by TaSin Sabir, LSPC Communications Manager and Editor-in-Chief of AOUON Newspaper
The 25th Annual Community Giveback, held at Oakland High on December 14, felt like a hug that stretched far beyond the walls that separate children from their relatives—a figurative embrace reaching back across two decades to its origin at San Quentin.
The Community Giveback began 25 years ago when a bike repair shop at San Quentin received excess bikes and hid them around the prison so they could donate them to children in need. Legal Services for Prisoners with Children’s (LSPC) grassroots project that would later be known as All of Us or None (AOUON), was contacted, and the bikes were donated to children at the Acorn Projects of West Oakland. When the bikes were handed over to LSPC, the warden wanted San Quentin to be credited for the gift and asked Dorsey Nunn, Executive Director Emeritus, to let the community know the bicycles were from San Quentin. Instead, Dorsey told the children the truth: the bicycles were a gift from the men inside San Quentin, who wanted their incarcerated relatives to know they were thinking about them and that they loved them.
This act of love sparked an annual LSPC event that would come to be known as the Community Giveback. The event was supported by formerly incarcerated AOUON members, who paid for and built the bicycles themselves in the early years. Calling the event the Community Giveback created a political statement by showcasing the philanthropy of formerly and currently incarcerated people. In one of his speeches, Dorsey asked the crowd of volunteers, “Who among us hasn’t stolen a bicycle in their lifetime? Isn’t it now time to return it back to our community?” Members demonstrated this radical love by giving away the bicycles during Black August, connecting the act to a long lineage of liberation struggles.
Freedom fighter Robert Moody helped lay the foundation for what the Giveback has become. In its earliest years, he opened the doors of his nonprofit to store the first 25–50 bikes. Tony Coleman, an LSPC staff member who passed in 2022, offered his own bike shop as a staging ground, blending community care with economic support for local businesses. They nurtured a tradition that would grow far beyond their initial dreams.
This year, 250 children were registered for the Community Giveback by their incarcerated relatives from prisons throughout California. What makes the Community Giveback unique is its deeply personal nature. Each bike must be requested directly by an incarcerated loved one for a child on the outside who is missing them. It’s not just a gift—it’s a message that says, I love you. I’m thinking of you. LSPC covers the logistics and costs, but the gift itself remains personal, a bridge between families separated by walls.
This year, on the rain-drenched grounds of Oakland High School, this tradition continued to sprout. Rows of gleaming bicycles lined the parking lot, each one ready to carry a message of love.
This year’s event came full-circle back to its origins at San Quentin, thanks to the S.Q.U.I.R.E.S. youth diversion program located inside San Quentin, which built this year’s bikes. For some, the task was deeply personal—they were building gifts for their own children, grandchildren, or other loved ones. For others, it was a labor of solidarity, with each wrench turn carrying the weight of care. No matter whose hands touched a bike, each one arrived with the same truth: You matter. You are loved.
Inside Oakland High’s large auditorium, the event was jammin’. LSPC’s Community Giveback is more than a bike giveaway—it’s a party! Children dashed between stations for face painting and balloon animals, their laughter filling the room. Families browsed tables piled with free books and children’s clothing, while mothers and caregivers received gifts of their own. At one table, I watched an 8-year-old boy carefully write a letter to his incarcerated father, thanking him for his bike. He drew a picture at the bottom of the page, smiling the entire time, while a volunteer sat with him and explained that his father might have built the very bike he was receiving that day.
Even as the rain poured outside, the atmosphere was warm and bright. The DJ kept the music flowing, and children danced, their balloon creations held high like trophies. One volunteer, Carter, brought with him a photo of his son taken years ago at this same event; his son had been gifted a bike on his behalf years prior. Now free, Carter volunteered at this year’s Community Giveback to help other families experience that connection beyond bars. “It’s important for me to be here and help out,” he said, holding his son’s picture up for me to see.
I also reconnected with a mother and son who remembered me from a previous year and were excited to show off his wheelie tricks. Like outgrown shoes, his old bike no longer fit, and today he’d be leaving with another bicycle gifted to him by his incarcerated father—one perfect for his next adventures.
For 25 years, the Community Giveback has been connecting families one bike at a time. Each bike is a tangible piece of hope sent from behind the walls. If there were a way to bottle the joy of this event—the laughter, the smiles, the unspoken moments of love—and send it back to those on the inside, we would. Instead, we send photos and cards from the children. Hopefully, it’s enough to show that this joy exists, radiating outward, a reminder that love can overcome even the tallest walls.
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