A 75-year-old man who pleaded guilty to raping and strangling a woman more than fifty years ago is walking out of a California prison, and the local district attorney says Governor Gavin Newsom could have stopped it but chose not to.
San Luis Obispo County District Attorney Dan Dow has publicly torn into Newsom over the release of Alberto Tamez Jr., calling the governor's refusal to block parole a betrayal of public safety and a direct consequence of California's push to empty its prisons. Tamez was convicted in 1974 for the rape and murder of Genevieve Adaline Moreno. He has spent roughly half a century behind bars. Now, after a December parole board hearing and Newsom's decision not to intervene, Tamez is set to go free.
The case has reignited a fierce debate over California's parole policies and the governor's role in keeping violent offenders locked up. For Dow, the math is simple: a man who brutalized and killed a woman should never have been given a second chance at freedom.
Tamez pleaded guilty in 1974 to raping and strangling Genevieve Adaline Moreno in San Luis Obispo County. The crime, by any measure, was savage. Moreno was sexually assaulted and then killed. Tamez received a life sentence with the possibility of parole, a sentencing structure that reflected the era's legal framework but one that Dow believes should have functioned as a permanent lockup given the nature of the offense.
Dow told the New York Post that his office fought Tamez's release at every stage, including opposing parole at the December board hearing. Despite that opposition, the board granted parole. The final safeguard sat with Newsom, who holds the authority under California law to reverse a parole board's decision for inmates convicted of murder. Newsom did not exercise that power.
Dow has not minced words. In public statements, the DA framed the release as part of a broader pattern under Newsom's leadership, one that prioritizes reducing prison populations over protecting communities from offenders convicted of the most violent crimes imaginable.
"I think the right thing would be to stop letting violent criminals out of our prisons just to satisfy his policy desire to empty prisons."
That quote, delivered to The California Post, captures the core of Dow's argument. He sees Tamez's release not as an isolated parole decision but as a symptom of a governor who has embraced criminal justice reforms that systematically tilt the scales toward release. Dow went further in a separate statement, making clear where he believes the line should be drawn.
"When you rape, strangle, brutalize and murder a woman, in my perspective and point of view, that should be the death penalty or life without parole."
The DA's position reflects a view held by many prosecutors and law enforcement officials across California who have watched the state's parole machinery grant freedom to inmates convicted of horrific violence. The frustration is compounded by the procedural reality: even when local prosecutors show up, make their case, and urge the board to deny parole, the system can override them. And when the governor declines to use his veto, the last line of defense disappears.
Tamez's release did not happen in a vacuum. It came under the umbrella of California's Elderly Parole Program, a Newsom-backed initiative that allows inmates aged 50 or older who have served at least 20 years to seek parole consideration. The program was designed to reduce the state's aging prison population, which carries significant healthcare costs. Critics say it functions as a back door for violent offenders who received life sentences precisely because their crimes warranted permanent incarceration.
Tamez, at 75, fits squarely within the program's parameters. He is well past the age threshold and has served decades beyond the 20-year minimum. The program does not automatically grant release, but it opens the door to parole hearings that might not otherwise occur, and it creates a framework in which age and time served can outweigh the severity of the original crime.
The Daily Mail reported on Dow's public clash with Newsom, detailing the DA's sustained opposition and his broader critique of the governor's criminal justice record. The case has drawn national attention in part because it crystallizes a tension that plays out across the state: local prosecutors fighting to keep dangerous offenders locked up while Sacramento pursues policies that make release easier.
California is not the only state grappling with questions about early release and judicial discretion. In Texas, a judge was publicly sanctioned for releasing four convicted sex offenders from probation early, a case that sparked similar outrage over whether the justice system adequately protects communities from repeat violent offenders.
Newsom's office has not publicly explained why the governor chose not to block Tamez's parole. Under California's constitution, the governor has the authority to review and reverse parole grants for inmates convicted of murder. That power exists specifically as a check on the parole board, a recognition that some cases carry stakes too high to leave entirely in the hands of a panel. Newsom's decision not to act in this case effectively removed that check.
Authorities have not publicly confirmed whether Genevieve Adaline Moreno's family was notified of the parole decision or given the opportunity to speak at the hearing. The procedural details of the December hearing, beyond Dow's opposition, remain largely undisclosed.
For Dow, the governor's inaction speaks volumes. The DA has positioned himself as a voice for victims and for the principle that certain crimes should carry permanent consequences. His public statements suggest he views Newsom's approach not as compassionate reform but as a calculated political choice that sacrifices public safety for ideological goals.
Newsom has faced scrutiny on multiple fronts in recent months. The House Oversight Committee recently demanded documents from the governor over alleged hospice fraud in Southern California, adding to a growing list of accountability questions directed at his administration.
Tamez's release will place him under parole supervision, though the specific conditions of his release have not been made public. Investigators and parole officers will need to determine where he will live, what restrictions will apply, and how the state plans to monitor a 75-year-old man whose only documented crime involved extreme sexual violence and murder.
Dow has signaled that he will continue to fight parole grants for violent offenders in his jurisdiction. His office's track record of opposing releases at every stage suggests this is not a one-off protest but a sustained effort to push back against what he sees as a dangerous trend in California criminal justice.
The broader question is whether cases like Tamez's will generate enough political pressure to force changes to the Elderly Parole Program or to the governor's exercise of his veto power. California's prison population has declined significantly in recent years, driven by court orders, legislative reforms, and executive action. Each individual release, though, carries its own weight. When the person walking free is a convicted rapist and killer, that weight falls hardest on the communities expected to absorb the risk.
California prosecutors have shown a willingness to pursue aggressive cases when the system supports them. Recent charges against 21 defendants in an alleged $267 million fraud scheme demonstrated that the state's legal apparatus can still move with force. The disconnect, critics argue, is that the same state seems unwilling to keep its most dangerous inmates behind bars.
Law enforcement across California continues to face challenges that test public trust. A fatal ambush on a Baldwin Park officer responding to a rifle attack recently underscored the dangers that officers and communities face daily, dangers that critics say are compounded when the state releases violent offenders back into the population.
Dow's public confrontation with Newsom raises a question that extends well beyond San Luis Obispo County. If a local prosecutor can oppose parole, present evidence of a brutal crime, and still watch the offender walk free because the governor declines to act, then who exactly does the system serve?
The parole board answered one way. The governor, through his silence, answered the same way. The DA answered differently. Genevieve Adaline Moreno cannot answer at all.
When the last safeguard chooses not to act, it stops being a safeguard. It becomes a rubber stamp.
