Prison System Corruption News Stories

Excerpts of Key Prison System Corruption News Stories in Major Media

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Down here in the tombs, there aren't any windows," writes Tremane Wood from inside his cell. Wood, 46, spent 17 years incarcerated in H Unit – the underground cells at the state prison in the rural town of McAlester, Oklahoma, where no natural light ever reaches. According to prisoner letters seen by the Guardian and published here for the first time, H Unit – also known by the prisoners as the "tombs" – features a series of windowless cells that are built banked into the earth. The letters also tell of infestations of vermin, unsanitary conditions, and frequent instances of physical and sexual violence. The lack of sunlight is a matter of particular concern to the prisoners. Dr Sondra Crosby, an expert in torture survivors and a public health professor at Boston University and Physicians for Human Rights, calls it "a form of cruel, inhuman, and degrading treatment and torture". Crosby, who has worked with people imprisoned after 9/11 in CIA "black sites", says lack of sunlight was "used to punish people in the darkness of the prisons in Afghanistan". The letters from H Unit offer a glimpse into this sunless world. The prisoners – of whom there are currently 248 in total, according to prison authorities – write of living in squalor, and frequent violence and rape. Many are held in solitary confinement, with almost no human contact. Others stay in two-person cells, where they say violence is common because the space is not large enough for two men. "I've heard men scream and yell and seen them pulled out of cells with blood and waste running down their leg from sexual assault … maybe 5 times," [inmate Edward Sparks III] wrote. [Another prisoner] wrote that "the guards are putting chilli pepper symbols on their vest as a badge for every inmate that they are spraying with mace and the pepper ball gun."

Note: The American prison system has been described as a "sexual jungle" where prison officials quietly permit rape as a way to control the population. To understand how disturbing and common sexual abuse in prison is, read this Human Rights Watch report that documents dozens of first-hand accounts of rape and sexual slavery in prison systems across 34 states. For more along these lines, read our concise summaries of news articles on prison system corruption.

A freshman's dorm mattress at Mississippi State University. A Georgia Medicaid patient's eyeglasses. The goalpost padding at Bauxite High School in Arkansas. The burn ban flag at the Boerne Fire Department in Texas Hill Country. All of them were made by people incarcerated in American prisons. In the United States, prison labor is everywhere, a practice nearly as old as our nation itself. Incarcerated workers are responsible for producing over $2 billion in goods annually, much of which is sold via federal and state prison industries to public institutions. Incarcerated workers make between 33 cents and $1.41 per hour working for state-owned businesses – though in six states, prison workers aren't paid for their labor at all. Proponents of prison labor argue that these work programs are designed to be rehabilitative and beneficial for incarcerated people. But Carla Laroche, Felder-Fayard associate professor of law at Tulane University and the Murphy Institute, says it's more complicated. "Prison labor goes back to enslavement," she said. "Someone is being held in a facility, a prison, and told, ‘You must work.' They don't have a choice whether they work or not, what skills they want to learn, or what kind of job they have. And some people might say, great – everybody has to work. Everybody has to pay their bills. But we have the ability to leave. We have the ability to choose. And we can work for ourselves. In some prisons, if you do not work, you will be held in solitary confinement."

Note: US prison labor is linked to hundreds of popular food brands. For more along these lines, read our concise summaries of news articles on prison system corruption.

News reports have historically allowed us as a society to monitor our government when it exercises its greatest power: ending a person's life. But the state of Indiana has decided to inhibit that public access by banning members of the media from attending executions – unless the condemned person chooses to give a reporter a spot that could instead have gone to their relatives or friends. An appellate court upheld the ban this week. Perhaps the media ban has nothing to do with preserving the dignity of the condemned and is instead about obstructing government accountability and public oversight. Executions in this country were once highly public affairs. Often held in town squares, any member of the public could attend. In the 1830s, government officials began to enact laws that made executions private events. According to the Death Penalty Information Center, support for capital punishment in America has decreased from 80 percent in 1994 to 52 percent in 2026. This division necessitates transparency – otherwise, the only nongovernment actors able to tell the public the truth are dead. As a result of restrictions placed on media access to prisons, prisons have become unjustifiably cruel, less humane and more difficult to monitor. Restricting press freedom erodes human rights and constitutional safeguards and blinds the public to the kinds of cruelty and abuse depicted in HBO's Oscar-nominated documentary "The Alabama Solution."

