Latest news with #TheMarshallProject
Yahoo
23-05-2025
- Health
- Yahoo
Pregnant Women in Prison Aren't Getting Care, and No One Is Keeping Track
Early in her second trimester, Linda Acoff was taken into custody for failing to complete court-ordered mental health treatment. After three weeks in the Cuyahoga County Jail in Columbus, Ohio, she began experiencing intensifying pressure, cramping, and bleeding. But despite her pleas for help, the nurse on duty offered only sanitary napkins and Tylenol. After banging on her cell door for hours, Acoff was eventually taken out of the jail's pregnancy pod on a stretcher—leaving behind the remains of her 17-week-old fetus. A recent exposé from The Marshall Project revealed that Acoff had contracted chorioamnionitis, an infection of the fluid and tissues inside the uterus. Although considered a serious pregnancy complication that can threaten both the fetus and the mother, there was hope that Acoff's 17-week pregnancy could have been saved. "If there's early appropriate diagnosis and intervention, that baby can absolutely survive if the patient is treated promptly," Michael Baldonieri, an OB-GYN and assistant professor of reproductive biology at the Case Western Reserve University School of Medicine, told The Marshall Project. In the end, Acoff lost her baby, and while the nurse on duty was ultimately fired, the tragedy has not inspired change in the way that Ohio handles incarcerated pregnancies or collects data on them. Unfortunately for Acoff, and the estimated 55,000 pregnant women who enter the nation's jails every year, little data exists on the impact incarceration has on pregnancy outcomes. A 2024 report by the U.S. Government Accountability Office (GAO) found that "comprehensive data on pregnant women incarcerated in state prisons and local jails do not exist" even though the U.S. has "one of the highest maternal mortality rates" and "incarcerates women at the highest rate in the world." This number is trending upward: between 1980 and 2022, the female prison population in the U.S. grew by more than 585 percent, more than twice the growth rate of the male prison population. Much of this increase has been attributed to more expansive policing, post-conviction barriers, and stiffer drug sentencing laws. Women have seen drug-related arrests increase by 317 percent since 1980, while men have seen a 69 percent jump. Today, more than half of the incarcerated women are serving time for drug and property offenses. Sentencing for these offenses, which considers the nature of the crime and criminal histories, can disproportionately put pregnant women inmates in harm's way. The Prison Policy Initiative estimates that in 2024, about 189,600 women and girls were held in state custody, and 93,000 were held in local jails across the country. Of this number, more than half of the women were held in jail while awaiting trial. Even after a conviction, women were more likely to be sentenced to jail, rather than to prison, compared to convicted men. This distribution can be problematic, particularly for pregnant women, because jails are poorly positioned to provide proper health care and often offer fewer services than prisons. This discrepancy, plus negligent care, is ultimately what cost Acoff her pregnancy. Given these grim statistics, tracking pregnancy outcomes in jails is essential, Dr. Carolyn Sufrin, board member of the National Commission on Correctional Health Care and fellow at the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, told The Marshall Project. Otherwise, Sufrin believes, it's impossible to know whether the nation's 3,000 jails are failing pregnant women. Sufrin is right to demand better data on how incarceration impacts pregnancies, but data alone will not stop the mass incarceration of Americans or reform policies that created the problem. The post Pregnant Women in Prison Aren't Getting Care, and No One Is Keeping Track appeared first on
Yahoo
21-05-2025
- Health
- Yahoo
Why some jail detainees in Missouri can go years without seeing the sun
An illustration shows a grid of different jail cells with small or narrow windows, or no windows at all. (Grace J. Kim/The Marshall Project). Jails are notorious for inhumane conditions. Detainees often complain of violence, inedible food, limited programming and subpar healthcare. Lack of sunlight may be an unexpected addition to the list. But sunlight deprivation causes a myriad of serious issues, including high blood pressure, osteoporosis, and an increased risk of diabetes, as well as a host of mental health problems such as depression and sleep disorders. Jails built in the last century often have few windows and little room for recreation and natural light, making them 'obsolete' by today's design standards, according to Kenneth Ricci, prison and jail architect with Nelson Worldwide, a design firm. This article was published in partnership with The Marshall Project, a nonprofit news organization covering the U.S. criminal justice system. Sign up for their Jackson newsletter, and follow them on Instagram, Reddit and YouTube. Bringing sunlight and fresh air into jails often takes a back seat to other