Happy 25th Anniversary Alabama Appleseed!

Appleseed’s Reentry Coordinator Ronald McKeithen introduces Appleseed’s clients at the Celebrate Justice event on October 24th. These men were sentenced to die in prison until Appleseed won their freedom.

This year, Appleseed’s annual Celebrate Justice event looked back on 25 years of advocacy for marginalized and vulnerable Alabamians. We celebrated alongside longtime supporters, founding board members, elected officials, retired staff, and our beaming formerly incarcerated clients, who vibrantly shared their stories with the crowd. 

Appleseed Reentry Coordinator Ronald McKeithen celebrates with guests

In preparation for our 25th Anniversary, we combed the archives, and throughout the evening, we shared memories of the impact Appleseed has had during a quarter century. Over the years, Appleseed has played a role in reforms of: tenants rights, immigration, healthcare, disaster recovery, property rights, criminal justice, predatory lending, the death penalty, and more. Much of this work was accomplished under the leadership of the heroic John Pickens, our founding executive director, who joined the celebration. 

Speakers highlighted some of Appleseed’s major legislative wins, including:

  • Passage of Alabama’s first Landlord-Tenant Act in 2006;
  • Ending judge override in death penalty cases in 2017;
  • Stopping the practice of Alabama sheriffs underfeeding jail inmates and pocketing profits in 2019;
  • Providing a 6-month grace period before people must begin paying court debt following incarceration in 2022;
  • Ending automatic suspensions of drivers licenses for people too poor to pay traffic tickets in 2023.

Jefferson County District Attorney Danny Carr attended the celebration

We were honored that several statewide and local elected officials joined us, including: Jefferson County District Attorney Danny Carr, Jefferson County Circuit Court Judge Stephen Wallace, Bessemer Presiding Circuit Court Judge David Carpenter, Cam Ward, Director of the Alabama Board of Pardons and Paroles, Montgomery County Circuit Judge Brooke Reid, and Alabama State Representative Chris England, whose father, retired Judge John England served on Appleseed’s founding Board of Directors.

In addition to celebrating our history, we took stock of our current work, as Alabama’s leader in criminal justice reform and Second Chances advocacy. We have won freedom and provided hope for countless incarcerated people, like Ronald McKeithen, who served 37 years in prison, is now a valued member of the Appleseed team, and shared his enthusiasm with the crowd.

Appleseed’s Executive Director Carla Crowder with Appleseed’s first Executive Director John Pickens

Under the leadership of Executive Director Carla Crowder, Appleseed’s work has garnered national attention from major philanthropies. We have secured multi-year funding from: the Annie E. Casey Foundation, the National Football League Foundation, Arnold Ventures, and the Just Trust. Our small office of four has grown to offices in Montgomery and Birmingham where researchers, lawyers, social workers, formerly incarcerated advocates, and support staff come together.

“I like to think Appleseed brings out the best in our state,” Carla shared at the Anniversary event. “Over and over again we’ve brought together small groups of committed, caring Alabamians. We’ve fearlessly tackled what is most urgent and brought relief and hope to the suffering and overlooked. Yes, we have many challenges and many mountains yet to move in Alabama. But the people in this room have proven that more fairness, more opportunity, and more justice is possible when we turn our hope into action.”

Special thanks to our title sponsor, O’Neal Industries, our generous host committee, and board members Tiffanie Agee, Duquette Johnston, and Barbara Royal, who all played a role in the event’s program. 

Celebrate Justice, 25 Years of Alabama Appleseed, was held October 24 at the Birmingham Botanical Gardens.

Founding board member Nick Gaede and Executive Director Carla Crowder at Celebrate Justice

Celebrating Justice!

Appleseed’s Community Navigator Callie Greer ends the evening in song and inspiration.

Jefferson County Circuit Court Judge Stephen Wallace talks about Appleseed’s economic justice work.

Appleseed Board Vice Chair Tiffanie Agee welcomes guests

Appleseed client John Coleman greets guests

Appleseed clients Robert Cheeks and Joe Bennett with staff Ronald McKeithen and Mary Parker

Appleseeds Advocacy Director Elliot Spillers, Communications and Development Director Megan Cheek, and Policy Director Elaine Burdeshaw

District Judge Martha Reeves Cook and Founding Board Member Cassandra Adams

Celebrating Justice!

Celebrating Justice!

Celebrating Justice!

Celebrating Justice!

Celebrating Justice!

Celebrating Justice!

 

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After investigation, no criminal charges in the torture and homicide of Daniel Williams at Staton prison.

By Eddie Burkhalter, Appleseed Researcher

Daniel Terry Williams, 22, was likely smothered to death on November 9, 2022 inside Staton Correctional Facility.

Daniel Terry Williams, 22, was likely smothered to death a year ago on Saturday, according to the state’s chief medical examiner, and there was evidence on his body that corroborate what witnesses have said was his kidnapping and torture over a period of several days inside Staton Correctional Facility. He died the day he was set to be released from prison. 

Despite witnesses who saw Mr. Williams being held against his will in a secure prison staffed with officers, and despite clear medical evidence pointing to homicide and a suspect identified, that suspect has not been charged in Mr. Williams’s death. To date, no one has been criminally charged in connection with his death. 

In a prison system where frequent, violent deaths are common, the homicide of Mr. Williams stood out for a number of reasons: he was serving a short sentence for a minor crime, he was scheduled for release within days, his torture over a prolonged period went undetected for days, and his assailant had a long record of institutional violence that went unaddressed. 

And now, it appears, no one will be held accountable for this young man’s suffering and death.

“Insufficient probable cause to issue an indictment”

The Alabama Department of Corrections (ADOC) Law Enforcement Services Division completed its investigation and forwarded those findings in July to the Elmore County District Attorney’s Office for presentation of a criminal case to the grand jury, an ADOC spokeswoman told Appleseed. 

“The case involving the death of Daniel Williams was investigated by the I&I Division of DOC,” wrote 19th Judicial Circuit District Attorney CJ Robinson in a response to Appleseed last week. He referred to ADOC’s Law Enforcement Services Division as I&I, which is the abbreviation of the division’s former name, the Investigations and Intelligence Division. 

“The completed casefile was submitted to the 19th Judicial Circuit DA’s Office several weeks ago and presented to the first available Grand Jury in Elmore County (October 2024). After hearing the details of the investigation, the grand jury determined there was insufficient probable cause to issue an indictment,” Mr. Robinson said. 