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Allegations of rape and sexual misconduct against federal corrections officers by inmates have spiked in recent years, the Government Accountability Office found in its review of enforcement of the 2003 Prison Rape Elimination Act (PREA). From 2014 through 2022, federal inmates logged nearly 4,000 complaints of sexual abuse against prison staff. Just 9% of those were substantiated by BOP, though 77% saw investigations end inconclusively. A similar trend emerged from sexual abuse allegedly committed by incarcerated individuals, with 81% of those cases reaching inconclusive findings. GAO separately found federal prison guards faced around 3,000 allegations of sexual abuse from 2020 through 2024, a significant uptick in incident rate from prior years. From 2014 through 2022, BOP averaged 433 allegations against its staff per year. In 2023 and 2024, that spiked to 857 per year. Employees told the auditors that they have insufficient staffing for responding to allegations of sexual abuse, including a shortage of investigators. Longstanding personnel shortages at the agency have led to less general supervision that in turn allows misconduct to fester, officials told GAO. Abusers also employ tactics to avoid repercussions. Most of the corrections officers with whom GAO spoke said abusers know where they can go to evade cameras and some said the video quality is poor or not retained for a sufficient amount of time.

Note: For more along these lines, read our concise summaries of news articles on prison system corruption and sexual abuse scandals.

Justice stretches beyond punishment. By a nearly two-to-one margin, most people harmed by crime prefer that the legal system focus more on "crime prevention, crisis assistance, and strong communities," rather than punishment. Seventy-five percent of harmed parties want to give people credit toward reducing their prison sentence if they participate in programs like mental health treatment, education, and job training. Restorative justice is a broad term, but it generally refers to practices that place healing, reintegration, acknowledgment of harm, and forms of restitution at the heart of "justice." That's a departure from how the United States criminal legal system typically functions, which almost exclusively uses punishment as its version of justice. Jane and John's case shows how a restorative justice practice can work as a diversion program that offers an alternative to traditional criminal prosecution. One of the prosecutors working the case ... approached Jane about working with [Central Virginia Community Justice], and she was immediately interested–a critical first step. John was interested, too, so the prosecutor contacted Erin Campbell, CVCJ co-director. The first step for Campbell and her two co-facilitators was to get all five parties–the prosecution and defense attorneys, the harmed party, the responsible person, and the facilitators–to agree on how the process would be structured. Campbell says she makes sure everyone involved is aligned.

Note: Explore more positive stories like this on repairing criminal justice.

My journey into healing began 10 years later when an envelope containing a greeting card slid beneath my cell door at Florida State Prison. Inside was a card embossed with a dove carrying an olive branch–an image that would come to symbolize restorative justice in my life. "I've been thinking about you over the years," it read. I stared at her handwriting, confused. When I wrote back, she revealed, "You killed my daughter and grandson." That sat me down. The impact of what I'd done suddenly became tangible. I wept–for Pat, for Chris, for Agnes. We began exploring the shades and textures of the tragedy that connected us. Our relationship became a living example of restorative justice–pouring our spirits out like wine into each other's hearts. On the morning of our meeting, I walked alone across the compound toward the visiting park. My heart raced as I prepared to meet the woman whose life I had shattered. Inside the visitation booth, I waited, unsure. When Agnes entered–small, strong, radiant–her presence filled the room. We had already done the hard work through years of letters and calls. This meeting was about connection, remembrance, and honoring the restorative justice we'd built. Agnes pressed her palm to mine through the glass. Her eyes met mine. I broke down. "I'm sorry," I cried again and again. "I forgive you," she said softly. "And I love you." That moment–her smile through tears–was the purest expression of restorative justice I have ever witnessed.