pressing issues. But a lawsuit in San Francisco suggests forcing detainees to live in the dark could violate their constitutional rights. In 2021, a group of men awaiting trial at two California jails sued the city and county of San Francisco for being confined without fresh air and sunlight. U.S. Magistrate Judge Sallie Kim ultimately agreed with the men. In 2023, she ruled that the jails had violated the Constitution's due process clause. The officials 'created the problem by building a jail without a secured outdoor exercise yard and then relies upon that problem to claim that it cannot provide a secure way for inmates to have access to direct sunlight,' she wrote. These issues are top of mind for residents who have followed the closure of a jail in St. Louis, where detainees can go years without seeing the sun. The jails in all three cities have requirements to provide sunlight and fresh air, either mandated by jail policy, or by the state or federal governments. Yet all three have consistently fallen short, according to jail officials and state and federal inspection reports. City officials in St. Louis closed their crumbling older jail in 2021, but shuffling detainees into the remaining, newer jail hasn't solved the problems. When Darnell Rusan saw the sun for the first time in over a year, during a transfer from the city jail to the courthouse, he later recalled, he gazed up at it and took a deep breath. 'I hadn't seen it in so long, breathed fresh air in so long,' said Rusan, who was released from jail in March. 'I'm going to make sure I never go back in there.' The St. Louis Division of Corrections stipulates in its official policies and procedures that every jail in the city 'will have an outside exercise/recreation area for inmate use or an area that provides natural light.' In addition, all facilities must provide 'a wide range of recreational program[s]' that includes indoor and outdoor exercise and leisure-time activities. However, the city's downtown jail – the maximum-security St. Louis City Justice Center – doesn't meet these requirements, conceded Interim Jail Commissioner Doug Burris. There is no outdoor exercise area and no windows in the cells, just a pane of glass in the door that faces the dayroom. Burris said in an April interview with The Marshall Project – St. Louis that, even on a bright summer's day, 'not much' sunlight makes it to people inside. Only a paltry amount of light filters through thick frosted windows at the top of a small rec area where, on a good day, detainees may spend a few hours. What's more, he said, some people go years without access to the outdoors. 'We've got 50 to 75 people in here that have been here for at least two years, up to five years,' he said. 'We're taking an abundance off their life.' Instead of lobbying to improve outdoor access at the jail, Burris said he is in the process of updating the jail's guidelines to remove this requirement. The City Justice Center was designed without an outdoor recreation area. Fixing it would require finding the space in downtown St. Louis to construct a secure outdoor yard, or building one on the roof – both extremely costly, said Ricci, the architect at Nelson Worldwide. Burris believes the lack of opportunities for recreation and exercise is harmful. 'To house people at the facility in excess of a year likely exacerbates mental health issues for detained people already afflicted,' he wrote in a 2025 operational review of the jail. 'It also could create mental health issues for those who previously had none.' Rusan was detained awaiting trial for more than four years. Over the course of his stay, Rusan said he was often unable to tell the difference between day and night. As a result, he suffered disruptions in his sleep that continued well after he returned home. 'That place is like a basement,' said Rusan, who was ultimately found not guilty. 'Now that I'm home, [my family has] been asking me why I keep waking up at night.' Understaffing also means sections of the jail are on lockdown for 23 hours a day, meaning that many detainees are 'not even going to the indoor rec area,' said Khanika Harper, a member of the city's detention facilities oversight board. 'As far as actual sunlight, they don't have access to that at all.' (Burris confirmed in April that roughly half of the pods in the jail are on 23-hour lockdown.) With the demolition in March of the Workhouse, St. Louis's former medium security jail, Burris said the city's focus is on improving conditions at the Justice Center. But improving access to natural light and fresh air were not on Burris's list of immediate action items, which includes redesigning the jail intake area, getting a tablet for every detainee and creating a mentorship program and retention plan for jail staff. However, he said he hopes increased staffing and a 'rocket docket' (that allows people who have been detained longest to get their case quickly before a judge) will ameliorate the worst effects. 'I would like to get to a place where we could even get some vans and go pick up trash, just so they could be out in the sun,' he said. 'But I've got more immediate needs right now.'
