The Beating You Weren’t Supposed to See: A Former AZDOC Officer Speaks Out

 

Let me tell you something right now — that viral 3-minute video Fox 10 Phoenix aired last week? That wasn’t the whole story. That was just the tip of the blood-soaked iceberg.

As a former Arizona Department of Corrections Officer, I know exactly what you're looking at in that video. You’re seeing the tail end of a brutal, calculated beatdown that started long before the cameras started rolling. That inmate? He’d already been dragged, pummeled, and bled out — by the time he was being chased down the entire length of the prison yard like a damn scene out of a gladiator movie.

Fox 10’s report referred to it as a fight that “spilled out into the prison yard.” SPILLED OUT? Like someone knocked over a soda. No — this wasn’t some spontaneous scuffle. That man was hunted.

Let’s Break Down the Bullsh*t

Donna Hamm’s Comment:

“The inmates are running the asylum, and that's not what the taxpayers in Arizona are paying for.”

Newsflash: the inmates have always run the yard. That’s not some shocking revelation — it’s the reality of prison politics. Whether staff want to admit it or not, politics govern everything behind those gates. It’s about respect, reputation, and survival. That’s why inmates hustle harder inside than they ever did outside — the stakes are higher.

And if DOC staff weren’t so damn corrupt — bringing in drugs, phones, and contraband to pad their wallets — maybe the balance of power wouldn’t be so skewed. But you get paid under the table to look the other way or slip a few favors in exchange for obedience, and guess what? You’ve officially become part of the problem.

Another Hamm Quote:

“No one came to his aid, no staff member attempted in any way to stop the assault and that includes when the assault spilled out into the open recreation area.”

OF COURSE NOT. You think guards were just too slow to react? Hell no. Many of them are paid off or too scared to interfere. This wasn’t negligence — this was compliance. You don’t work inside long without learning how deep that corruption runs.

And before you go clutching your pearls about COs being “outnumbered” or “undertrained,” let me remind you: in DT (defensive tactics) training, I had to survive a 3-minute free-for-all against multiple instructors who knew how to fight. I walked out with a dislocated jaw, a bruised rib, and a torn patella. And that was TRAINING. In the field, I took a busted rib and a split lip breaking up a fight over a football game.

But I earned respect. I respected my inmates. And 9 times out of 10, they had my back. But walk in there like your badge makes you untouchable? You’ll be hated faster than you can say “count time.”

Hamm Again:

“When you look at the video, and you see that inmate swinging a metal lock on what appears to be some sort of a strap or a belt...”

It IS a lock on a belt. No guessing necessary. Those things are buried all over the yard. Inmates hide them like Easter eggs for riots, beefs, and survival. Shanks, locks, weapons — they know where their insurance policies are stashed. This didn’t just “happen” — it was ready.

And for the record? That wasn’t about territory or drugs. That was over a password. Probably to a phone, tablet, or private comms. The kind you pay a CO to smuggle in and charge you double on the back end.

And then... the AZDOC's Response:

“No inmates received serious injuries.”

You saw the video. Blood everywhere. That man was beaten in the head with a combo lock over and over. If you call that “not serious,” I don’t want to know what your idea of “severe” is. A body bag?

“This was an isolated incident.”

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

Just last week, two more lock beatings happened in two different Arizona prisons. And wouldn’t you know it — camera footage “cut out” mid-beating. Happens all the time, like a magic trick. Except it’s not magic — it’s cover-up.

I’ve heard it. I’ve seen it. I was told the whole play-by-play before it happened, by inmates who trusted me enough to be honest. And you know what? They were always right. Every damn time.

So, What’s the Real Problem?

Let me make it plain: these prisons are not about rehabilitation. They’re about profit. The system was built to keep bodies in bunks and dollars in pockets. And when you mix a broken system with unchecked corruption, violence is inevitable.

I’m not here to excuse the inmates. Some of them? Yeah, they earned their spot. I believe in accountability. But there’s a difference between paying your dues and being beaten within an inch of your life because the system profits off chaos.

If you’re shocked by what you saw in that video, you should be. But don’t be naive enough to think that was a one-off. That was just one time a camera didn’t cut out in time.