Note: Watch a powerful clip of Leonard Scovens sharing his story with vulnerability and humanity. Explore more positive stories like this in our comprehensive human interest stories and repairing criminal justice.

I learned to garden in Rhode Island's Maximum Security prison, which I entered as an 18-year-old kid. I was serving two consecutive life sentences for a gang-related murder I committed at 17, and I was struggling to fully grasp the possibility that I would die in prison while holding onto hope that I wouldn't. The guys in the crew and I loved that 50- by 20-foot garden, which was fenced off in a corner behind the old gym that was set ablaze decades ago in a riot. At first, it was watering, weeding, trying to figure out how to smuggle strawberries back to the cell block, and learning the science of the soil from a teacher we called Dr. Dirt. Then, the garden became a lifeline for us. When spring came, we could finally see the new life we helped take root. Each sprout was a quiet victory, and each harvest was a reminder that, even in unexpected places, growth was possible. After 23 winters behind bars. I was released under the Youthful Offender Act, which is also known as Mario's Law, because it was inspired by my case. This legislation allows people who received long sentences for crimes they committed as children the opportunity to apply for parole after serving 20 years in prison. Going into prison as a kid was not what I needed. It did not teach me about remorse, accountability, trauma or my potential. I had very little access to programming or education. Prison would have kept me dormant if it weren't for the gardeners in my life who wouldn't leave me in a drought.

Note: For more along these lines, read our concise summaries of news articles on prison corruption and repairing criminal justice.

With all of his appeals exhausted, Charles "Sonny" Burton had already chosen the last meal he would have before being put to death by nitrogen gas at Alabama's Holman correctional facility. His fate was in the hands of Kay Ivey, Alabama's governor and a staunch supporter of capital punishment who has presided over more than 25 executions – more than any other Alabama governor since the death penalty was reinstated in 1976. But on the morning of 10 March, just two days before Sonny was to be put to death, Ivey commuted his sentence to life without parole. No new court ruling or legal evidence had come out, but the governor was forced to respond to an unusually diverse coalition [that] made the case that executing a 75-year-old man who didn't pull the trigger – while the man who did died in prison with a life sentence – was simply wrong. Burton had been on death row since 1992 for the killing of Doug Battle during a robbery at a Talladega AutoZone. Derrick DeBruce, the man who fired the weapon, had his sentence reduced to life without parole in 2014 after winning a federal appeal. That meant that of the six people who took part in the robbery, Burton alone was facing execution. Schulz's clemency petition cited precedents from Texas, Oklahoma and Arkansas – states where Republican governors who supported the death penalty had refused to execute inmates who played a lesser role in a killing than a co-defendant who got a lighter sentence.

Note: More than half of all wrongful criminal convictions are caused by government misconduct. For more along these lines, read our concise summaries of news articles on judicial system corruption and repairing criminal justice.

Jayson Murphy lit the speck of paper and inhaled, holding the smoke in his lungs as long as he could. His cellmate, John Jenkins, purchased the drug-soaked paper from another incarcerated man at Lebanon Correctional Institution, a state prison notorious for substance abuse and violence. The next morning, Jenkins set his dirty laundry outside the cell and tapped Murphy's leg. But Murphy, 50, didn't move. "Oh man, my cellie is dead," Jenkins recalled telling a corrections officer. A crime lab detected potent synthetic drugs that incarcerated users call K2 in the partially burnt paper found near Murphy's body. Authorities closed their criminal investigation the moment the coroner ruled the death an overdose, abandoning any effort to determine how the drug entered the prison. Drug-soaked paper, sold in confetti-sized hits, is now the most commonly found drug in Ohio prisons, fueling violence and accounting for more deaths than any other substance. The highly addictive drug is smuggled in by staff and visitors, tossed over fences and dropped in by drones. Wide-ranging and unpredictable side effects include vomiting, twitching, convulsing, aggression and psychosis. Jenkins said nearly all 150 men in his cellblock smoke paper. He described a scene from "The Walking Dead" – men passing out or shuffling around. Murphy was among at least 13 people incarcerated in Ohio who fatally overdosed on K2 in 2024, up from just three the year before.