Yahoo
14-05-2025
- Yahoo
Missouri prisons get ‘brutally hot.' In solitary, it's even worse
(J. Marshall Smith for The Marshall Project) Last summer, Kenneth Barrett recalls spending 46 days — about half the summer — in solitary confinement at Algoa Correctional Center, a minimum security prison in Jefferson City. In segregation, he was confined to a cell roughly the size of a parking spot for 23 hours a day. Barrett said he had brown tap water to drink, chilled only by the occasional delivery of ice. There were no electrical outlets to plug in a fan, he said. And no escape from his cell except for a warm or hot shower, three times a week. This article was published in partnership with The Marshall Project – St. Louis, a nonprofit news team covering Missouri's criminal justice systems. Subscribe to their email list, and follow The Marshall Project on Instagram, Reddit and YouTube He said he remembers a correctional officer telling him that it was 107 degrees outside his cell one day, which made sense, because the overhead vents only recirculated hot air. Algoa, a nearly century-old facility, is one of four prisons in the state with no air conditioning in any of the housing units, according to the Missouri Department of Corrections. As Barrett tells it, conditions throughout the prison are 'among the worst' he's experienced in his more than six years in prison. But it was in solitary confinement where he feared for his life: His cell had no button to push in case of a medical emergency, he said. On May 12, attorneys with the MacArthur Justice Center, a civil rights legal organization, filed a class action lawsuit against officials at the Missouri Department of Corrections on behalf of people incarcerated at Algoa, alleging that the prison's 'brutally hot' conditions constitute cruel and unusual punishment for those forced to endure dangerous temperatures with little to no relief. In interviews with The Marshall Project – St. Louis, and sworn statements to The MacArthur Justice Center, men incarcerated at Algoa, Ozark Correctional Center and Moberly Correctional Center described the effects of unrelenting heat in facilities with limited or no air conditioning. Their experiences underscore the unique dangers of extreme heat for people in solitary, also known as administrative segregation (ad-seg for short), or the hole. Barrett was among nearly two dozen incarcerated men who provided sworn statements in support of the civil rights complaint. Accounts of his experience are drawn from his sworn testimony. 'When medical emergencies like heat stroke occurred, we had to kick on the doors and scream for help,' Barrett wrote in his sworn statement. 'Often, it took over an hour for anyone to come. Sometimes, no one came to help.' When correctional officers did respond to the noise, Barrett said, officers frequently punished people for speaking up by writing them up for a disturbance. When he experienced his own symptoms of heat stroke — lightheadedness, nausea, and chest pains that made it hard to breathe — he reported himself to medical, but still wasn't allowed to leave his cell, he said. The complaint calls for the Missouri Department of Corrections to develop a heat mitigation plan to respond to future heat emergencies at Algoa, including maintaining a 'safe indoor temperature between 65 to 85 degrees Fahrenheit' inside every unit in the prison. The new safety plan should also include revised policies for solitary confinement, and for medically vulnerable populations. If the state is unable to implement a plan, the complaint argues three of the incarcerated petitioners with less than a year left on their sentences should be released. Missouri Department of Corrections Communications Director Karen Pojmann said ice is delivered to restrictive housing units, such as solitary confinement, three or more times a day. She added that Centurion, the prison's medical provider, has 'numerous protocols in place for all institutions' when temperatures rise above 90 degrees, including 'additional checks on elderly residents, chronically ill residents and residents taking certain medications.' However, the accounts of men incarcerated during the summer at several Missouri prisons suggest the state's heat mitigation efforts have fallen short. 'Some of these rooms down in ad-seg can get easy triple digit heat indexes for days at a time,' David Blackledge, who is incarcerated at the partially air-conditioned Moberly Correctional Center, wrote using the prison's email system to The Marshall Project – St. Louis in response to questions about his experience. He described a heat so oppressive that it was impossible to get more than 2 to 4 hours of sleep a night. When the ice machines worked, rather than using the ice to cool his water, Blackledge said he would use the ice to chill his bedsheets. 'At bedtime I take my clothes off, wrap my body in the frozen sheet, and then mummify myself,' he wrote. 'I really thought I was going to die from heat stroke last year,' he wrote. 