I may be on the outside now, but I will never stop speaking up. Because unlike the suits sitting in those ADOC offices, I actually gave a damn about my inmates. I knew their names. I listened. And I saw the cracks in the system — cracks that are now wide open and bleeding all over the damn yard.

Let me make something else clear — I’ve seen the whispers, the shade, the posts in your little “prison wife” groups.
Y’all want to call me fake? Say I don’t know what I’m talking about? That I’m too loud? Too bold? That I should “sit down and choose my battles”?

Well, y’all keep believing that.
Go ahead and keep sipping your “stay in your lane” Kool-Aid, and handing out passive advice to “take a seat in the back.” You do you.

But me?

Was I arrested the night my husband relapsed and used?
Sure was.
Was I doing anything other than sitting in that passenger seat, next to a man I love, who was at rock bottom?
Sure wasn’t.

I didn’t use. I didn’t run. I didn’t lie.
But I damn sure got dragged into it.

Because that’s how the system works. Proximity to pain gets punished. Innocence gets buried under “guilt by association.” But I’m not hiding from that. I’m not ashamed of that. So go ahead — keep posting those links and throwing around that mugshot like it’s a badge of dishonor. You’re not exposing me. You’re just showing the world what people endure when they stand by someone in the middle of their storm.

I have nothing to hide.
And more importantly —

I DID NOTHING WRONG.

And still — every damn day — I choose to show up.
I choose to help others survive this same broken machine.
I choose to speak the truth, even when it burns bridges and rattles cages.

Because I know how fast things move behind those gates. I know the unspoken codes, the politics, the setups, the hustle, the heartbreak. I lived it on both sides of the badge.

So I will keep fighting.
I will keep helping the ones who want real change.
I will keep speaking up — whether it’s over a “small” issue or a full-blown, institutional cover-up.

Because the day we stop fighting…
The day we start “choosing our battles” and accepting “just the way it is”…
That’s the day the darkness wins.

And when it does?
All of y’all sitting in the back better keep your mouths shut — because you chose silence over standing up.

Arizona: DO BETTER. People: DO BETTER!

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#EppersonEmpowerment #PrisonStopsNothing #AZDOCTruth #InmateRightsMatter #PrisonReformNow #JusticeFromTheInside #FactsCheck #ExposeTheSystem #CorrectionsCorruption #BeyondTheBars #ArizonaPrisonCrisis #LockBeatingsAreReal #InsideVoicesMatter #COsSpeakOut #BleedingForReform #StopPrisonViolence #UnfilteredTruth #FromGuardToWife #HumanLivesNotProfit #SystemicInjustice #SpeakLoudAdvocateProud #IncarcerationRevolution #BehindBarsNotBeyondHelp #CallOutADOC #NotAnIsolatedIncident #FromTheYardToTheWorld #BreakTheCycleAZ #TruthBehindTheWire

Shattered in a Thousand Pieces – When the World Just Feels Too Heavy

 

 I feel like I’ve been zapped into a million tiny pieces, floating midair, like that scene in Willy Wonka where the kid is scattered before he ends up inside the TV. That’s me. Mentally shattered. Emotionally pulverized.

Everywhere I look, there’s pain. Injustice. Corruption. And people who either don’t see it—or worse—don’t care.

The prison system is eating people alive. Men and women are dying behind those walls. Getting beaten. Getting broken. Getting silenced. And yet, you won’t see it on the nightly news. You won’t hear about it in the paper. The stories get buried, twisted, or ignored altogether.

“Advocates” sit on the outside, preaching about policies and reform, acting like they know what really goes on. But unless you’ve sat in that visitation room, unless you’ve begged a warden for a call, unless you’ve gotten a call from someone who just witnessed a beating or a death, then you don’t know.

My husband is trying to survive hell every single day. And I can only watch from the outside—helpless, heartbroken, exhausted. I try to carry both our pain. But it’s getting too damn heavy.

On top of that, I’ve got people around me who smile to my face and then spit venom behind my back. Fake friends. Empty support. Conditional love. I’m tired of being strong for people who wouldn’t even show up if I broke down.

I’ve got court this Thursday. And instead of feeling brave or prepared, I just want to crawl under a rock and let the world keep spinning without me. I’m tired. So tired.

