For Gerald Klassen and Subramanyam "Subu" Vedam, the end of a long prison sentence has not brought the closure or restoration many might expect. Instead, both men—each wrongfully convicted and later exonerated after decades behind bars—face new battles for justice, compensation, and a chance at normalcy. Their stories, unfolding in Canada and the United States, highlight not only the enduring scars of wrongful convictions but also the bureaucratic and legal obstacles that persist even after innocence is established.
Klassen’s ordeal began in Kamloops, British Columbia, in December 1993. Julie McLeod, 22, was found dead on the icy shores of Nicola Lake. Klassen, a welder by trade, admitted he’d been with McLeod and her boyfriend at a bar that night, then alone with her at the lake, where they drank, argued, and, according to Klassen, parted ways after she refused a ride. He has steadfastly denied killing her. Nevertheless, in 1995, Klassen was convicted of first-degree murder and sentenced to life, spending the next 26 years—ages 35 to 60—in prison.
According to Miscarriage of Justice Canada, a new advocacy group, Klassen’s conviction was marred by prosecutorial misconduct and shifting expert testimony. The University of British Columbia’s Innocence Project unearthed evidence that prosecutors failed to fully disclose vital information to the defense. Most notably, the pathologist who testified at Klassen’s trial changed his opinion between the preliminary hearing and the trial, ultimately concluding McLeod had been beaten and sexually assaulted—an assertion not supported by forensic evidence, according to the Canadian Registry of Wrongful Convictions and several other pathologists who later reviewed the case.
In 2022, then federal justice minister David Lametti ordered a retrial after a ministerial review determined Klassen’s conviction was a "likely miscarriage of justice." But more than a year later, the British Columbia attorney general entered a stay of proceedings, effectively shelving the case instead of granting a retrial that could have publicly cleared Klassen’s name. "A retrial is what should have happened," Myles Frederick McLellan, executive director of Miscarriage of Justice Canada, told Canadian Press. "The province instead decided to wash their hands of it, which we think is wrong."
The stay of proceedings means Klassen may never have the chance to fully exonerate himself in court. Without a retrial, he faces an uphill battle for compensation and continues to live under the shadow of a conviction. "Mr. Klassen spent more than half of his adult life in jail and he’s entitled to be compensated and fully compensated," McLellan emphasized. The group argues that denying a retrial undermines the integrity of Canada’s review process for wrongful convictions.
Klassen, now 65, has filed a lawsuit against the B.C. prosecutor from his 1995 trial, three RCMP officers, the Coroners Service, its expert pathologist, former B.C. attorney general David Eby, and the federal attorney general. The suit, filed in April and amended in September 2025, alleges negligence, malicious prosecution, and violations of his rights during his arrest, trial, and conviction. It also claims that Eby denied him a new trial to avoid public embarrassment and potential liability. The province has yet to file a response, and B.C. Attorney General Niki Sharma has declined to comment while the matter is before the courts.
Meanwhile, Canada has taken steps to address systemic failures in wrongful convictions. In December 2024, Parliament passed a law establishing the Miscarriage of Justice Review Commission, set to replace the previous ministerial review system. Named after David and Joyce Milgaard—advocates whose own family suffered a notorious wrongful conviction—the commission is based in Winnipeg and is expected to bring greater independence and transparency to the review process. McLellan noted that part-time commissioners would be appointed before Christmas 2025, signaling a new era for Canadian justice reform.
South of the border, Subramanyam "Subu" Vedam’s journey has been equally harrowing. On October 3, 2025, Vedam walked out of Pennsylvania’s Huntingdon State Correctional Institution after more than 42 years behind bars for the 1980 murder of his friend Thomas Kinser—a crime he did not commit. His conviction was vacated after the Pennsylvania Innocence Project discovered prosecutors had concealed crucial evidence, including FBI reports and notes indicating the bullet wound in Kinser’s skull could not have come from the alleged murder weapon. In August 2025, Judge Jonathan Grine ruled the suppressed evidence violated Vedam’s constitutional rights, and by October, all charges were withdrawn.
But Vedam’s first steps of freedom were short-lived. U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officers detained him on the prison threshold, citing a decades-old deportation order linked to both the murder charge and a drug conviction from his youth. Born in India but brought to the U.S. as a baby, Vedam has spent virtually his entire life in America. His family, who had prepared for a long-awaited reunion, was devastated by the sudden turn. "To our disappointment, Subu was transferred to ICE custody and is currently being held at the Moshannon Valley Processing Center," the family said in a statement on a support website.
ICE, in a statement to the Herald, described Vedam as a "career criminal with a rap sheet dating back to 1980," referencing his youthful conviction for intent to distribute LSD. "Pursuant to the Immigration and Nationality Act, individuals who have exhausted all avenues of immigration relief and possess standing removal orders are priorities for enforcement. ERO notes that Mr. Vedam... is also a convicted controlled substance trafficker," the agency stated. Vedam’s legal team has filed a motion to reopen his immigration case and requested a stay of deportation; the government has until October 24 to respond.
Vedam’s family and supporters argue that deporting him to India—a country he left at nine months old and has not seen in over four decades—would only compound the injustice. "He’s never been able to work outside the prison system," said his niece, Zoë Miller Vedam. "He’s never seen a modern film, he’s never been on the internet, he doesn’t know technology. To send him to India at 64, on his own and away from his family and community, would be just extending the harm of his wrongful incarceration."
During his decades in prison, Vedam became a model inmate, designing literacy programs, tutoring fellow prisoners, and earning a master’s degree with a perfect GPA. "Rather than succumb to this dreadful hardship and mourn his terrible fate, he turned his wrongful imprisonment into a vehicle of service to others," his sister, Saraswathi Vedam, said in a statement. Now, his family is fighting to keep him in the only country he has ever known.
For both Klassen and Vedam, the path to justice remains unfinished. Their stories underscore the need for not only correcting miscarriages of justice but also for ensuring that exonerated individuals are given a real chance to rebuild their lives—free from stigma, legal limbo, or the threat of exile.