'The heat gets so bad it often causes panic attacks. Hallucinations are not uncommon.' SUBSCRIBE: GET THE MORNING HEADLINES DELIVERED TO YOUR INBOX Extreme heat makes being in the hole even worse. The heat is a 'compounding force' that exacerbates existing physical and mental health challenges that often come with solitary confinement, according to David Cloud, a postdoctoral researcher at Duke University School of Medicine. Cloud published a study in 2023 on the correlation between extreme heat and suicide watch in solitary. In Louisiana prisons without air conditioning, Cloud found the rate of daily suicide watch incidents increased by 29% when the heat index reached the 'caution' level, defined for the study as 80-89 degrees Fahrenheit. Daily incidents increased by 36% when the heat index reached 'extreme caution,' defined as 90-103 F. Since people in solitary have exceptionally limited freedom of movement, Cloud said extreme heat not only can cause physiological harm, but increases the likelihood of 'that slow agony of psychological pain.' The temperature reached 97 degrees last year in Jefferson City, where Algoa and another state prison are located, according to Extreme Weather Watch, an archive of historical weather patterns. But temperature alone is an incomplete indicator of how hot it really feels in humid places. In an expert report for the civil rights case, University of Arizona postdoctoral fellow Ufuoma Ovienmhada recorded a heat index (a temperature measurement that also includes humidity) of up to 110 degrees outside Algoa some days last summer. She also noted that the temperature inside the prison was likely hotter because the building materials absorb the sun's heat all day. The risk of heat exhaustion is ever-present in prison. The first signs of heat exhaustion include profuse sweating, lightheadedness, clammy skin and a weak pulse. The symptoms can quickly turn to heatstroke. If left untreated, heatstroke can lead to organ failure, permanent neurological damage, and disability or death. The key to avoiding death or long-term injury is to treat symptoms swiftly by cooling the body down externally, and by hydrating with plenty of fluids. People in prison don't have that option, said Dr. Fred Rottnek, former medical director at the St. Louis County jail. The traditional ways to 'self-cool' such as taking a cold shower, going to a cooling center or turning on the AC aren't available. Incarcerated people's health during a heat emergency is almost entirely dependent on 'the ability to get help from staffers, either medical or security,' Rottnek pointed out. Extreme heat intensified medical and mental health conditions for Allen Fuller, who was incarcerated at Algoa in the summer of 2024. Fuller wrote in his sworn statement that he has been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder (characterized by symptoms of both schizophrenia and mood disorders such as bipolar disorder) and suicidal tendencies, and also struggles with another medical condition that causes near-daily vomiting. 'I hear voices that get more pronounced when I am hot. My mind starts playing tricks on me,' Fuller wrote. 'When I told staff I was hearing voices, they told me to stay under my fan,' he said, adding that he also vomits more frequently in the heat. 'The staff response to anything seems to be to send people to the hole,' Fuller continued, adding that incarcerated people's pleas for help are often met with yelling and screaming. 'I know we did wrong and that is why we are here, but we are still humans and have rights.' Incarcerated people said extreme heat also makes prison conditions worse. In the humidity, beds begin to sweat until they rust. Cockroaches are driven out of their crawlspaces and into people's cells. Irritability and desperation cause fights to break out over the last cup of ice, or the final spot in the rec room. 'You just lay in your bunk and wanna die,' Cole Ogle, who is incarcerated at Ozark Correctional Center, another facility with no air conditioning, told The Marshall Project – St. Louis. Ogle said the heat at Ozark, a minimum security prison that focuses on substance use treatment, exacerbates an already tense atmosphere. Even the personal fans, available only to a subset of the prison population who can afford them or land a spot in the coveted free fan program, do little but blow more hot air around the cells. The prison often cancels outdoor recreation on the hottest days, Ogle added, even if it's slightly cooler outside. Pojmann, the spokesperson for the Missouri DOC, said in an email that facilities without air conditioning in the housing units 'have the means to effectively circulate air through the wings' and keep residents cool using 'industrial fans, misting fans, sprinkling stations, cold drinking water and ice machines.' If ice machines struggle to keep up with the demand for ice, Pojmann said, 'facility administrators are instructed to purchase as much supplemental ice as necessary.' While air conditioning might seem like the most straightforward solution to the problem, implementing AC is costly, and not always possible. Prison