Sometimes kids make decisions that hurt them — badly.

For Kemba Smith, a native of a suburb of Richmond, Va., who has become a modern-day civil rights activist, she chose the wrong boy in college.

But from her spiraling struggles, which included a physically abusive relationship with a drug dealer and a 21/2-decade prison sentence, lessons can be learned, both from her mistakes and triumphs.

Hundreds came out to listen to that message.

Several hundred Kokomo area residents packed into Union Auto Workers Local No. 292’s hall Sunday for the Martin Luther King Jr. Day celebratory luncheon, which all of the city’s UAW chapters sponsored.

Petra Jameson, who organized the luncheon, choked up when she saw the large crowd.

“We [thought we] would get 70, 80, maybe 100 at the most,” Jameson, who is a civil rights chairwoman for UAW, said later as she looked out over the standing room-only hall.

Smith’s motivation for her telling her story was one she compared to UAW’s mission.

“You all speak for the voiceless. You all speak for the many,” she told the crowd, which included UAW member and the general public. “That’s what I’ve intended to do since my release.”

Smith received a 241/2-year prison sentence in 1994 after she, a first-time offender, was convicted on a non-violent drug offense. Bill Clinton granted her clemency in 2000.

Some of the lessons she learned, in prison and leading up to her sentence, were basic ones.

“In high school, as a teenager, I did not appreciate the parents that God gave me,” she said.

During her high school years, the marching band member caught the attraction of a popular athlete. But despite her excitement over having his interest, her mother stopped any chance of a relationship.

Smith said she now knows it was her mother’s way of doing what was in her daughter’s best interest. But it was a message she did not understand when she left for college.

Smith was struggling with insecurities — her nose seemed too big and she was too skinny — when she met Peter Michael Hall during her freshman year at Hampton University in Hampton, Va.

It was a time — the early 1990s — when the students used words such as “hip” and “fly” to describe Hall. It was also a time when federal law enforcement agencies were cracking down on and implementing harsh prison sentences for dealing crack cocaine.

Hall’s willingness to spoil Smith with material purchases when they began dating prevented her from questioning his reputation as a drug dealer and leaving what would become 31/2 years of intimidation and physical abuse

“For a minute, I was feeling like Julia Roberts in ‘Pretty Woman,’” Smith told her audience. “That translated into ... ‘Ooh. He really must love me.’”

Her feelings of obligation to Hall turned to those of terror.

“The first time he ever put his hands on me, I thought he was going to kill me,” she said.

The abuse continued, but, out of fear, she stuck with the man who was later charged with killing his best friend. However, he never served time in prison. He was found dead before any sentencing.

Smith conceived a child with Hall, which, she said, may have saved her life. After Smith became pregnant, Hall worried about her more because of the baby.

But when federal investigators began asking about Hall’s friend’s disappearance and his connection with a multi-million dollar crack cocaine ring, the need to escape back home returned.

“My No. 1 concern wasn’t the government,” she said. “... My No. 1 concern was coming home pregnant.”

She returned home to find her parents’ support.

When a prosecutor went after her on the charge of conspiracy to deal crack cocaine, her parents hired an attorney who was friends with the prosecutor. The hope, and promise, was if she pleaded guilty, she would face a 24-month sentence, she said.

Instead, minimum sentencing laws forced a judge to give 294 months in prison to a 61/2-month pregnant Smith.

“I couldn’t even calculate what 294 months were at the time,” she said. “... I couldn’t believe I wasn’t going to be released until my son was a grown man.”

Her parents began fighting for their daughter’s release while Smith did time.

Her father, Gus, left his job as an accountant after his boss told him the company wasn’t comfortable with his public outspokenness. The struggles bankrupted her parents twice.

Magazines, newspapers and TV stations began heralding Smith’s cause, exposing flaws behind strict minimum sentences for first-time, non-violent offenders, such as Smith.

President Bill Clinton granted Smith clemency in December 2000.

Since her release, Smith has toured the country as a motivational and civil rights speaker, denouncing the minimum sentence laws that forced a judge to give her 241/2 years.

“There are hundreds and thousands of Kemba Smiths still sitting in prison,” she said.

But Smith also stressed Sunday the importance of communication between parents and their children, as well as the need for young women to respect themselves and avoid abusive relationships.

“I think our young ladies need to ... love themselves, and it shouldn’t take a young boy,” she said.

In between Smith’s speech, eating, performances by the Kokomo Unity Choir and Men in the Fire gospel choir, representatives from UAW and the community reminded everyone of King’s importance.

“It’s not for a three-day weekend. If you’re not celebrating today and tomorrow,” UAW Region 3 Director Maurice Davison told the crowd Sunday, “you shouldn’t be taking the day off.”

• Daniel Human is a Kokomo Tribune staff writer. He can be reached at 765-454-8570 or at daniel.human@kokomotribune.com.