasure of a person’s humanity, but as a sentence that can be reconsidered in light of accountability, change, and trauma. Their case stands as a signal flare for a broader movement — one calling for an end to LWOP sentences, and for a justice system that balances accountability with the possibility of redemption.
As we reflect on this anniversary, may we also recognize what lies ahead: a chance to reshape how we see justice, how we respond to harm, and how we embrace the possibility of change.
For me, this moment connects deeply to the work I do every day: helping people prepare for parole hearings, researching parole board patterns, and supporting families through the process. The Menendez brothers’ hearings are extraordinary in their visibility, but for so many others whose names will never make the headlines, parole is the same crossroads — where past harm, personal transformation, and the possibility of freedom all collide.
— Alesha