In Mr. Williams’ case, the grand jury had the opportunity to hear from investigators and review any video footage before being presented with three possible offenses to indict on: murder, manslaughter, or criminally negligent homicide, Mr. Robinson told Appleseed. 

“They took a long amount of time to hear the evidence and for their deliberations,” he said. But ultimately, they failed to receive 12 votes to indict. 

Mr. Robinson also shared that if additional evidence or witnesses surface that might change the grand jury vote, he would consider re-presenting the case, which is something he has done in the past. 

“Diffuse abrasions and contusions on his upper extremities that may be defensive in nature”

Dr. Edward Reedy, chief medical examiner for the Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences, conducted the autopsy, and his report includes details of Mr. Williams’ tragic last few days. 

“There is evidence of ligature restraint on the decedent’s ankles and contusions on various locations that are also suggestive of manual restraint,” Mr. Reedy wrote in the report, also noting there were “Multiple abrasions and contusions in varying states of healing” and “diffuse abrasions and contusions on his upper extremities that may be defensive in nature….The cause of death was probable asphyxia due to smothering.” 

Mr. Williams’ death, along with the deaths of numerous other incarcerated Alabamians, was brought to the attention of the Legislature’s Joint Prison Oversight Committee, which has held multiple public hearings in the last six months with several committee members showing increased concern about Alabama’s deadly prisons.

Appleseed’s executive director, Carla Crowder, addressed the Committee in a December 2023 meeting. “The 38-year-old suspect in this kidnapping, rape and torture was involved in nine instances of sex assault, rape, and stabbing since 2017 in ADOC while incarcerated. … There is no documentation that he was placed in segregation for any of these assaults. There was no disciplinary action by ADOC.”

“His classification summary showed a five-year clear record of institutional violence, which resulted in a perfect score of zero in risk assessment conducted in October, and a total score low enough for him to be placed in medium security in an open bay dorm. The psych associates signed off on this and the warden signed off on this,” Mrs. Crowder told committee members. “Nine days later, 22-year-old Daniel Williams … was found, according to ADOC, unresponsive on this inmate’s assigned bed.”

The 22-year-old’s death caught the attention of journalists across the U.S. and abroad. AL.com’s John Archibald in January noted that ADOC’s records identify the suspect as being one who assaulted Williams on Oct. 22, 2023. Archibald identifies the suspect as “Inmate X” in his article, as the man hadn’t been charged.  

“Inmate Williams was found unresponsive on (Inmate X’s) assigned bed,” a DOC report says, according to Mr. Archibald’s reporting. “It appeared that victim had been assaulted. (Inmate X and two others) were believed to be involved in this incident.”

“Alabama prison officials wrote that report on Nov. 8, the day before Williams was taken off life support, two weeks after the assault, and only after Williams’ family hired a lawyer,” Mr. Archibald wrote. “Williams was declared dead the next day.”

ADOC didn’t classify the assault as a crime or levy a disciplinary charge, Mr. Archibald noted, but instead simply wrote the matter up as an “enemies report” which are supposed to be used to keep disputing incarcerated people from one-another. 

Mr. Williams’ death contributed to the record number of deaths in ADOC last year, a total of 325.

What’s next for the grieving family?

Despite the lack of criminal charges, multiple civil lawsuits are on the horizon, adding to the dozens of cases the State of Alabama is currently defending over prison deaths, excessive force by staff, inadequate medical care, and unconstitutional conditions. 

Andrew Menefee, an attorney representing Mr. Williams’ father, told Appleseed he plans to file a civil suit on behalf of the father.  “Daniel Williams’ death was tragic but unfortunately representative of other prisoner deaths and civil rights violations that Alabama citizens routinely see occurring in the state prisons,” Mr. Menefee wrote in a statement. 

Mr. Williams’ death came at a time when Alabama prisons are being closely watched by the U.S. Department of Justice, which in December 2020 sued the state and ADOC, alleging that the state “fails to provide adequate protection from prisoner-on-prisoner violence and prisoner-on-prisoner sexual abuse, fails to provide safe and sanitary conditions, and subjects prisoners to excessive force at the hands of prison staff,” according to the lawsuit. 

Tammy Williams, Daniel’s mother, told Appleseed that their hearts are broken in the wake of the brutal and preventable death of their son. 

“Daniel died from his injuries on the day he was set to be released from Staton. To those who mourn his loss with us: We thank you for the comfort and love you have shown us during these difficult times. To all others, we ask that you grant our family privacy pending the full outcome of this matter. We ask that you direct any and all inquiries to our attorney, Kirby Farris of Farris, Riley & Pitt,” Mrs. Williams said. 

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Reflections

When I joined Alabama Appleseed as the organization’s first researcher seven years ago, I expected to learn a lot about Alabama. What I didn’t realize what how much I’d learn about myself. As I take my leave, some reflections on what I hope I’ll leave behind.

By Leah Nelson

When I was 10 years old, the mother of a girl in my fifth-grade class took her own life.

I’m not sure how I know this. A kid who knew the girl better must have whispered it. I do remember my fifth-grade teacher telling my class the girl’s mother had died. I remember raising my hand and say I heard she had killed herself. I remember my teacher telling me that wasn’t something people talk about.

I remember turning the idea of suicide over and over in my head and knowing that inside my head was where it had to stay—because, as my teacher told me, it was not something people talk about.

And so I grew up assuming everyone thought about taking their own lives. That’s what I thought about. And since most people around me seemed OK, I also assumed I was the only person not up to the task of managing my feelings.

It was a lonely way to feel.

My work at Appleseed, where I researched and wrote about people’s experiences with violence and the criminal legal system, has focused on what happens after people have experiences that are unmanageable. How they carry on in the wake of trauma and loss, humiliation, fear, setbacks, mistakes, and loss of liberty. What they do with themselves and to themselves—and with and to their communities—in the aftermath.

I am not a survivor of violence. I have never been incarcerated or charged with a crime. I do not have those experiences in common with the people whose stories and experiences I sought to elevate in my work at Appleseed.

What I do have in common with them, I think, is the experience of feeling something unmanageable and also unspeakable, and ultimately being at a loss to handle it on my own. I know what it feels like to be set apart by something that people do not talk about.

Throughout middle and high school, I hid my depression as well as I could. It was in college that I started opening up about how I felt. But I quickly realized my friends did not feel the same way. They were conflicted and moody and anxious and weird the way young people often are, but they didn’t feel the way I felt. Realizing this made me feel so overwhelmingly alone that I dropped out of school.