This world… it feels like the Twilight Zone. Like I’m walking through a movie set where everyone’s playing pretend—pretending that this is all okay. That it’s normal for prisons to be death camps. That hate is just another Tuesday. That broken people are just “the way things are.”

It’s not okay. None of this is okay.

And maybe this post won’t change anything. Maybe it won’t stop the deaths. Or undo the trauma. Or put my heart back together. But I had to let it out.

Because silence is a slow death, too.

To anyone else out there feeling this—like you’re screaming into a void and no one is listening—I hear you. I see you. And I’m with you.

Even shattered, we still matter.

Here is a recent news story, it's NOT the whole video, and he was beaten over a password the other inmates wanted, but the news and the advocate DID NOT report EVERYTHING that is happening! 

https://www.fox10phoenix.com/news/video-arizona-prison-attack-using-padlocks-has-reform-advocate-calling-changes?utm_campaign=trueanthem&utm_medium=trueanthem&utm_source=facebook&fbclid=IwY2xjawKYJT1leHRuA2FlbQIxMQBicmlkETFVY0Rwa3pBVTUyOVpLVGJJAR4RdFbK8Z8Fzrh_aeOY_Q91Bpk8Gs6SLJvrRo7RyK14zE1Q9zMyV51UomL_5w_aem_G-Y7Un8rMXzR4YkFFaNkVQ

I personally know of 2 other inmates this week that have been beaten with locks and the prisons have done NOTHING.

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#PrisonStopsNothing #AdvocacyForInmates #AdvocacyForRyan #AdvocacyForKeola #AdvocacyForTheSilenced #FormerCorrectionalOfficer #IKnowTheInside #PrisonReformNow #StopTheAbuse #InvisibleVictims #TruthBehindBars #LovedOneLockedUp #PrisonWifeStrong #JusticeForTheIncarcerated #WeAreNotOkay

When God Sent Grandma: A Tribute to the Woman Who Became My North Star

 

Some people are born into our lives. Others arrive like divine appointments—unexpected, unassuming, and yet, so powerfully necessary that you realize in hindsight, they were exactly what your soul had been crying out for. For me, that person is Grandma. Ryan’s grandmother, yes. But by grace, she’s also mine now. And I don’t say that lightly.

Growing up, my grandfather was my moral compass, my teacher, my protector—my everything. He was the kind of man who didn’t just give advice, he embodied it. The kind of man who taught me that being kind didn’t mean being weak, and that standing up for yourself didn’t require stepping on others. When he died, it was like someone took the scaffolding out from under my soul. I’ve carried that void for years…until I met her.

When he died, it felt like the light in my life dimmed. I wandered through grief with this gaping emptiness, not even realizing just how much I needed someone to fill that space—not to replace him, but to remind me of what he stood for.

And then... there was Grandma.

Now let me be clear—Grandma didn’t waltz into my life on a cloud of trust and instant acceptance. Nope. She was cautious, guarded, and wise enough to know that Ryan’s past often came with a revolving door of “this time it’s different” faces. And I get it. I would’ve been skeptical too. But what happened when she opened that front door and let me into her home… I didn’t just meet his grandma—I met the woman who would become my safe place and it was nothing short of divine alignment.

It wasn’t immediate, but it was real. The kind of real that builds slow and stays strong. The kind that makes you want to sit a little longer, listen a little deeper, and be a little better—because you know you’re in the presence of someone sacred.

She has this presence—fierce, wise, grounded. A woman who’s lived, lost, learned, and loved deeply. Her guidance wrapped around me like a warm blanket on the coldest night. Her kindness isn’t soft; it’s strong. She doesn’t just listen—she hears. She doesn’t just love—she fights for you with that love. And when she believes in you? Whew, you feel like you can take on the entire world barefoot with nothing but duct tape and hope.

She didn’t replace my grandpa—no one ever could. Grandma didn’t replace my grandpa, but she picked up where that heartbreak left off. She became the whisper of wisdom I missed. The “you’ve got this” when my knees felt like buckling. The hug that said, “You’re not alone,” even when the world felt like it was falling apart. She became my safe haven when the world felt too heavy. My anchor when I was drifting. My reminder that love doesn’t always come wrapped in bloodlines—it often finds us in the wreckage and refuses to let go.