renovations can cost taxpayers millions of dollars. And some of the oldest prison buildings can't be outfitted with air-conditioning units throughout the building due to their age, according to Pojmann. Incarcerated people report that even these buildings noticeably have air conditioning in administrative offices, classrooms, clinics and other areas where staff work — just not in the housing units where incarcerated people live. Access to air conditioning can also be weaponized in prison. Ovienmhada, the postdoctoral fellow, who is also one of the lead authors of a national study of extreme heat in US prisons, pointed to examples from incarcerated people she's interviewed of correctional officers coercively withholding air conditioning, or blasting the AC to dangerously low temperatures as punishment. Because these prisons are unable to offer meaningful reprieve from the heat to incarcerated people, Ovienmhada and Cloud have suggested the release of vulnerable people from prison as one solution. 'Building new prisons with air conditioning is not the solution,' said Cloud, the Duke University researcher. 'We have to talk about closing prisons that keep people in these types of conditions.' The MacArthur Justice Center lawsuit calls for swift policy change at Algoa. Jefferson City has already seen a handful of days in the 80s this year, including a high of 86 degrees in April. Shubra Ohri, one of the lead attorneys in the case, stressed that steadily rising temperatures across the state each summer mean that danger is imminent. A heat emergency could strike in a matter of weeks, she said, and, 'Algoa isn't ready.' As a minimum security prison, Algoa largely houses people who are nearing the end of their sentences. Because of extreme summer temperatures, some — like Arnez Merriweather, who is scheduled for release in October — worry they may never make it home. Merriweather recently learned his kidneys are failing, which increases his risk of life-threatening consequences from extreme heat. 'If you want to know what Hell feels like, it is summer at Algoa,' Merriweather wrote in his sworn statement. 'I need to survive this summer so I can get home… and I'm terrified of what will happen.' SUPPORT: YOU MAKE OUR WORK POSSIBLE
Daily Mail
04-05-2025
- Daily Mail
Experts reveal the most painful way to be executed
Though inmates on Death Row all have the same destination, some methods are more painful and torturous than others. Last year, 25 people - all men - across nine states were put to death as punishment for heinous crimes like murder. There are several execution methods performed in the US, but the vast majority, about 1,000 since the 1970s, have been through lethal injection, a three-drug concoction that renders the body unconscious and induces a heart attack. However, amid a series of botched executions with lethal injection that have led to painful deaths and even failed executions that required the inmate to undergo another round, some more archaic methods have gradually made their way back into the 27 states that allow the death penalty. Before lethal injection became the most common execution method, most offenders were killed by electric chair, which sends 2,000 volts of electricity through the nervous system and 'fries' the brain. Earlier this year, Alabama executed murderer Brad Sigmon via firing squad, a 400-year old technique in which corrections officers shoot one bullet into an inmate's chest. It was America's first firing squad execution in 15 years. has revealed the most brutal ways to be executed, as told by experts and witnesses. Firing Squad Last month, Brad Sigmon of South Carolina was tied down to an armless chair. A white target with a red bullseye was pinned to his chest. Guards held his head in place with straps across his chin and forehead and put a black hood over his head. Sandbags surrounded the chair to soak up his blood. In an enclosure about 20 feet away, three officers raised their rifles and each shot a bullet into Sigmon's chest at the same time. He was declared dead three minutes later. Sigmon, 67, was the first American in 15 years to be put to death via firing squad, a centuries old execution method that only recently regained traction. Just weeks after Sigmon's execution, 42-year-old Mikal Mahdi of South Carolina met the same fate after choosing firing squad over lethal injection or the electric chair. He spent about 45 seconds groaning in pain and was declared dead four minutes after the shots rang out. Firing squad executions in the US date back to 1608, and about 142 people have been put to death this way since then. In a modern-day firing squad execution, three officers stand about 15 feet away and fire through a small opening in the wall. The inmate's head is covered and they are restrained by their arms and legs. Despite the brutality of the method, some experts have suggested a firing squad execution may be one of the fastest ways to die. Dr James Williams, an emergency room physician in Texas and courtroom expert on firing squad executions, told The Marshall Project: 'There