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By early May 2024, multiple people had accused a teacher of dealing drugs and sexually preying on women at a state prison in Dayton. A hidden camera finally installed in August captured the teacher – who had previously served time for trafficking – passing drugs across his desk, shaking his genitals at students and rubbing up against a woman while dancing in class. One afternoon, he summoned a woman to his empty classroom and took her into his darkened office. The student later alleged that he digitally raped her. Despite video evidence supporting the woman's story, prosecutors declined to charge the teacher, calling it a "he said, she said case," according to an investigative file. Instead, prosecutors charged two incarcerated women with felony drug possession after they told investigators that the teacher, who simply lost his job, was their dealer. Workers suspected of smuggling drugs into Ohio prisons are seldom charged. Many often resign. Some, like the teacher, are fired, but most never face prosecution. Meanwhile ... corrupt staff and vendors are flooding the facilities with drugs. They can deliver larger quantities of drugs each day, hidden inside water bottles, lunch boxes, chip containers and backpacks. "We got inmates that go to prison who were straight arrows and clean, and when they leave prison, they're addicts," said state Rep. Mark Johnson, a ... Republican with two state prisons in his district.

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When a camera records an act of lethal violence against someone in official custody, the state cannot hide what it typically keeps in the dark. That's what happened when correction officers murdered Robert Brooks at Marcy correctional facility in New York. Restrained in handcuffs, Brooks was beaten to death by officers unaware that their own body-worn cameras were documenting every blow. The states that lock up the most people – Louisiana, Mississippi, Missouri, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Alabama – are the places where watchdogs keep uncovering horrific conditions, from medical neglect that has killed at least 50 people, to jail systems like Mississippi's where authorities literally cannot say how many people have died. Oversight is sometimes the only thing ensuring a prison sentence does not become a death sentence. There is one way to pierce the opacity of our prison systems. Contraband cellphones, smuggled in by guards and sold to prisoners on the black market, can capture these deplorable conditions in grainy, devastating detail. The brutality we see in many state prisons is a choice. This summer, on a visit to the Maine state prison, I witnessed men use email, Zoom and other digital tools as part of programs instituted by Randall Liberty, the forward-looking Maine corrections commissioner. When prison leadership has nothing to hide, incarcerated people have access to technology that would make it easy to document abuses.

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A decade ago, the UN General Assembly adopted the Nelson Mandela Rules – a set of 122 guidelines setting minimum standards for the treatment of prisoners, inspired by one of the world's most influential former political prisoners – the South African civil rights icon, Nelson Mandela. These rules aim to ensure safety, security and respect for human dignity, offering clear benchmarks for prison staff. Despite this, prison systems worldwide continue to face deep-rooted challenges. "Prison cells are overflowing," said Ghada Waly, Executive Director of the UN Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC), noting that 11.5 million people are currently imprisoned globally. "Overcrowding deprives people of their most basic rights, including access to healthcare, clean water and sanitation," she warned. Yet prison services remain underfunded, under-prioritised and undervalued. These systemic failures not only endanger inmates and staff but also weaken efforts to reintegrate former prisoners – posing risks for the wider community. The number of women in prison has increased by 57 per cent over the past 20 years – nearly triple the rate of men. Women in detention are especially vulnerable, facing greater risks of sexual violence, limited access to reproductive healthcare and separation from their children. UN officials stressed that rehabilitation must be at the heart of reforms, including support systems that reduce the likelihood of reoffending and help former prisoners reintegrate into society.