Grandma is not just wise, she’s ferociously wise. She is the kind of woman you study. She’s lived through storms that would break most people, yet she stands with grace. She’s taught me more about compassion and strength than any book or preacher ever could.

The kind of woman who listens with her whole soul and speaks truth like it’s an art form. She's resilient—not because life was easy, but because she refused to let hardship harden her. She's soft in the right places and steel where it counts.

To those of you who are lucky enough to still have your grandparents: charish them with everything you've got. Truly. Call them. Visit them. Learn from them. Hug them longer. Listen without distractions. Tell them the things you think they already know. Because when that connection is gone, it leaves a hollow echo in your soul that no one else can fill. I’ve known that emptiness. And I’ve also known the miracle of feeling it heal when someone new walks in—someone who becomes your person when you least expect it. One day, that physical presence will be gone, and you’ll be left with memories and echoes—and let me tell you, echoes don’t hug you back.

So, Grandma… this one’s for you.

Thank you for being the stronghold we didn’t even know we needed. For loving fiercely. For giving without needing credit. For being the example of grace under fire. Thank you for holding me in my brokenness, for celebrating my wins like they were your own, and for becoming the light that helped me see again.

Thank you. For being you. For being strong. For being patient and bold and honest and beautifully real. Thank you for loving me, guiding me, and giving me the space to just be. You are a gift I never saw coming, and one I’ll never stop being thankful for.

You are loved more than words can ever hold. And while we may never be able to fully repay you for all that you are and all that you’ve done… we will spend the rest of our lives trying to make you proud.

We love you. Fiercely. Eternally. Unapologetically.

Your Girl 💛

#GrandparentsAreEverything #NeverForget #Strength #UnconditionalLove #MyNorthStar

Honored, Humbled… and Ugly Crying

 

A Response to Tee’s Blog: “When God Sends an Angel”

I don’t even know where to start — except to say that I’m sitting here, tears rolling down my face, trying to gather myself after reading Tee’s blog post about me:

When God Sends an Angel: My Encounter with DeAnna Epperson

Let me tell y’all something... this woman wrecked me (in the best way possible).

Her words? They hit my soul like a tidal wave. Not just because she shared her pain so openly, but because she allowed me to see just how much our connection meant — and y’all, I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to see myself through someone else’s eyes like that. I ugly cried. Like, tissue-in-each-hand, snotty-nose, makeup-running, full-on “don’t look at me” cry. Tee, how dare you?! 😂

But seriously — to know that God used me in such a powerful and specific way, in her darkest hour, is the kind of reminder that stops you in your tracks. I didn’t swoop in with a cape or some master plan — I just showed up, as myself, and gave what I had: understanding, empathy, and fire. And she lit right up like a match soaked in gasoline.

She didn’t need rescuing. She just needed backup. And now she knows: I’ve got her back.

Working with Tee to move PrisonStopsNothing.com forward hasn’t just been an honor — it’s been a calling. She has a vision that’s bold, fierce, and dripping with purpose. And I’ll be damned if she’s going to walk that road alone. Together, we are going to build something that shatters stigma, amplifies stories, and helps women who are holding it down while the world turns its back.

Tee, thank you for trusting me. Thank you for pouring your heart into that post. Thank you for reminding me why I do what I do — even when I’m tired, even when the odds feel stacked. You’re not just a sister in this fight — you’re family now.

If you haven’t read her post yet, go read it now. It’s not just about me — it’s about what happens when women support women, when faith meets action, and when silence gets replaced with strength.

To anyone out there who feels like no one’s listening: I hear you. Tee, I heard you. And you are not alone.

Let’s keep pushing forward. Together. 

#PrisonStopsNothing #EppersonEmpowerment #WomenForWomen #GodIsAmazing #GodMakesNoMistakes #BuildEachotherUp

Two Suicides, One Broken System: The Truth Behind “Operation Clean Sweep” at FCI Fort Dix

 

When we think about suicide in prison, the image that comes to mind is often distorted—an inmate alone, hopeless, maybe battling addiction or mental illness, left behind by the world. But what if I told you that sometimes, it's not hopelessness that kills, but heartlessness?

This is not just about suicide. This is about negligence. This is about cruelty dressed up as policy. This is about Fort Dix Federal Correctional Institution, and what happened when “Operation Clean Sweep” left blood on its hands.