is a lot of evidence that the near-instant loss of blood pressure means no blood gets to the brainstem, and there is a rapid loss of consciousness. He compared it to a chokehold, which causes loss of consciousness in three to five seconds. However, a South Carolina court in 2022 said firing squad death could be considered 'torture' because it damages an inmate's heart and its surrounding bone and tissue. Experts testifying in the case said this would be extremely painful until the inmate falls unconscious. Firing squads are legal in Idaho, Mississippi, Oklahoma, South Carolina and Utah. Inmates can choose the methods in Utah and South Carolina, and in Mississippi it may be used if lethal injections are unavailable. A March 2025 bill made firing squad the main execution method in Idaho. Nitrogen gas Nitrogen gas execution, also called 'nitrogen hypoxia,' uses nitrogen gas to suffocate a person. Inmates are strapped to a gurney, unable to move any of their limbs, and are fitted with a mask and forced too breathe in pure nitrogen. Though nitrogen is naturally occurring and composes more than three-quarters of the air we breath, inhaling it at high concentrations leads to suffocation. While authorities in the four states where nitrogen hypoxia is legal - Alabama, Oklahoma, Mississippi and Louisiana - predict nitrogen hypoxia knocks an inmate unconscious and causes multi-organ failure in five to 15 minutes, critics say it causes excessive pain and humiliation. This could mean being left in a vegetative state or choking on one's own vomit. The World Society for the Protection of Animals said in its 2013 guidelines: 'Current evidence indicates this method is unacceptable because animals may experience distressing side effects before loss of consciousness.' The American Veterinary Medical Association made a similar conclusion in its 2020 guidance. And officials from the United Nations said it could breach human rights treaties that forbid 'torture or other cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment.' Some critics say that the use of a one-size-fits-all mask means that it's not airtight. An inadequate seal could lead to oxygen leaking through the mask, which could lead to a prolonged and painful death. According to the theory, this could also lead to a stroke, seizure or the inmate being put into a vegetative state instead of dying. Even brain cells that are starved of oxygen for a few minutes may never recover, leaving the sufferer brain dead but still technically alive. Last year, Kenneth Smith of Alabama became the first American executed with nitrogen gas. It took 22 minutes for the 58-year-old to be pronounced dead, during which he thrashed against the gurney, convulsed and vomited into his mask. Since then, four more men have chosen nitrogen gas for their execution. Jessie Hoffman Jr of Louisiana became America's fifth inmate executed with nitrogen gas in March. It took 19 minutes for him to stop breathing. Witnesses reported he twitched and jerked his head with fists clenched. Prisoners can select this method of execution. In Mr Smith's case, he chose it after surviving a botched lethal injection. Lethal injection Lethal injection is the most common execution method in the US, with 1,377 injections administered since the 1970s. The method was first developed in 1977, though it would be five years before it would be used for the first time in Texas inmate Charles Brooks. Today, all 27 states that have the death penalty allow lethal injection. Lethal injection involves restraining the inmate to a gurney and placing heart monitors on their skin. Two needles, one of which is a backup, are inserted into the prisoner's veins, usually their arms. The inmate is given a trio of chemicals: the anesthetic midazolam to render them unconscious, the paralytic bromide to stop them from moving and potassium chloride to stop their heart. Dr Joel Zivot, an anesthesiologist and professor at Emory University in Atlanta, told CNN the 500 milligram dose of anesthetic likely triggers pulmonary edema, a condition in which fluid builds up in the lungs. If the inmate is not fully unconscious, pulmonary edema could make them feel as if they are drowning. However, Dr Ervin Ten, a retired anesthesiologist who has witnessed several executions, said if pulmonary edema starts after a patient becomes unconscious, it is likely 'not causing them discomfort.' Experts have also raised concerns that the paralytic would render an inmate unable to communicate distress if they have not properly been knocked unconscious. Dr Mark Health, an anesthesiology professor at Columbia University, testified in a lawsuit challenging Kentucky's execution protocol that some inmates have cried tears during the process. He said this could indicate severe pain or suffocation. Potassium chloride has also been shown to cause severe pain, which some experts comparing it to feeling like the arm is on fire. The whole process is meant to take about five minutes, but botched case can take up to two hours. The most recent lethal injection procedure was performed