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When he walked out of prison after 28 years, the first thing Allen Burnett did was drive to the ocean. "I just stood there for a minute," he recalls. "I wanted to feel the air." Sentenced to life without the possibility of parole, he believed he would die behind bars. At California State Prison ... Burnett eventually earned a college degree with magna cum laude honors thanks to a pioneering in-prison education program through Cal State, and he found mentorship with other prisoners. Governor Gavin Newsom commuted his sentence. Today Burnett is the co-founder and executive director of Prism Way, a Los Angeles nonprofit that trains formerly incarcerated people to become peer support specialists. The work draws directly on the peer-counseling culture Burnett experienced during his own incarceration. The mission is clear: turn lived experience into healing. The California Model, inspired in part by Norway's prison system, emphasizes trauma-informed staffing, education and rehabilitation that mirrors life outside. Peer support is a key component. In 2022, the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation began training incarcerated people to become peer support specialists. These mentors help fellow inmates cope with trauma and addiction, bridging gaps that formal treatment sometimes cannot. Early results of peer counseling have been promising. In the Twin Towers Correctional Facility in downtown Los Angeles, it coincided with a sharp drop in self-harm.

Note: Explore more positive stories like this in our comprehensive repairing criminal justice.

On Jan. 22, "The Alabama Solution" was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature Film. Since 2019, roughly 1,380 incarcerated people have died or been killed while in custody of the state. The documentary – which features footage shot on cell phones by several incarcerated men – zooms out to explore why, despite federal inquiry and a lawsuit brought by the U.S. Justice Department, officers are still able to neglect, harm and kill incarcerated people with seeming impunity. Perhaps less familiar are the lengths Alabama officials go in the film to cover up the disorder and state lawmakers' callous disregard for incarcerated lives. Prisons are state institutions ... but it's the only institution that the public and the media have no access to. The men at the center of the film have spent a large share of their incarceration advocating for change from the inside out. They credit their activism to a self-directed course of study organized by prisoners who were active in freedom movements during the civil rights era. In the study groups, the men learned about their constitutional and legal rights. Eventually, they founded the Free Alabama Movement and began rallying family members to push for prison reforms from the outside. In 2016, the federal Justice Department ... began an official investigation. In 2020, the department filed a lawsuit alleging widespread constitutional violations, including rampant violence, homicide and sexual assault. The film explores the impetus for a 2022 work stoppage across all of Alabama's prisons [which] triggered a class-action lawsuit, alongside several labor unions, accusing the state and corporations of practicing modern-day slavery. The Associated Press traced nearly $200 million dollars in sales of agricultural products and livestock over a period of six years to prison labor across the country. The figure is likely an underestimate. Their investigation uncovered a sprawling shadow workforce of the incarcerated that produces goods and services sold by major corporations such as McDonald's and Walmart.

Note: Alabama's incarcerated workers produce $450 million in goods and services every year. The truth about US prisons is usually hidden from the public. If you want an honest look in to the broken system, this is the film to watch to deeply understand the humanitarian crisis and egregious human rights abuses perpetuated by mass incarceration. For more along these lines, read our concise summaries of news articles on prison system corruption and inspiring articles on prison system reform.

When incarcerated people face abuse and mistreatment, they can typically file a formal complaint with jail or prison administrators. In federal prisons, the system for resolving these complaints is known as the "Administrative Remedy Program," but it's more commonly referred to as a "grievance system" in state prisons and local jails. Grievance systems are supposed to provide incarcerated people with a way to challenge issues they face behind bars – such as inadequate medical care, harassment by corrections officers, or unsanitary living conditions – and (hopefully) receive some kind of relief. In practice, however, incarcerated people who turn to grievance systems are forced to run a gauntlet of rules and regulations just to be heard, and very rarely succeed. This is especially true when it comes to medical complaints: our analysis of a decade of data from the Data Liberation Project finds that, between 2014 and 2024, a startling 98% of medical grievances were rejected for reasons ranging from the bureaucratic (such as using the wrong size sheet of paper) to the substantive (actually being denied on the merits of the complaint). Less than 1% of medical cases ended in a grant of relief. Conditions are so bad on the inside that since 2000, roughly half of all state prison systems have been court-ordered to improve mental and medical healthcare. In practice ... the grievance system is a black hole, a time-waster, and a deterrent to complaining at all.

