Los Angeles
CNN
—
Erik Menendez was 19 years old in 1990 when he stepped off a plane at Los Angeles International Airport and surrendered to detectives waiting to arrest him for murder. His 22-year-old brother, Lyle, had been taken into custody days earlier as he left their family’s Beverly Hills mansion – where the siblings had fatally shot their parents in what would become one of the most sensational cases of the 80s and 90s.
The brothers haven’t been free since.
After spending more than three decades in prison for the killings of their parents, Erik and Lyle – along with family members, a former prosecutor and an army of online supporters – are determined to have their life sentences reexamined and secure their freedom.
Though their bid for release gained extraordinary momentum under former Los Angeles County District Attorney George Gascón, newly installed District Attorney Nathan Hochman has vehemently opposed the brothers’ efforts.
Now middle-aged, the Menendez siblings still live in public memory as the sweater-clad young men who took the witness stand in the 90s, portrayed by prosecutors and media as arrogant, self-assured heirs to their parents’ $14 million estate. If released, the brothers would reintegrate into society as men in their 50s who have spent the majority of their adult lives navigating prison.
Though they have largely remained out of the public eye, a handful of close family members have never stopped communicating with them, following the siblings from county jail to maximum security prisons and, finally, an innovative California correctional facility.
Anamaria Baralt, a cousin of the Menendez brothers, was stunned by the trauma and voracious national attention surrounding her cousins’ crime. As children, the trio of cousins was almost inseparable, and as a young college student when the murders happened, she didn’t think twice about remaining by the brothers’ side as they faced trial and imprisonment.
“It never occurred to me not to,” she said. “I love them more than anything. Always have, always will.”
Baralt and a coalition of more than 20 Menendez relatives are pleading for the brothers to be released, pointing to society’s changed understanding of childhood sexual abuse as well as years of prison rehabilitative programs the brothers have led as they serve life sentences.
“Release was never on the table, and they did it anyway, which is really stunning to me,” Baralt said of her cousins’ prison programs. “It was a desire to make their lives worth something, and they’ve succeeded. As far as I’m concerned, they are living full lives, really full lives, full of purpose and meaning.”
Now, the family is anxiously waiting to hear whether a judge, or even Gov. Gavin Newsom, will decide Erik and Lyle can be free. A hearing will be held April 11 to determine whether Hochman can withdraw his predecessor’s motion supporting the brothers’ release.
Here is how the brothers have spent the last three decades behind bars.
Erik and Lyle spent six years in Los Angeles County jail awaiting the results of their trials and subsequent retrial, eventually sharing cellblock conversations with fellow detainee O.J. Simpson, who had been charged with murder in the 1994 killing of his ex-wife.
The trio had already met long before their high-profile trials. Simpson visited the Menendez family’s home in the 1970s, even tossing a football with Lyle in the backyard. At the time, José Menendez was an executive at Hertz and Simpson was a spokesperson for the car rental company.
“My brother was in the cell next to him for most of his trial, so we had a lot of conversations,” Lyle told People Magazine in 2017. Simpson, Lyle remembered, seemed “very overwhelmed by what was happening to him.”
Simpson was ultimately acquitted, which Erik believed impacted the outcome of the brother’s second trial. Simpson’s case – often pitched side-by-side with the Menendezes’ in newspapers – triggered public outrage at the Los Angeles justice system.
“There was a sense extreme injustice had happened. And now we’re gonna have to right it with every defendant that comes up, and we were the next defendant,” Erik said in the A&E docuseries “The Menendez Murders: Erik Tells All.”
Facing the reality of their 1996 life sentences without the possibility of parole, the brothers began to fear they would be sent to separate prisons, a stark likelihood as prosecutors publicly called for Erik and Lyle to be split up.
In a 1996 interview with Barbara Walters, Erik said he believed there was “a good probability that I will never see (Lyle) again.” He added: “(There are) some things that you cannot take and there are some things that you can endure. With everything taken away, it’s the last thing you can take.”
Their fears came true in September 1996, when they were separated and bussed more than 300 miles apart to what were then maximum security prisons: Lyle sent to California Correctional Institution and Erik to Folsom State Prison, a notoriously violent facility with a reputation for being “the end of the line.”
“They put him in one van and I didn’t understand why they were putting me in another van. I started screaming out to Lyle and they shut the door. It was the last time I saw him.” Erik recalled in the Netflix documentary “The Menendez Brothers.”
Lyle has described the beginning of their prison life as “tremendously painful,” recalling in the Netflix documentary Erik attempted a hunger strike in an effort to prevent their separation.
Though Baralt rarely spoke with Lyle about the murders or prison violence, she could tell the separation weighed on him. “That was always hard on him to worry about Erik.”
Baralt kept in regular contact with Lyle, constantly concerned for the brothers’ safety as she heard through other family members they were experiencing bullying and at times physical assault.
“That’s a rough place full of rough people. So I’ve always been concerned,” Baralt said.
Erik has recounted being bullied violently while at Folsom, describing in the Netflix documentary that the brothers’ facilities were “restrictive, violent prisons where we were constantly in chains, in shackles, and handcuffed.”
“I remember the day that I was told Lyle just got assaulted and got his jaw broken,” Erik told TMZ earlier this year. “I’m thinking, ‘He’s over there. I’m going through this over here, and at least we could protect each other, maybe, if we were together.’”