The Insider’s Story

A long-time inmate at Fort Dix reached out to Power of Our Voices LLC to share the unfiltered truth about what really happened in April 2025. Two suicides—one on the East Side, one on the West Side—both within a week of staff-led property raids and intimidation campaigns masked as cleanliness efforts.

Let me make this painfully clear: this wasn’t about tidiness. This was psychological warfare.

Inmate property was destroyed en masse—family photos, letters, mementos. One of the men who died had just lost his mother. His only remaining pictures of her? Tossed in the trash by a staff member who ignored his pleas. Not only was his grief dismissed, he was refused mental health support afterward because it wasn’t “open house” hours.

Can we pause for a moment and sit with that? A grieving man, denied humanity at every turn, begged for help—and was told "I don’t have time for this."

The Policy vs. The Reality

Every housing unit in Fort Dix sports posters urging inmates to watch for signs of suicide in each other. "Report to any staff member." "Save a life." Sounds good on paper, right?

But according to the insider, when inmates did raise red flags, those warnings were ignored. When this man took his life, staff stood over his body talking about sports while waiting for the ambulance. The next day, they canceled programs—not for grief counseling, not for healing, but so they could go play softball.

That’s not just callousness. That’s institutional rot.

The Real Cost of “Clean Sweep”

“Operation Clean Sweep” was marketed as a crackdown on contraband and excess. But what it really cracked was human dignity.

• Psychological services were inaccessible in crisis.

• Staff destroyed sentimental belongings without discretion or empathy.

• Accountability was replaced with mockery.

And now, two men are dead.

This isn’t a coincidence. This is cause and effect. The email sent by the Fort Dix insider pulls no punches—and neither should we. This is systemic. This is cultural. This is federal indifference in uniform.

What Needs to Happen Now

We cannot let these deaths disappear into the void of bureaucratic indifference. The Bureau of Prisons (BOP) has a history of sweeping things under the rug—this time, we need to flip the table.

What we demand:

• An independent investigation into the events and decisions surrounding “Operation Clean Sweep.”

• Psychological staff accountability for failure to respond to mental health crises.

• Federal oversight reform that makes “open house hours” irrelevant when someone is in a psychological emergency.

• Inmate protections that prevent wanton destruction of irreplaceable personal property—especially grief-sensitive items like photos of loved ones.

In Memory of the Unnamed

The men who died at Fort Dix are more than case numbers and incident reports. They were sons. One was a grieving man who reached out for help and was swatted away. He died not because prison is hard—but because the people tasked with caring for him decided his grief didn’t matter.

It did. It still does.

My Final Words

I’ve worked in this system. I’ve loved someone in this system. And I’ve watched firsthand how quickly it turns suffering into silence. But not today.

If you are reading this and feel rage, good. You should. Now channel it.

Share this story.
Write your representatives.
Demand that the Department of Justice investigate the policies at Fort Dix and across the BOP.
And say their names out loud if you ever learn them. Because they mattered.

We can’t bring them back—but we can damn sure make sure they aren’t forgotten.

Prison Stops Nothing: A Lifeline for Families Holding It Down from the Outside

When a loved one is incarcerated, the world doesn’t stop—but it sure as hell shifts. Bills still come due. Kids still need dinner. And the ache in your chest? It doesn’t clock out at 5 p.m.

That’s why Prison Stops Nothing isn’t just a name—it’s a damn declaration.

The Mission that Hits Home

PrisonStopsNothing.com is a movement born from the trenches. It’s built by someone who gets it—someone who’s lived the heartbreak, felt the isolation, and decided enough is enough. Their mission is rooted in one powerful truth:

Families don’t stop loving, fighting, or surviving—just because their loved one is behind bars.

From emotional support to real-time resources, Prison Stops Nothing is a boots-on-the-ground support system that helps families hold the line until their loved ones come home.

What They Offer: More Than Hope—Help

This isn’t fluff. This is action:

• Emotional Support – Because crying on your bathroom floor at midnight shouldn’t be the norm. You deserve someone who understands.

• Resource Navigation – Whether you need a lawyer, mental health counseling, or help understanding DOC nonsense, they connect the dots.