May 1, 2025, in Florida for Jeffrey Hutchinson, who was convicted of murdering 32-year-old single mother Renee Flaherty and her three children in 1998. The procedure took 15 minutes. According to the Associated Press, Hutchinson's legs shook and his body spasmed for several minutes before he went still and was declared dead. Glen Rogers, nicknamed the 'Casanova Killer,' will also be given a lethal injection in Florida two weeks later for the murder of five people in the 1990s. An additional eight lethal injections have been planned so far for 2025. Hanging Up until the 1890s, hanging was the most common method of execution in the US, particularly famous in the Wild West. But in 2025, it is only a legal execution method in Washington state, and this is only if lethal injection is either unavailable or ruled unconstitutional. The last hanging execution was carried out in 1996 in Delaware for Billy Bailey, who was convicted of murdering elderly couple Gilbert and Clara Lambertson. Hanging was the official method of execution in Delaware until 1986, and the gallows were disassembled entirely in 2003. The method typically involves an inmate being weighed the day before and authorities having to perform a rehearsal with a sandbag the same weight as the inmate. This is meant to determine how long the drop from the top of the gallows needs to be for a quick death. During the execution, the inmate's hands and feet are secured and they are blindfolded. Once the noose is placed around their neck, a trap door beneath them opens and the inmate falls through, breaking their neck. While hanging is meant to provide an instant death, small errors can make it torturous. If the rope is too short, for example, an inmate could be strangled instead of having their neck immediately broken. This could leave them gasping for air for up to 15 minutes. In fact, throughout the 1800s, inmates were known to hang by their broken necks for up to 30 minutes before finally succumbing to asphyxiation. Harold Hillman, an expert in executions at the University of Surrey, told NBC News: 'Hanging is a very cruel way of killing people. 'The fracture obstructs their breathing, and they are left gasping for breath.' If inmates fall too far, they may pick up so much speed that the noose decapitates them. This would be an instant death. Electric chair Around the time hanging became less common in the US, the electric chair came to take its place. In 1881, a dentist named Dr Albert Southwick suggested using electrocution to execute inmates after he watched an elderly drunk man 'painlessly' die from touching an electric generator. New York's Electrical Execution Law was passed eight years later and Edward David, an electrician at Auburn Prison, was commissioned to build the world's first electric chair. On August 6, 1890, 30-year-old William Kemmler of New York became the first American killed via electric chair. A year earlier he had been convicted of murdering his wife Matilda 'Tillie' Ziegler. However, the process was far from painless. The machine delivered 700 volts of electricity for only 17 seconds before the current failed. Even though witnesses reported smelling burned clothing and charred flesh, Kemmler was far from dead. Anything over 50 volts is considered potentially deadly. He underwent a second charge of 1,030 volts for two minutes. As he was confirmed dead, smoke wafted out of his head. Since 1890, 4,374 electric chair executions have been performed in the US, the only country to have ever used the method. The electric chair is no longer used as the sole execution method in any state, and the last one was in Tennessee in 2020. The method is legal in nine states, and in many cases, the inmate can ask for it in place of lethal injection. The method involves shaving and strapping a person to a chair with belts across their chest, groin, legs and arms. A metal skullcap-shaped electrode is attached to the scalp and forehead over a sponge moistened with saline. The inmate is then blindfolded and the executioner pulls a handle to deliver between 500 and 2,000 volts of electricity for around 30 seconds. The exact amount depends on weight and how much the inmate is able to survive. US Supreme Court Justice William Brennan, who opposed the death penalty, described electric chair executions in gruesome detail in 1986. He said: 'The prisoner's eyeballs sometimes pop out and rest on [his] cheeks. The prisoner often defecates, urinates, and vomits blood and drool. 'The body turns bright red as its temperature rises, and the prisoner's flesh swells and his skin stretches to the point of breaking. 'Sometimes the prisoner catches fire... Witnesses hear a loud and sustained sound like bacon frying, and the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh permeates the chamber.' This happens because the intense electric current causes all muscles in the body to lose control, including those in the bladder and bowels. The body also thrashes so hard that multiple bones break. The current also fries all nerves in the body, including those in the brain.
