As Governor Phil Murphy prepares to depart Trenton, his legacy on one of the most consequential criminal justice issues of his tenure—mandatory minimum sentences—is not one of bold reform, but of profound contradiction.
His administration will be remembered not for ending mass incarceration, but for a split decision that speaks to the nation’s unresolved conflict between progressive ideals and political fear.
In one hand, the former multimillionaire Goldman Sachs executive held the promise of a new direction, using executive power to begin dismantling a cornerstone of the drug war.
In the other, he wielded a pen that created a new generation of harsh, inflexible penalties and preserved others for the politically powerful.
The result is a muddled record: a governor who saw the racial injustice in the system but could not bring himself to fully dismantle its machinery, especially when it came to crimes that capture headlines.
Under Murphy’s Republican predecessor, Chris Christie, New Jersey effectively eliminated money bail, creating a presumption of release for the vast majority of defendants and ensuring that people don’t languish in jail awaiting trial simply because they are poor.
Eight years later, New Jersey still has the highest rate of racial disparities in its prison population in the nation – and the ACLU of New Jersey says too many people are serving extreme sentences that are not commensurate with their crime or culpability.
Although he took office in January 2018, Murphy’s first grants of clemency were not announced until December 2024. Under the New Jersey Constitution, the Governor is given broad discretion and the sole authority to issue pardons and commutations to individuals convicted of state crimes.
Since then, the Governor exercised his executive authority to grant 307 clemency actions. Among those are 31 killers pardoned and released early from state prison after they were convicted of murder and aggravated manslaughter.
Among them was Kenneth Bacon-Vaughters, who was convicted in 2011 of killing 24-year-old Nathaniel Wiggins during an armed robbery at his apartment in Eatontown, on March 11, 2008. Bacon-Vaughters and several accomplices planned to rob the victim of his marijuana.
There are more than 3,500 people serving time for nonviolent felonies like drug possession, property crimes, and weapons offenses, according to recent statistics from the New Jersey Department of Corrections.
Murphy suggested that more pardons and commutations are coming before he leaves office on Jan. 20, 2026.
Although Murphy signed legislation in 2021, that made up to 6 ounces of cannabis legal in New Jersey, possession of marijuana may be considered a first-degree crime that can result in arrest and imprisonment for terms of up to 20 years.
New Jersey has an incarceration rate of 270 per 100,000 people (including prisons, jails, immigration detention, and juvenile justice facilities), meaning that the Garden State locks up a higher percentage of its people than almost any democratic country on earth according to the Prison Policy Initiative.
A Conditional Courage
The defining moment came in April 2021.
After years of deliberation and a unanimous 2019 recommendation from his own bipartisan Criminal Sentencing and Disposition Commission to end mandatory minimums for non-violent drug offenses, a bill finally reached Murphy’s desk.
The legislation sought to bring a measure of judicial discretion and racial fairness to a system where Black New Jerseyans constitute 14% of the population but 61% of its prison population, often for non-violent drug crimes.
Yet, Murphy conditionally vetoed it. His stated objection was not to the core reform, but to a legislative amendment that would have also eliminated mandatory minimums for official misconduct—crimes like bribery and corruption committed by elected officials.
In a revealing prioritization, Murphy framed this as a matter of “public trust,” arguing that politicians who abuse their office must face guaranteed prison time, even as he moved to eliminate such guarantees for countless citizens convicted of drug offenses.
On the very same day as this veto, however, Attorney General Gurbir Grewal, at Murphy’s direction, issued a sweeping executive directive.
Directive 2021-4 ordered prosecutors statewide to waive mandatory minimum parole disqualifiers for all non-violent drug offenses, both for future cases and for those already incarcerated.
This move was hailed as effectively ending the practice for these crimes “to the greatest extent possible under current law” and was lauded by reform advocates as a significant, if partial, victory.
The contradiction was stark. Through executive action, the Governor achieved a key reform goal, acknowledging that mandatory minimums have “an unjust and racially disparate impact.”
Through legislative inaction, he preserved a “tough-on-crime” totem for the political class, leaving the full, durable reform envisioned by his commission to languish.
A New Era of Mandatory Time
If Murphy’s record on drug crimes is one of conflicted progress, his actions on other offenses tilt decisively toward the punitive status quo he claimed to challenge.
In October 2024, he signed bipartisan legislation, S3006/A4299, creating two new categories of burglary with severe, mandatory penalties.
The law establishes “home invasion burglary” as a first-degree crime, carrying a sentence of 10 to 20 years, and “residential burglary” as a second-degree crime, carrying a sentence of 5 to 10 years.
Crucially, both are subject to the No Early Release Act (NERA), which requires those convicted to serve at least 85% of their sentence before becoming eligible for parole.
For a first-time offender convicted of entering an unoccupied dwelling, this represents a dramatic escalation from previous sentencing norms.
In signing this law, Governor Murphy embraced the very logic of one-size-fits-all sentencing he rejected in the drug context. “Today’s bipartisan legislation ensures that the penalties for burglary… reflect the severity of these crimes,” he stated, framing it as a necessary deterrent.
The legislation passed with overwhelming, nearly unanimous support, demonstrating the enduring political appeal of harsh mandatory sentences for certain feared crimes, even as their efficacy remains debated by criminologists.
A National Pattern, A Local Failure
Murphy’s dichotomy reflects a national failing. The United States incarcerates its citizens at a higher rate than any other wealthy democracy, with a system that disproportionately ensnares Black and brown Americans at every stage.
While state prison populations have begun to creep back toward pre-pandemic levels, the deep racial disparities persist: Black Americans are incarcerated in state prisons at nearly five times the rate of white Americans, and in local jails, they are admitted at more than four times the rate.
True reform requires moving beyond the “low-hanging fruit” of non-violent drug offenses to confront the more complex and politically fraught question of how society punishes a wider range of crimes.
It requires the political courage to trust judges with discretion across the board and to invest in the community-based prevention, treatment, and housing that truly enhance public safety.
By drawing a bright line between the crimes he deemed worthy of judicial mercy and those he deemed worthy of mandatory severity, Governor Murphy revealed the limits of his reform vision.
He acted where it was administratively convenient and politically safe, while stepping back from the harder, legislative work of creating a more humane and equitable system.
His legacy, therefore, is a sentence half-served. He offered relief to some—a commendable and impactful act—while reaffirming the punitive framework for others.
He leaves behind a New Jersey where the path to prison remains brightly lit for some and marginally dimmed for others, a testament to a reform impulse that looked squarely at injustice but could not break its gaze.
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