I was lucky: My family and a handful of very good friends realized that I needed help and had the means to make sure I got it. I spent some time in intensive psychiatric treatment. I was one of the youngest people there. I saw things that terrified me. I saw a woman try to choke herself by swallowing a ping-pong ball. I met the same woman a few weeks later after she’d had electroconvulsive therapy. She was so cognitively impaired from the treatment that she didn’t recognize me.

But I also met people who had things to teach me. There was a woman in her 50s who had struggled with serious mental illness for decades. She was also a photographer. I bought a photo from her that still hangs in my home. It shows a tree in the middle of a flooded field, so flawlessly reflected in the water that it’s hard to tell where the tree ends and the reflection begins. I believe the photographer’s illness impelled her to seek that beauty and stillness, and take a minute to notice it so she could remember it later. There is something to learn from that.

I eventually got better, though it took all of my 20s. Eventually I moved to Alabama and found myself writing about, and sometimes working with, people who had been involved with the criminal legal system.

Some of them had hurt other people, though most had hurt only themselves. Some hurt no one, but were trapped in a cycle of debt and incarceration as a result of poverty-based offenses.

All of them were haunted in tangible ways by a system of punishment that is designed to make itself difficult to overcome and which is taboo to talk about. They had felony convictions and outstanding warrants and suspended drivers’ licenses. They had mandatory drug tests and probation appointments and monthly payment plans that meant they couldn’t always feed their families, or themselves. They had education and ambition and intelligence and warmth and drive.

I have never been convicted of anything more serious than a traffic violation, but my experience with mental illness left me with some sense of what it is like to be reduced to, and haunted by, just one thing about you. Though there have been some changes in recent years, social stigma around mental illness remains intense. There is a reason I don’t often talk about this part of who I am.

But people are complicated and uncategorizable—and that, fundamentally, is what the work I did with Appleseed was about.

It can be difficult to absorb information that complicates whatever narrative we have constructed or adopted about individuals or places or the way the world works. But when we learn things that complicate our understanding of the world around us, the question is what we will do with them. Do we have it in us to change our behavior in response to nuanced and challenging realities? When it comes to how we respond to violence and brokenness in Alabama, that is a question that we have to ask ourselves.

For me, this work has been an attempt to chronicle and demonstrate that our lives and communities are more complicated than the reductive narratives so often handed to us, and that it is worth delving into how we are all shaped by the hard parts. It has been an attempt to create space for those who need it to process, manage, and come to terms with grief and the aftereffects of trauma, which—much like mental illness—is something that is acknowledged and worried about in the abstract but for which very little space currently exists.

I started this essay with a sentence that’s hard to write, about a terribly sad and also terribly common event that I was told not to speak of. I wrote about how I internalized the message that certain things are too awful to talk about, and how the isolation of being unable to talk made it hard for me to know how to keep going.

Working at Alabama Appleseed was not supposed to be about me. Yet reflecting on my years here, I can’t help but reflect on the self-knowledge I’ve gained by paying attention to the people it’s been my privilege to work with. Community Navigator Callie Greer is a chef and a singer, a mother and grandmother, a “delivered drug addict” and a world traveler and an inspiration. Re-Entry Coordinator Ronald McKeithen is an artist and an enthusiast who, everywhere I’ve been with him, dashes over to any art that might be on display and closely examines what I might have barely glanced at. Birmingham Re-Entry Alliance Case Manager Stacey Fuller is a plant-lover and a veteran and a nurse and a person in recovery from a town called Bugtussle, who knows how to wield her complicated past as either a sword and a plowshare, depending on the room. Sometimes both. Callie and Ron and Stacey’s openness about the difficult parts of their pasts inspires me to better mother and a more thoughtful person; to integrate parts of myself that I thought were incompatible and walk forward, whole.

I don’t believe my experience of mental illness and recovery is the same as the experiences of the people whose lives I have chronicled in this work, including those I have worked with most closely and love. But I do know what it is like to be deeply affected by experiences that so often go undiscussed and unacknowledged because they are stigmatized. Because we, as a society, do not much like to talk about hard things.

I know what it is like to need space to connect and space to reflect. And as I leave Alabama Appleseed after seven years, I hope this work has gone toward creating that kind of a space—not only for me, but for everyone across Alabama who needs it.

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Charles Craig was incarcerated 19 years for a victimless crime.

“I hope my case will open up people’s eyes that there’s something wrong with the judicial system. It’s broken and it’s unfair.”

by Carla Crowder, Executive Director and Becca Cardin, Appleseed attorney

Charles Craig poses with his family. After spending 19 years in prison for a victimless crime, Mr. Craig is free at the age of 73.

In 2006, Charles Craig was sentenced to life in prison when prosecutors invoked Alabama’s Habitual Felony Offender Act following his drug conviction. He would not be eligible for parole until he was 81 years old, according to the Alabama Department of Corrections’ calculations.

Charles Craig

From the moment he was sentenced, even the judge acknowledged regret at being forced by law to impose such a harsh sentence. Once behind bars, Mr. Craig buried himself in the prison law library, filed hand-written motions, sent letters. For 19 years he seemed stuck. Then one of his letters reached Appleseed.

When Appleseed lawyers began investigating his case this spring, it was immediately clear that this was a ridiculous injustice. In July, Mr. Craig walked out of St. Clair prison a free man. He is 73, with many health problems common to the long-time incarcerated. But his powerful story illustrates perseverance and hope against nearly impossible odds.   

Someone else’s car and someone else’s pill bottle

Charles Craig’s case began with a simple mistake: borrowing a vehicle from someone he didn’t know well in order to run a brief work errand. The vehicle matched a Be-On-the-Lookout alert the police dispatched; he was pulled over in Trussville and the car was searched. The police found drug paraphernalia in the glove box and a pill bottle with the car owner’s name on it in the console. The bottle contained water with what was later determined to be a minuscule amount of heroin, according to court records.  Despite the small amount of liquid and mere trace of heroin, Mr. Craig was charged with drug trafficking. A jury found him guilty. It was 2006 and he was 56 years old.

Charles Craig with Appleseed’s Re-entry Coordinator Ronald McKeithen

There was no evidence that Mr. Craig was involved in the drug trade. The drugs that were found were not packaged in a manner that they could be dispersed for sale nor were any of the other hallmarks of the drug trade found in the vehicle. After hearing all of the evidence in this case, then-Jefferson County Circuit Court Judge Teresa Pulliam stated:  “Mr. Craig, based on the fact I have absolutely no discretion in this case but to sentence you to life in prison, I do sentence you to life in prison. …I have absolutely no alternative, Mr. Craig, and that pains me that I didn’t, because I will state for the record publicly if you did not have two prior felonies, I would give you probation in this case. But I have no discretion but to give you a life sentence. And that is something the legislature needs to look at.”