Note: For more along these lines, read our concise summaries of news articles on prison system corruption and inspiring articles on prison system reform.

Over the course of a week, officials from Massachusetts, North Dakota and Oklahoma toured four German prisons where inmates wore street clothes, maintained their right to vote, cooked their own meals, played in soccer leagues and learned skills like animal husbandry and carpentry. One, called the Open Prison, allowed residents to come and go for work, school and errands. [German] prisons must provide single-occupancy cells at least 10 square meters in size. Many have kitchens where residents may cook their own meals. In the United States, privacy, time outside of cells and family visits are considered risky, and "over-familiarity" between correction officers and inmates is prohibited. German prisons take the opposite approach, known as dynamic security. Correction officers are expected to develop relationships with inmates and know when problems may arise. Yvonne Gade, a correction officer in a ward that houses a small number of prisoners deemed particularly dangerous, shrugged off concerns about their access to a gym with free weights. "It would be a huge potential for violence if you locked them up all the time," she said. A growing number of American states are looking abroad for ideas that can be adapted to their state prison systems. California, Arizona and Oklahoma's prison systems have shifted their focus to rehabilitation rather than punishment. In 2022, Pennsylvania opened a unit known as Little Scandinavia, and last year Missouri began a similar transformation project in four prisons. Six other states have established European-style units for younger prisoners. The efforts are still small. Prison conditions are not a priority for voters. U.S. prisons are in crisis, struggling with severe staffing shortages, crumbling facilities and frequent violence. Inmates in U.S. prisons often endure extreme temperatures, vermin-infested food and years, or even decades, in solitary confinement. High-profile cases have brought attention to prolonged shackling, fatal beatings and sexual abuse.

Note: For more along these lines, read our concise summaries of news articles on prison system corruption and inspiring articles on prison system reform.

America talks about recidivism as if it were a mystery. It isn't. It is a predictable outcome of how we run prisons. The U.S. Bureau of Justice Statistics has tracked what happens after release for decades. In a 10-year follow-up of people released from state prison, about two-thirds were arrested again within three years, and more than eight in ten within 10 years. A newer national analysis still showed roughly six in ten rearrested within three years. That is not just a series of bad individual choices – rather, it is a system producing a revolving door. Other countries have demonstrated a different way to operate secure prisons – one that changes outcomes without weakening accountability or surrendering public control. Over the past year, I have toured facilities and spoken directly with leaders connected to the only nonprofit prison systems operating at scale internationally. They share one defining feature: rehabilitation is treated as a core operational mission, not a secondary program. The question is not government prisons versus private prisons. It is whether correctional systems are designed to reward safety, stability and successful reentry, or whether they default to capacity management and crisis response. Nonprofit operators differ fundamentally from both traditional government bureaucracy and for-profit incarceration. There are no shareholders, no pressure to pay dividends, no incentives to keep beds full. Success is measured by what happens after release.

Note: For more along these lines, read our concise summaries of news articles on prison system corruption and inspiring articles on prison system reform.