Lyle refused to fight back when attacked, prompting prison officials to move him to a special needs yard for his safety, according to a resentencing motion filed in court. Baralt said the action “absolutely aligns” with the man she knows.
“Something that has always bothered me with the portrayals of (Lyle) through the years and all of the scripted shows is that they always portray him as this hot headed, rage-fueled person, and I have literally never heard him raise his voice — not once in my entire life. So I’m not sure where that comes from,” Baralt said.
After more than 20 years apart, Erik and Lyle were reunited in 2018 at one of California’s innovative correctional facilities, which runs a one-of-kind prison yard, fully functioning bakery and shoe factory, and a laundry list of rehabilitative programs such as yoga, meditation and art classes.
Lyle was transferred to the RJ Donovan Correctional Facility in San Diego in 2013, but Erik didn’t arrive at the prison years later. There, the siblings have appeared to take full advantage of a prison initiative that allows inmates to create and run their own rehabilitation programs.
These rehabilitative efforts have formed the backbone of former district attorney Gascón’s argument that the brothers should be released – an effort now being capsized by his successor.
In his motion supporting their resentencing, former district attorney Gascón cited a laundry list of prison programs run by the siblings. Erik has helped start at least five programs, including a support group for disabled and elderly inmates. He learned American Sign Language so he could communicate with the deaf inmates he lives with, the motion said.
Erik is also certified to teach courses on meditation and has led workshops on addressing “toxic shame” and alternatives to violence, according to Gascón’s motion.
“At one point with all the programs and classes Erik Menendez founded, Erik Menendez was (and may still be) teaching five different classes in the course of a week,” the motion stated.
Chandrika Kelso, director of the Alternatives to Violence program at the prison, described Erik as a “good leader” who “interacts beautifully” with workshop participants.
Erik also threw himself into painting, becoming a skilled artist, producing intricate oil paintings and contributing to murals across the prison yard.
“Art was an important outlet for me. I took to it like someone who is thirsty takes to water,” he told TMZ. “Sometimes I would paint for 12 hours a day. From morning to night I would just be painting.”
The murals are part of a massive prison beautification program founded by Lyle, the Green Space Project. The initiative is part of California’s effort to reduce recidivism, in part by “normalizing” the prison environment and making it more closely resemble the outside world. “The more life in prison resembles life in the community,” the project states, “the easier it will be to transition upon release.”
Lyle has helped raise more than $250,000 for Green Space, which plans to install trees, grass and outdoor community gathering spaces. The project would also include shady areas for the service dogs prisoners help train for Guide Dogs of America.
Gabe Rosales, an outside volunteer who helps coordinate Green Space, said the program is an example of “generative justice” where prisoners are “able to feel like they’re part of the community” and create something of value.
Lyle cofounded a group for inmates to explore how their negative childhood experiences may have led to their criminal behavior and a mentorship group in which prisoners with life sentences mentor younger inmates who are eligible for release.
Inmate-led programs like those at RJ Donovan can be more impactful than those led by outside facilitators or prison personnel, said Rosales, who is formerly incarcerated and is now pursuing a doctorate in criminology at the University of California Irvine.
“People are willing to let their guard down, and they actually get something out of it, as opposed to being spoken to by somebody that has no experience at all with what you’re dealing with,” Rosales said.
Most of the programs operated by Erik and Lyle were founded years before they gained new hope for release, but program facilitators and Menendez family members say the brothers plan to continue their work – whether inside prison or out of it.
“Hopefully they’ll continue to do it on the outside, but even if they were to stay inside, they’re really, truly making their community better,” Baralt said.
Though the brothers enjoyed the resounding support of former district attorney Gascón, their chances of release have been cast into doubt under Hochman, the new DA who has opposed their request for a new trial and is attempting to withdraw his predecessor’s resentencing motion. The decisions now lie with a judge.
Gascón focused his motion heavily on the brothers’ rehabilitative efforts, but Hochman insists the activities are not enough to justify their freedom. Instead, Hochman said he believes the siblings have failed to take full responsibility for their crime and accused them of perpetuating a decades-long lie they killed their parents in self-defense after years of childhood abuse at the hands of their father.
Hochman has said he would reconsider his opposition if the brothers admit “they have lied to everyone for the past 30 years.”
But Erik and Lyle have consistently maintained their claims and the brothers have remained outspoken about the trauma of sexual abuse, saying they have received thousands of letters from abuse survivors.
Baralt called Hochman a “side show” and said the brothers won’t reverse their decades-long defense.
“There is no part of me that thinks that Lyle and Erik are going to capitulate to his demands,” Baralt said. “That would be a slap in the face to every survivor that they have stood up for in their lives.”
If released, the brothers have said they would continue their advocacy for prison rehabilitation and childhood abuse survivors, according to Baralt. Kelso said she has spoken to Lyle and Erik about working with her nonprofit, Helping without Prejudice, to expand their programs to other prisons.
“They are driven to meet their goals of personal and professional edification,” Kelso said. “I think their motivation comes from within. They tend to see the brighter sides of life.”
Despite the outcome of their appeal for release, Baralt believes the brothers will positively impact the lives of the people around them – whether inside or outside the prison walls.
“They have been an asset to society, even without ever having the hope of being released into society,” she said.