While Mr. Craig was sentenced under the HFOA to life with parole, the Alabama Department of Corrections incorrectly classified him under Alabama’s drug trafficking statute and determined he would have to serve 25 years before he was eligible for parole, meaning he would have to wait until 2031 for the parole board to review his sentence. He would be 81 years old.  Had Mr. Craig  been properly classified he would have been eligible for parole after 10 years; instead he was forced to serve two sentences simultaneously for a victimless crime he arguably did not commit.

Zero disciplinary infractions in 19 years

Throughout his incarceration, Mr. Craig proved his sentencing judge right, that he did not need to be in prison. He lived in the Faith and Character Honor Dorm, worked in the law library for nearly 14 years, and received numerous positive reports from the correctional officers who supervised his work. He also participated in several educational, spiritual, and rehabilitative programs.

Charles Craig with Appleseed Staff Attorney Scott Fuqua

Remarkably he never received any disciplinary infractions. After over a decade in Alabama’s harsh prison system his health began to decline. He was diagnosed with prostate cancer. He was born with only one kidney and it began to fail. He was moved to the notoriously dangerous St. Clair Correctional Facility as it is the only one in ADOC with medical facilities equipped to provide dialysis. Yet he continued to work, this time cleaning the prison dorms.

Earlier this year, Appleseed Staff Attorney Scott Fuqua filed a Rule 32 Petition on Mr. Craig’s behalf to restore his freedom. Jefferson County District Attorney Danny Carr reviewed his case and supported the effort. Circuit Judge Candice Pickett granted the Petition and Mr. Craig was resentenced to time served. After 19 years, Mr. Craig walked out of prison a free man.

Given the facts of his case and mistakes that prevented his parole eligibility, no one would blame him if he was bitter and angry. Instead, Mr. Craig’s greatest feeling is relief and joy to be back with his loved ones. A longtime friend, Darlene Bendion, has provided a home for Mr. Craig until he can arrange for his own place. Ms. Bendion was his mother’s hairdresser. “When I got

Darlene Bendion, who was Mr. Craig’s mother’s hairdresser. She promised his mother before she died that she would provide a home for Mr. Craig when he got out of prison.

incarcerated, she took care of my mother and she made a promise to my mother that she would stick by me no matter how long it took,” Mr. Craig explained. “And she did exactly what she promised my mother.”

Appleseed’s Reentry Team is working closely with Mr. Craig to secure Social Security benefits and medical care, and to assist him in acclimating to a world much different than the one he left when he was younger, working full time in construction, and healthy.

He hopes someday soon to find his own house with a yard for his children and grandchildren to enjoy. “I missed a lot of birthdays

and graduations and so on. But I was able to see all of my grandkids, great grandkids that I’ve never seen before. They had a barbecue for me and I got to meet all of them. I’m happy in that aspect,” he said.

But also, “I hope my case will open up people’s eyes that there’s something wrong with the judicial system. It’s broken and it’s unfair.”

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Fentanyl is killing people inside Alabama’s largest, most expensive law enforcement agency – the Alabama Department of Corrections

by Eddie Burkhalter, Appleseed Researcher

St. Clair Correctional Facility (photo by Bernard Troncale)

The lives of two young men, both 31, who died 23 days apart this year in separate Alabama prisons, were ended largely by the same drug, according to state medical examiners. 

Overdose deaths, and especially those deaths known or suspected of being caused by fentanyl, have soared in the state’s prisons. The overdose mortality rate in Alabama’s prisons last year of 435 per 100,000 people was 20 times the national rate across state prisons. 

Chase Mathis died inside Elmore Correctional Facility on June 4 in the minutes after his father last spoke to him by phone (photo courtesy of the family).

Tim Mathis knew his son, Chase, had a drug problem and had gotten into drug debt with other incarcerated men at Staton Correctional Facility, but when Chase realized his life was in danger and asked an officer for help, he was instead transferred to a dorm at Elmore Correctional Facility known for heavy drug activity, Mr. Mathis said. 

Chase Mathis died inside Elmore Correctional Facility on June 4 in the minutes after his father last spoke to him by phone, an ADOC investigator told Mr. Mathis. Instead of protecting his son, Mr. Mathis said the Alabama Department of Corrections (ADOC) “threw him to the wolves.”  

What his son’s autopsy report shows is that the state’s medical examiner believes Chase died of accidental “mixed Drug toxicity (fentanyl and fluorofentanyl).” Fluorofentanyl is a synthetic form of fentanyl first produced in the 1960s. He was given two doses of Narcan, a drug used to reverse an opioid overdose, but it wasn’t effective, according to the autopsy report. 

“I know what he was doing. I know why he was in the prison, but he shouldn’t have died there,” Mr. Mathis said. He places the blame for his son’s overdose death squarely on the back of ADOC, which he said “needs to get off their asses and do something” about the rampant drug crisis across the state’s prisons. 

ADOC is desperate to increase its dismal staffing levels, but continues to bleed staff due to corruption, officer arrests, and turnover. Recent hiring efforts have produced applicants unable to pass the drug screens and fitness tests, and who have gang affiliations who have been weeded out, reducing the numbers of new recruits. This week, ADOC Commissioner John Hamm revealed that the 4,000-bed mega prison under construction in Elmore County will have a final cost, including furnishing and move-in costs, of $1.25 billion, the most expensive prison ever built in the United States. The ADOC has produced no plan as to how this prison will be staffed; neither did the agency submit a 2025 budget at the Joint Legislative Budget Committee hearing this week.

The loss of life continues, claiming sons, brothers, husbands

Wesley Abernathy, 31, died on Mother’s Day inside Bullock Correctional Facility. The ADOC investigator assigned to his death told his wife, Amber Abernathy, by phone last week that the toxicology report shows it was a lethal dose of fentanyl that killed her husband. That report isn’t yet public record, and awaits the local district attorney’s decision regarding any possible criminal charges before it can be released, the Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences wrote to Appleseed last week. 

Wesley and his wife, Amber Abernathy (photo courtesy of the family).

Mrs. Abernathy said she strongly believes her husband had no idea that what he may have taken before he died contained fentanyl. “He had been given it one time and was already scared of what it had done to him,” Mrs. Abernathy said. “They roll their own cigarettes, so they’re lacing these cigarettes with things.” She too blames ADOC for its failure in preventing the constant flow of drugs. 