Boston Globe
17-04-2025
- Politics
- Boston Globe
Meet Trump's new bureau of prisons director
'Billy is a Strong Advocate for LAW AND ORDER,' Trump wrote. 'He understands the struggles of our prisons better than anyone, and will help fix our broken Criminal Justice System.' Marshall inherits an agency that has been understaffed and plagued by scandal for years. The bureau has recently faced congressional scrutiny, and its union leaders are unhappy about Advertisement In a written statement to The Marshall Project and Los Angeles Times, Marshall thanked Trump for 'this tremendous opportunity.' Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up 'It's been an honor and a privilege to serve the state of West Virginia,' he said, adding that he's 'excited to take that West Virginia pride to the next level.' After decades in law enforcement, Marshall took the helm in January 2023 of the West Virginia Division of Corrections and Rehabilitation, which includes all of the state's prisons, jails, and juvenile lockups. Prior to that, he was assistant commissioner for the division and the head of the juvenile corrections division. He also spent 25 years in the state police and worked as a criminal investigation director for what is now called the West Virginia Department of Homeland Security. Advertisement It's unclear whether that experience will translate well to a system as large as the federal Bureau of Prisons. The West Virginia corrections department incarcerates just about 10,000 people on a typical day, while the federal system houses more than 150,000. U.S. Sen. Jim Justice — who, as West Virginia's governor, appointed Marshall to lead the state's prison system — praised Marshall's selection in a Facebook post. 'I was proud to put Billy in charge of our Department of Corrections in West Virginia and we were able to turn it around after decades of decay. I have full confidence in him & know he will do a great job,' Justice wrote. West Virginia's prisons and jails have a fraught history. When Marshall took over, the state's prisons were in the midst of a staffing crisis so severe that the governor had declared a state of emergency and deployed the National Guard to act as correctional officers. Marshall worked with the legislature on a package to increase starting salaries, and to raise pay and offer one-time bonuses for current correctional officers. Related : The state's regional jails have come under scrutiny for squalid conditions, excessive use of force and In response to such allegations, Marshall said 'inmates made up claims of inhumane treatment and told relatives to spread them,' a local television A judge sanctioned state corrections officials for Advertisement Lydia Milnes, an attorney who has sued West Virginia's corrections department several times, expressed worries about Marshall's appointment. 'I'm concerned that he comes from a past where the culture is to use force to gain control as opposed to considering less violent alternatives,' she said. 'He has continued to foster a culture of using excessive force.' A separate suit, which the corrections department settled in 2022, Much like its smaller counterpart in West Virginia, the Bureau of Prisons has dealt with severe problems, including staffing shortages, An investigation by The Marshall Project in 2022 disclosed Another facility, FCI Dublin in California, was dubbed the 'rape club' because of numerous sexual abuse scandals. The facility, roughly 20 miles east of Oakland, Advertisement The bureau also faces massive infrastructure challenges. A report from the Justice Department's Office of the Inspector General The bureau has also struggled to hire staff, and labor leaders say that problem is likely to get worse because of Related : Adding to the pressure, as of February, the Bureau of Prisons was The agency has been largely rudderless since Trump fired the prior director, Colette Peters, in January. Shortly after, at least Brandy Moore White, president of the national union for federal prison workers, said she's 'cautiously optimistic' about Marshall's appointment, though she wasn't familiar with him. 'Somebody leading the ship is better than everybody pointing fingers,' she said. To some federal prison workers, news of Marshall's appointment came as a shock, and they describe it as confirmation that the White House appears to have little interest in working with federal employees. Advertisement 'We were beyond surprised and a little bit disappointed that the announcement came through a social media post,' said John Kostelnik, the California-based Western regional vice president for the correctional workers union. 'Our agency officials, the high-ups — they had no clue.' Kostelnik said he and other union leaders have learned few details about Marshall, beyond the basics of his resume. Still, Kostelnik said he's optimistic it will be a fruitful relationship, and that the union is ready to 'work hand-in-hand' with the new director. Josh Lepird, the union's South Central regional vice president, echoed that hope, but added a hint of caution: 'I'm hopeful he's here to work with us, but I don't know,' he said. 'With the current administration's actions, it could be that he's here to privatize us.' On Friday morning, typically outspoken advocacy organizations offered measured responses to Marshall's appointment. Shanna Rifkin, deputy general counsel of FAMM — a nonprofit that works to improve the justice system and prison conditions — said Marshall's lack of federal experience didn't necessarily pose a problem and that the organization looked forward to working with him. 'I think it's good he has experience running a prison system and hope that he'll be open to learning about the federal system from people in the advocacy community and impacted populations and their loved ones,' Rifkin said. David Fathi, director of the ACLU's National Prisons Project, called the federal prison system a 'deeply troubled agency in urgent need of reform,' and said he hoped the new director would tackle the 'many systemic problems that have been identified by courts, the Inspector General, and Bureau staff.' Advertisement