One morning in July 2013, tens of thousands of California prisoners made history when they refused to eat. They were participating in a state-wide hunger strike, protesting policies that kept people locked in solitary confinement indefinitely. Hundreds of people in Pelican Bay State Prison, the state's supermax facility near the Oregon state line, had been in isolation for over a decade. After 60 days of refusing food, and along with a concurrent lawsuit, the hunger strikers ultimately won major policy changes from the California corrections department. Among them was an agreement to move most people in long-term solitary back into the general population, giving many a renewed chance at parole. Now, back in the community and over a decade since the protest, these men are working to rebuild their lives, help others inside, and make sense of the trauma they endured. While in the SHU at Pelican Bay, men were alone in their cells for roughly 23 hours a day, with every meal provided through a slot in their door. Many said they never received a phone call, unless a family member died. Visits with loved ones were behind a thick plexiglass window. And any time spent outside their cells to exercise took place in an open-air cement room, with walls so high they couldn't see their surroundings. Such prolonged isolation led to paranoia, anxiety, despair, anger and, eventually, numbness among people in the SHU.

Note:For more along these lines, read our concise summaries of news articles on prison system corruption.

A federal statement announcing Jeffrey Epstein's death has surfaced in newly released Justice Department files but it carries a date that appears to precede the moment he was officially found dead inside his New York prison cell. The document, issued by the United States Attorney's Office for the Southern District of New York and dated Friday, August 9, 2019, states that Epstein had already been found unresponsive and pronounced dead. But prison records and official accounts show Epstein was not discovered unresponsive until the morning of August 10, 2019. According to official accounts, Epstein was discovered unresponsive in his cell shortly after 6.30am on August 10 by a corrections officer. Medical personnel attempted to revive him, but he was pronounced dead soon afterward. Epstein's death came amid a cascade of failures inside one of the federal government's most secure detention facilities. Prison records show that guards assigned to monitor Epstein did not conduct required checks during the overnight hours before his body was discovered. Scheduled rounds at 3am and 5am were missed, according to official findings. Furthermore, cameras positioned outside Epstein's cell were not functioning properly that night. Investigators later confirmed that at least two surveillance cameras had malfunctioned, leaving critical gaps in visual monitoring. Because of those failures, officials were unable to establish a definitive timeline of Epstein's final moments.

Note: Mark Epstein, Jeffrey Epstein's brother, believes that his death involved an official cover-up. An email thread between high-level federal investigators discusses what appears to be an unnamed individual attempting to extort Mark Epstein. The sender claims: "with the coordination of the director of prison regulations, the cameras were tampered with and some the videos of the prison cameras were cut. At that time, prison guards [redacted] were paid $6,500 so that they would not visit prisoners at this time. Within 15 minutes, a man named [redacted] entered your brother's prison cell and strangled him." For more, internal US Bureau of Prison (BOP) documents suggest a possible cover-up, while a 60 Minutes 2020 investigation uncovered compelling evidence that challenges the official suicide ruling in Epstein's death–including suspicious neck fractures, missing surveillance footage, and a series of unexplained security failures.

More than a decade ago, I walked into the Challenger Memorial Youth Center in Los Angeles County to gather data for a lawsuit related to their "failure to provide an adequate education to detained youth." What our team found was much more horrifying: masses of teachers not showing up or late to work, leaving youth in their cells; children in solitary confinement for weeks; sexual assault by probation officers and detention staff; teacher-run fight clubs during class; and more. These abuses continue even today, as exposed earlier this year by sex tapes recorded in a juvenile detention facility in Seattle and videos of gladiator fights between teens in custody in Los Angeles County. The juvenile justice system was originally designed to be supportive and child-centered, but it became increasingly punitive and harsh through the War on Drugs in the 1980s, which resulted in exponentially higher rates of arrests and imprisonment. As a result, children with externalizing symptoms of trauma – abuse, neglect, domestic violence – have been incarcerated without treatment for their behavioral and mental health symptoms. Youth incarceration is extremely harmful to communities, causing worse adult health and functional limits. If we want a healthy society, we need to address trauma through treatment, not incarceration. Punishment provides immediate, visible results, while empowering youth requires patience, understanding and time.

Note: For more along these lines, read our concise summaries of news articles on prison system corruption and sexual abuse scandals.

Important Note: Explore our full index to revealing excerpts of key major media news stories on several dozen engaging topics. And don't miss amazing excerpts from 20 of the most revealing news articles ever published.