Meet The Civic-Minded US Prison Inmates Ready To Vote In Election

There are 2.3 million prisoners in the US. Nine hundred of them are in Maine State Prison where we have been given rare access.

Inmates here are among a tiny minority who enjoy an unusual privilege.

They have been sentenced for a range of crimes - multiple murders, drink driving, sexual assault, corporate fraud.

We are shown around tiny cells that some spend up to 23 hours a day in.

Others enjoy relative freedom and interaction.

What they have in common is that come November, they will all be able to cast a vote.

Prisoners are banned from voting in all but two states - Maine and Vermont.

But it is safe to say that neither Donald Trump nor Hillary Clinton will walk these halls on their campaign trails.

Forty-eight-year-old Robert Payzant has spent most of his life behind bars.

"We're not the forgotten voters," he says. "I feel we're the never was voters.

"Having this right to vote - it affirms my humanity."

The right for prisoners to vote is constantly under threat. Each state legislative session sees an attempt to end it.

National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) activist Rachel Talbot Ross has dedicated her life to fight for it.

She introduces an active group of nine inmates who have agreed to share their thoughts on this election.

You would struggle to find more engaged and informed voters outside these walls.

They greet Ms Ross with bear hugs - you can see how much her fight means to them. This group devours election news through TV and papers - there is no internet access.

As they gather round a cable news channel - it does not take long for the debate to heat up.

"I believe that Donald Trump will make this country better," says one inmate.

"But he's racist, man", says another. "Mildly racist" he replies.

Ms Ross interjects: "What - like being mildly pregnant?"

The room erupts.

There is a lot of back and forth peppered with facts and figures they have absorbed over the past year.

Payzant says he is excited by the idea of the first woman president.

"She got four million more votes than Bernie Sanders - that's good enough for me," he said.

Others in the room cast doubt, saying they do not know if they trust the Democratic nominee.

Ms Ross asks who people would vote for if the election was held today.

Seven of the nine raise their hands for Mrs Clinton, two for Mr Trump. One of them is black.

The others pounce with glee: "You could join that other black guy at his rally!"

"There's my African American!'" says another, impersonating Mr Trump. Everyone laughs.

The majority of the people in this room have hurt or killed someone.

Ms Ross has faced personal challenges in her campaigning.

In a nearby coffee shop she tells me about a close friend who said she could not speak to her anymore when her daughter was murdered.

She said: "It's hard to tell someone who's lost someone - who's been a victim of a crime to think about the humanity of the person who's committed that crime - I have to separate the crime from the person because I do believe in the rehabilitative process."

Eric Gwaro, 31, was described in court as a model father and family member.

A caring, college-educated, former kindergarten teacher and volunteer firefighter, he brutally attacked a woman leaving her permanently injured.

He says his battle with alcoholism led him to commit that terrible act that put him in prison for eight years.

He said: "Just because I made one bad choice one day - doesn't mean that I don't have a voice and that I'm not smart and that I don't know what would be good for the country."

Each of the men believe that being able to vote inside prison will help recidivism rates outside.

There is no proof of that but they all clearly feel invested in the world they have been barred from living in.

Most of them will be behind bars for the entirety of the new president's first term.

That does not matter, they say, because the consequences of it could stretch far into the future when they hope they will be free.