“I don’t think that the guards are even watching when they should be, and you don’t know how many guards are bringing it in,” Mrs. Abernathy said. Mrs. Abernathy, who works as a social worker, asked why ADOC has not increased medical staff inside prisons as a result of the increasing numbers of overdose deaths. She warned other incarcerated people not to take substances from other incarcerated people or from officers, as they can’t be certain of what other drugs they might contain. 

Of those in ADOC custody, between 75 percent and 80 percent have substance use disorder, according to Appleseed’s report “A Bitter Pill.” Yet the drug treatment has plummeted across the prison system. In 2010, there were 5,242 incarcerated people in Alabama’s prisons who completed drug treatment, but by 2023 that number fell to 967. 

Alabama Appleseed asked ADOC whether Narcan, which cannot be abused, is made available to incarcerated people inside prison dorms. ADOC is working on a statement regarding the department’s use of Narcan, a spokeswoman told Appleseed. 

Alabama prisons saw a record 325 deaths in 2023. So far, ADOC investigations have determined that 112 of those deaths were from preventable causes, with 10 homicides, 13 suicides and 89 overdose deaths. The death rate in Alabama prisons has climbed to five times the national average. Alabama’s prisoner mortality rate is 1,370 deaths per 100,000 people, compared with a national average of 330 deaths per 100,000, according to the U.S. Department of Justice Bureau of Justice Statistics.

ADOC has a serious problem hiring and retaining quality officers as well, leaving prisons woefully understaffed. Records requests show 366 staff were fired between 2018 to 2023. Of those, 134 were charged with work-related crimes, ranging from smuggling contraband to assault and murder. Commissioner Hamm acknowledged in this week’s legislative budget hearing that the department was not going to meet a court-ordered staffing increase of 2,000 more officers by January, 2025. 

While there have been arrests of both ADOC officers and civilians, charged with contraband-related crimes, in speaking with incarcerated people who witness the many drug deals inside Alabama prisons, those ADOC staff arrests are just the tip of the iceberg, and many more officers continue to smuggle drugs and other dangerous contraband for substantial payments.  

Prison officers arrested across the state

ADOC officer Monica Blakeney was arrested at Limestone Correctional Facility on July 31, charged with second-degree promoting prison contraband for allegedly bringing amphetamine/methamphetamine into the prison, according to news accounts. Blakeney was released from jail on a $5,000 bond. 

ADOC officer Annetta Smith was arrested August 1 and charged with promoting prison contraband and possession of marijuana. Smith is being held under a combined $30,000 bond for her two charges. Smith has since resigned from her position with the ADOC.

Court records state Smith on August 1 “smuggled three packages wrapped in black electrical tape into Staton Correctional Facility” which contained 273 grams of marijuana. She admitted to smuggling in the drugs under her clothing to sell to an incarcerated man, according to those records. 

Kilby Correctional Facility officer Tyree Lynette Hoyle, 46, was arrested March 24 and charged with use of position for personal gain and attempting to distribute drugs. Court records indicate Hoyle met ADOC officer, Ebony Chillous, at the Montgomery Zoo and received three packages containing suboxone, marijuana and a cell phone. Chillous is also charged with attempting to distribute drugs and using her office for personal gain. 

Charging documents state Hoyle on November 30, 2023, conspired with a state prison inmate and Chillous to deliver drugs inside the prison. She received a $500 Cash App payment from an incarcerated man on November 9 and transferred the payment into her personal bank account, according to court records. 

Mario Grant, 32, an officer at Kilby Correctional Facility, was arrested February 26 and is charged with use of official position for personal gain and conspiracy to commit a controlled substance crime after smuggling drugs into the prison. The charging documents do not state what drugs he is alleged to have brought into the prison. 

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Less than one year into a short prison sentence, Wesley Abernathy is gone. He was only 31.

Wesley Abernathy was set to be released in December 2025. He had been sentenced to 30 months in ADOC. He died at Bullock Correctional Facility on Mother’s Day this May (photo courtesy of the family),

By Eddie Burkhalter, Appleseed Researcher

Like many Alabama families, Wesley Abernathy’s mother, wife, and sister paid thousands of dollars in extortion payments hoping the money would keep him alive during his short sentence in an Alabama prison. “We have gotten threats from other inmates in there. I was suckered into paying money,” his sister, Darby Martinez explained. “One time he was on the phone with me, and somebody got on there and said, ‘if you don’t send me this money, I’ll kill him tonight.’” 

The family paid dearly. But Wesley died anyway.

“I had to tell my mom. It was horrific. I think that’s the worst pain that I’ve ever been through,” Mrs. Martinez told Appleseed. Wesley, 31, was her mother’s only son. He died at Bullock Correctional Facility on Mother’s Day this May.

Mrs. Martinez talked to her brother by phone the night before he died. They talked for eight minutes, until 10:58 p.m.  “I’ll call you on Mother’s Day. Tell mom and everybody to answer,” Wesley told his sister. Instead, Mrs. Martinez got a call from a prison employee at 6:58 a.m. 

“Let me switch you over to the chaplain,” the man told her. “I knew instantly something was wrong. He couldn’t get the chaplain to answer so he told me ‘I’m very sorry but Wesley passed away.’ I don’t really remember much from that moment. I know they said that I just fell to the ground and was screaming,” Mrs. Martinez said. 

Wesley Abernathy with his sister, Selena Colon, his mother, Aleshia Gonzalez, and his sister, Darby Martinez (photo courtesy of the family),

Wesley was set to be released in December 2025. He had been sentenced to 30 months in ADOC, followed by probation, after pleading guilty to manslaughter.

From January 1st through June 20th  there were 161 deaths among the incarcerated in Alabama prisons, Appleseed learned through a records request. Alabama prisons saw a record 325 deaths in 2023.  So far, ADOC investigations have determined that 112 of those deaths were from preventable causes, with 10 homicides, 13 suicides and 89 overdose deaths. 

Alabama’s overdose mortality rate in prisons last year of 435 per 100,000 was 20 times the national rate across state prisons, according to the latest available national data from the Federal Bureau of Investigations. 

Ms. Martinez estimates that during her brother’s time in prison she sent $3,000 to men who’d threatened his life. Between her, her mother and Wesley’s wife, she estimates they sent between $5,000 and $7,000 to extortionists who threatened to kill him. 

“Because I was scared for his life, and even with us telling the prison, ‘Hey, there’s drugs in there. It’s not as safe there. They were like ‘Oh, well, he’s probably gonna die.’ This is literally what the woman told me on the phone,” Mrs. Martinez said of a female officer she spoke to. “She said, we’ve moved him four times already, and I said, no you have not. You moved him from one dorm to the next. You didn’t try to do anything.” 

Mrs. Martinez said the Law Enforcement Services Division investigator looking into her brother’s death told the family that ADOC told him not to worry about an autopsy because they believed it was an overdose death, but the condition of his body at the funeral home told another story.

The side of Wesley’s face was black, and he had a large knot on his head. “So we started asking. How did this happen?,” Mrs. Martinez said. 

The investigator told the family that he fought for an autopsy to be done because Wesley had bruises on his face, but that according to the funeral home there were no signs that an autopsy had been done. 

“We had my brother cremated, so there’s no going back. They just ripped that away from us. We thought an autopsy was performed because the investigator didn’t even know the autopsy wasn’t even done,” Mrs. Martinez said. 

Wesley had an addiction problem and may have been using drugs while incarcerated, Mrs. Martinez said. She believes he was in debt to those men inside who were selling him drugs. Drug debt is a common catalyst for violence and death inside Alabama prisons. 

One incarcerated man who was extorting the family told Mrs. Martinez on a prison phone about a month before her brother died that, “We run this prison. The officers do what we say, so they’re not going to protect your brother.” Like so many Alabama families with incarcerated loved ones, Wesley Abernathy’s family did not know who to turn to, or how to create safer conditions for him. There is no guidebook for desperate families and generally no one with any power to help them. “There are people that deserve to be in there. I understand that, but it’s to teach people. Not for all these families that have to get phone calls that their family member is gone.” 

Wesley and his wife, Amber Abernathy (photo courtesy of the family).

Mrs. Martinez described her brother as a good-hearted person who loved to fish, and could most often be found fishing at Guntersville Lake. “He was a good man. He had three babies, and he loved them to death, with everything in him,” Mrs. Martinez said. 

Amber Abernathy, Wesley’s widow, told Appleseed she received a call from the prison warden the morning he died, but that the shock of finding out had her in disbelief. 

“I was just saying, Is this a joke? Are you just kidding? This is not funny. I just was in panic,” Mrs. Abernathy said. The warden told her there was no bruising on the body and that it appeared to have been a medical event. 

Mrs. Abernathy described what the family saw when they arrived at the funeral home. 

“He had lots of bruising on his face – on the right side of his face. He had a knot on the right side of his head, and markings behind his ear and on his right side,” Mrs. Abernathy said. “We were not prepared for that.” 

The Law Enforcement Services Division investigator assigned to her husband’s death told her in an early phone call that they believed he died of a fentanyl overdose, she said, and that there were no bruises or other signs of injury on him. She said that although she suspected he was using drugs in prison he’d never take fentanyl purposefully, and that he had always been afraid of that drug. The investigator told her his body would be set for an autopsy, but that’s not what happened, she explained. 

Mrs. Abernathy said the investigator told her Wesley could be seen on security footage at around 3:30 am the day he died doubled over in pain, before going to the bathroom where he remained doubled over as if his stomach was hurting. He then returned to his bunk. A man who slept nearby Wesley later told the investigator that when Wesley returned from the bathroom he told the man he believes he may have ingested fentanyl. She said the family knows he bought a cigarette from someone the night before and they’re worried that it may have been laced with a drug. 

In another call with the investigator about three weeks after the funeral he told Mrs. Abernathy that he had seen those bruises and had requested an autopsy, Mrs. Abernathy said, but when she explained to the investigator that the funeral home told the family they saw no signs of an autopsy having been done, the news caught the investigator off guard. 

Wesley and his daughter, Paizlee Abernathy (photo courtesy of the family).

“That doesn’t make sense, because I specifically requested for a full autopsy on him. They had his body at forensic sciences, so I don’t understand why they didn’t do an autopsy,” Mrs. Abernathy said the investigator told her, referring to the Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences (ADFS), which can conduct full autopsies and drug toxicology screens on incarcerated people. 

Mrs. Abernathy requested the report on her husband’s death from the ADFS but in a letter to her on June 20th, and in an identical letter on July 19th, the department said the reports in that case weren’t yet public records because the death was either still under investigation by the local district attorney, or because the department hadn’t yet finalized the reports. 

ADOC declined to directly answer Appleseed’s questions regarding the statement the investigator made about his concerns over the signs of injuries and his request for a full autopsy. 

“The death of inmate Abernathy is still under investigation by the Law Enforcement Services Division. The ADOC does not have the authority to authorize autopsies. Any questions regarding autopsies should be directed to the Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences,” the ADOC spokesperson wrote to Appleseed. 

ADFS in a response to Appleseed also didn’t answer whether Wesley received a full autopsy or just a toxicology screening, and instead sent a letter identical to those sent to Mrs. Abernathy. 

ADOC first confirmed for Appleseed that autopsies would no longer be done by the state for suspected natural or overdose deaths. UAB Hospital terminated its longstanding agreement with ADOC to conduct autopsies and/or toxicology screens on suspected natural and overdose deaths on April 22, 2024, ADOC told Appleseed. Families recently filed a lawsuit against UAB after discovering that their incarcerated loved ones’ bodies were returned to them for interment missing internal organs. 

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Welcome Summer Intern Katia Apedoh

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“Alabama Appleseed is a natural bridge between the diversity, equity, and inclusion work that I have done in high school and what I plan to do in college. I am so grateful to Appleseed for the opportunity to learn about the problems that impact justice-involved people in Alabama and see what it means to be an advocate!”

Katia Apedoh just graduated from Hoover High School, where she served as leadership for Student Diversity Council, captained Ethics Bowl, and received her International Baccalaureate (IB) Diploma. Katia was very active with diversity work within the Hoover City Schools District, even developing a diversity initiative for teachers for which she received the 2024 Alabama Princeton Prize in Race Relations. In the fall, Katia will attend Washington and Lee University where she plans to double major in English and Politics with a minor in Law, Justice, and Society. Katia hopes to attend law school.

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In an overcrowded prison dorm with no correctional officers present, a beloved brother and son is killed, one of four deaths at Donaldson prison in three days.

By Eddie Burkhalter, Appleseed Researcher

Deandre Roney died June 9, 2024. He was one of four men at Donaldson prison who died over a three-day period in June (photo courtesy of his family).

Deandre Roney knew his life was in danger, so he asked officers at Donaldson Correctional Facility to move him, as did his family. A man had been chasing him with a knife for days, and had already stabbed him once, the blade breaking off inside of him, his family told Appleseed. 

Corrections staff assured the family that they would move Deandre to safety. He wasn’t. Instead, Deandre was stabbed in his back and in his head by a makeshift knife the following day. He died June 9 at UAB Hospital. Mr. Roney was scheduled to be released on Nov. 6, according to court records. 

Deandre was one of four men at Donaldson prison who died over a three-day period in June. One man died while in hospice care at the prison, and two others were found unresponsive and later died. 

“Friday night my brother called and asked if he could have someone come and get him out of that dorm, because he didn’t feel safe. He wanted to rest,” said Chante Roney, Deandre’s sister. Deandre’s mother called and spoke to an officer who told her he’d get her son moved, Ms. Roney said. 

“Saturday morning my brother called and asked if we contacted anyone there, because no one ever came,” Ms. Roney said. Within a few hours of that phone call her brother was stabbed.

The day of the stabbing the family got a call from another incarcerated man telling them they needed to call the prison and that something had happened to Deandre. They called and spoke to a lieutenant whom they said was “very rude” and said they’d have to call back on Monday,  Ms. Roney said. Later Saturday evening the prison’s warden called the family and confirmed that he was injured, but did not tell the family the serious extent of his injuries. 

“He said he was at UAB and he was stable, and for us to go over there and see him. He’s ready to be seen. Just prepare for the worst,” Ms. Roney said the warden told them. “But we were thinking maybe he was just injured real bad, not knowing he was already dead. They really just had him set up so we can come and view his body.” 

No correctional officers present

In the days after his death the family received calls from men in Donaldson prison who knew Deandre and what happened to him. Those men told the family that Deandre was looking for help that Saturday, but there were no officers in his dorm. Deandre walked toward the prison’s faith dorm where officers could usually be found, Ms. Roney said, but he never made it to safety. “This guy snuck behind him and killed him and left him outside,” Ms. Roney said.

Deandre Roney (photo courtesy of his family)

People who are nearing release can often become targets of violence in Alabama’s deadly prisons, where staffing is woefully under court-ordered staffing levels, and prisons are overpopulated and filled with drugs and weapons. Donaldson prison was at 150 percent capacity in April, the last month for which the Alabama Department of Corrections (ADOC) has released a monthly statistical report. 

“He was reaching out, uneasy. He didn’t feel safe. He felt like something was going to happen before he made it home by November, and they failed him. They really failed him,” Ms. Roney said. 

The man who the family was told by others inside Donaldson prison killed Deandre is serving 30 years after pleading guilty to attempted murder and assault in the first degree in 2011. ADOC declined to say whether anyone has been charged with Deandre’s killing, and court records don’t indicate the man the family believes killed him has been charged in connection with the death. 

“There are no further updates to share at this point. The LESD investigation is active and ongoing,” an ADOC spokeswoman responded to Appleseed, referring to ADOC’s Law Enforcement Services Division. 

“We were saving money up for him to come home, to buy him clothes, because he’s been gone all these years,” Ms. Roney said. “He was coming home the first week of November, His birthday was at the end of November, and he didn’t even make it.” Instead of using that money to help her brother make a  life outside of prison, the family used it to bury him. 

150 days left to serve

Deandre’s handwritten motion for reinstatement of his probation, which goes into detail about telling his probation officer that he lost his job and was unable to pay his fines and fees.

Deandre pleaded guilty to first-degree robbery and attempted murder in 2002 and 2003 respectively, and was sentenced to 20-years split sentence, to serve three years with five years of probation following his release. He was 16-years old at the time of the robbery, court records show. He remained in state custody until July 2007, but his probation was revoked by then-Jefferson County Circuit Court Judge Gloria Bahakel in November 2008 after he missed one check-in with his probation officer and failed to pay his court-ordered fines and fees that month, court records show. He was remanded back to prison to serve out that original 20-year sentence. Deandre was 150 days shy of completing his sentence when he was killed. 

Ms. Roney plans to speak at an upcoming public hearing of the Joint Legislative Prison Oversight Committee meeting on July 24th. “I would love to speak on my brother’s behalf,” she told Appleseed. She won’t be alone that day in Montgomery. Tim Mathis, who’s son, Chase Mathis, died moments after he spoke to him by phone in Elmore Correctional Facility on June 4th, also plans to speak to those lawmakers. 

Ms. Roney wonders how long her brother remained there on that ground outside before other incarcerated men, not officers, came to his aide. 

“Inmates had to go out there and get my brother off of the ground and get him to the infirmary. He didn’t have a chance,” Ms. Roney said. 

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Another death in an Alabama prison, another grieving family

Chase Mathis was confined to a wheelchair when he went to prison. His mobility challenges meant he often did not have enough to eat and did not get his basic needs met. But in Alabama’s drug-infested prisons, lethal drugs are always available even when food is not.

By Eddie Burkhalter, Appleseed Researcher

Chase Mathis died inside Elmore Correctional Facility on June 4, 2024. His grieving family is seeking answers (photo courtesy of his family).

Chase Mathis died inside Elmore Correctional Facility on June 4 moments after his father last spoke to him by phone. Now the father is seeking answers, and wants to expose Alabama’s troubled prisons that failed to keep his son, who entered prison in a wheelchair, alive.

Before prescription pills took their toll, Chase was a farm boy and a prankster, affectionately called Plowboy in his community. “He’s been climbing on tractors since he was big enough to ride a bicycle to the fields…He could pretty much run anything. If he could reach the controls he could run it,” Tim Mathis said. His son grew up in a small rural community between Dothan and Cottonwood. “He loved to shoot fireworks. He loved to hunt. Just normal country stuff.”

Chase Mathis loved making friends and family laugh (photo courtesy of Chase’s family)

Chase went to great lengths to make people laugh, his father remembered. During a friend’s birthday party at a local fast food restaurant, Chase dressed in full clown costume, makeup and all, just to make people smile. 

His son’s life took a turn when he became addicted to prescription pain pills, Mr. Mathis said, but it was a 2014 car accident that sent him to prison. Chase was driving with a friend and was intoxicated when they believe he fell asleep at the wheel. The car struck a tree, killing his friend. Chase suffered multiple broken bones throughout his body, three skull fractures, a torn spleen and an aneurysm. “We stayed in the trauma unit for 41 days before we knew he was going to live,” Mr. Mathis said.  A year-and-a-half later Chase was indicted for murder, but Chase later agreed to a plea deal and a reduced charge of manslaughter. He was sentenced to 15 years. 

Chase’s attorney asked that he be put into the Alabama Department of Corrections’ Substance Abuse Program (SAP), Mr. Mathis said, but he never received that critical treatment once incarcerated. “Ain’t none of that happening,” Mr. Mathis said of the SAP program. “It’s just a crock…If we had known that at the time, if I could go back and do it again I’d say, take your damned chances, go to trial and see what the jury says.” 

ADOC’s own data confirm that there has been a 64% decrease in the number of incarcerated people completing drug treatment over the last decade. Staffing is threadbare at the troubled agency, which constricts the availability of rehabiliative programming. Magnifying Chase’s challenges in prison was the fact that he relied on a wheelchair. He called his father one day in tears, and said he was hungry. “I can’t walk,” Chase told his father, and his dorm is too far from the dining hall. By the time he wheels himself there it’s too late, and the food is being put up, he said. If he buys food from the prison store he has to eat it as soon as he buys it, or else he’ll be robbed of the food, and the officers do nothing to stop it, Chase told his father. 

Mr. Mathis called then-ADOC Commissioner Jeff Dunn to discuss his concerns but Dunn declined to talk to him, so Mr. Mathis said he’d like to visit the prison and talk to him in person. 

“And I was advised that if I set foot on the property up there I’d be charged with a terroristic threat,” Mr. Mathis said. 

“There was no medical rehab whatsoever. He had to teach himself how to walk,” Mr. Mathis said. His son began using drugs in prison, he believes, to get his mind off of the brutal violence and unchecked depravity surrounding him inside daily. 

Mr. Mathis spoke to his son the day he died. Their call ended at 8:32 p.m. on June 4th. He received a call from the prison at 10 p.m. with the news of Chase’s death. An investigator with ADOC’s Law Enforcement Services Division told Mr. Mathis that he believes Chase died within 15 minutes of talking to Mr. Mathis.

Chase Mathis (photo courtesy of the family).

Mr. Mathis said it’s hard to know for certain, but he’s concerned his son may have been killed with what’s known as a “hotshot,” or a lethal dose of drugs administered against one’s will and meant to kill. 

“Chase told me he owed these guys money. He didn’t tell me who they were, but he told the investigator. He gave them their names,” Mr. Mathis said. Chase owed more than $1,000 in separate amounts to three men at Staton prison, he said. He assumed it was drug debt, which is common in Alabama prisons and often results in the extortion of family members, assaults and homicides. Because of that debt and threats he was receiving, Chase told investigators and asked to be moved, his father said, but instead of placing him in a cell by himself for protection, his son was placed in general population. Chase’s deaths just moments after arriving at Elmore prison is suspicious, he explained. 

Chase’s body was sent to the state’s lab at the Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences for an autopsy, Mr. Mathis said. He was told by ADOC that the autopsy would be done because the death was under criminal investigation. 

ADOC first confirmed for Appleseed that autopsies would no longer be done by the state for suspected natural or overdose deaths. UAB Hospital terminated its longstanding agreement with ADOC to conduct autopsies and/or toxicology screens on suspected natural and overdose deaths on April 22, 2024, ADOC told Appleseed. Families recently filed a lawsuit against UAB after discovering that their incarcerated loved ones’ bodies were returned to them for interment missing internal organs. 

Mr. Mathis has signed up to speak at the upcoming public hearing during the Joint Legislative Prison Oversight Committee meeting on July 24th. He’s still not sure what he’ll say, but knows he wants to talk about the drug crisis in Alabama’s prisons. 

Mr. Mathis said he’d like to see a nationwide news agency come in and expose the crisis in Alabama’s prisons. “So the average person out here can see, because if we had a dog pound that was run like the facility my child’s been at, they’d be pitching a fit,” he said. 

National coverage of Alabama’s horrific prisons has been widespread at least since 2019, and sadly the humanitarian crisis persists. Reports have appeared in USA Today, The New York Times, CNN, Politico, Fox News and more.

Families with incarcerated loved ones attend the Prison Oversight Committee hearing in December 14, 2023 (photo courtesy of Alabama Daily News).

Reaction from lawmakers on the Joint Legislative Prison Oversight Committee after hearing from family members of incarcerated people at a previous public hearing in December 2023 resulted in passage of SB322 this past legislative session, which creates a family services unit to provide answers and information to families of incarcerated people who have been injured or hospitalized. 

Alabama’s overcrowded, understaffed and deadly prisons have been in a state of crisis for decades, yet with each week the crisis only gets worse. Appleseed regularly talks to family members who have lost loved ones inside prisons, or who are being threatened with violence or death, and family members extorted to keep them safe, and it’s not just Appleseed staff who are having these conversations. 

“I know I’ve said this before, but I’ve gotten another call from another constituent where their son was beat up because the gangs are running our prisons, and the prison guards are bringing the drugs and the cell phones to the gang members,” Alabama House Speaker Pro Tem Chris Pringle, R-Mobile, said during a Legislative Contract Review Committee’s meeting in June. “I mean, these people call me and they’re crying their eyes out because they’ve got a video tape of their son that’s just been (sexually assaulted) or beaten up by the gangs. I feel sorry for you all, but please God, we’ve got to do something to protect these prisoners. It’s insane what’s going on in our prison system.”

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Welcome Summer Intern London Breedlove

My name is London Breedlove and I am so excited for the opportunity I have been given to intern with Alabama Appleseed this summer! A Mississippi native, I was brought to Alabama on a tennis scholarship at the University of Montevallo. There I am a rising senior majoring in Political Science and minoring in prelaw. I immediately fell in love with the campus and my professors who created a safe academic atmosphere and close-knit community for my classmates and me. In my political science classes, I have learned the intricacies of Alabama’s state and local governments, as well as their Department of Corrections.

My interest in criminal justice reform sparked through my education where I learned the unconstitutionality of Alabama’s prisons as well as their significant recidivism rate due to lack of reentry programs. In my Public Policy class in particular, we were given policy briefs done by researchers at Alabama Appleseed that examined excessive fines and sentencing, illustrating the institutional injustices adopted by the State. Working closely with their materials allowed me to have a better understanding of the work that this nonprofit does as well as the meaningful connections they create with their clients. I knew from this class that I wanted to work with an organization like theirs, so when I was given the opportunity to be an intern here I immediately took it.

I am so grateful to intern at a place like Alabama Appleseed whose mission is to provide resources and care for those who have been neglected by our governmental systems. I hope to gain my law degree so that I can work in public service and be a voice for those whose rights have been stripped.

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