• Financial Relief – They don’t just talk the talk—they help cover essentials like rent, utilities, gas, groceries, and those outrageously expensive phone calls.

It’s not charity—it’s solidarity.

Authentic Advocacy

The heartbeat of this organization? Real experience. Real pain. Real power.

Prison Stops Nothing was created by someone who has stood in our shoes—and refuses to let another family drown in silence. That authenticity? It’s what sets them apart from the sterile, bureaucratic nonsense families are used to dealing with.

Community, Not Pity

They’re not here for pity parties—they’re building powerhouses.

Through blogs, connection, and fierce advocacy, Prison Stops Nothing fosters a community where families remind each other: You’re not weak. You’re not forgotten. And you’re definitely not alone.

And when we unite? We change things.

How You Can Plug In

Want to help? Here’s how:

• Share their site and stories far and wide.

• Donate what you can—they’re now a 501(c)(3) nonprofit, so your gift counts in every way.

• Volunteer your time or skills—because someone out there needs what you’ve lived through.

Final Word, from One Warrior to Another

Supporting each other through a loved one’s incarceration is everything. It’s life or death. Hope or despair. Surrender or survival.

And Prison Stops Nothing? It's that steady voice saying, “Keep going. We’ve got you.”

If you’re navigating this life—like I am, like so many of us are—know this: You are not alone. We are rising together, louder, stronger, and more determined than ever.

Visit the site now
Share it. Bookmark it. Live it.

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#EppersonEmpowerment #PowerofOurVoicesLLC #PrisonStopsNothing #IncarcerationAffectsFamilies #WeAreTheAdvocates #FamiliesOfTheIncarcerated #BringThemHome #SystemicReformNow #OurLoveIsLouder #FaithFightsBack #WhenOneIsCagedWeAllFeelIt

"When the Gatekeeper Becomes the Supplier: A Stark Reminder of Systemic Failures in Our Prisons"

In a disheartening revelation that underscores the vulnerabilities within our correctional institutions, a counselor at Arizona's Lewis Prison, Berman Comon, was arrested on January 3, 2025. Comon, holding the position of Correctional Officer III (COIII), was charged with smuggling drugs and contraband cellphones into the Rast Unit of the prison .ABC15 Arizona in Phoenix (KNXV)

The role of a COIII is distinct from that of a standard correctional officer, primarily focusing on counseling and program advising for inmates. This position inherently provides greater access to inmates, a trust that Comon allegedly exploited for personal gain. Reports indicate he received $5,000 per trip to introduce drugs into the facility, cleverly concealing them inside large styrofoam cups and an ice machine to bypass security measures.ABC15 Arizona in Phoenix (KNXV)

The operation was not limited to Comon alone. Three inmates were reportedly involved in packaging the drugs within Comon's office and distributing them to other inmates. Further complicating the network, Joy Cuevas, the wife of one of the implicated inmates, is accused of acting as a "middleman supplier," facilitating the flow of narcotics into the prison. A search of Cuevas' residence uncovered 262 grams of heroin, prison-style cellphones, and drug packaging paraphernalia.

The Arizona Department of Corrections, Rehabilitation, and Reentry (ADCRR) responded promptly, terminating Comon's employment on the day of his arrest. In a statement, the department emphasized its commitment to integrity and accountability, asserting that no individual is above the law, regardless of tenure or position.

A Broader Reflection on Systemic Issues

This incident is not an isolated case but rather a symptom of deeper systemic issues plaguing our correctional facilities. The infiltration of contraband, especially narcotics, into prisons highlights significant lapses in security protocols and oversight. Moreover, it raises concerns about the recruitment, training, and monitoring of prison staff.

The involvement of a counselor—a figure meant to guide and rehabilitate inmates—in such illicit activities is particularly troubling. It not only jeopardizes the safety and well-being of inmates and staff but also undermines the rehabilitative mission of the correctional system.

The Human Cost

Beyond the institutional implications, there is a profound human cost. Inmates, many of whom are striving for rehabilitation and reintegration into society, are exposed to harmful substances, derailing their progress and exacerbating addiction issues. Families of inmates suffer as their loved ones are subjected to environments rife with corruption and danger.

Moving Forward

Addressing these challenges requires a multifaceted approach:

1. Enhanced Screening and Monitoring: Implementing rigorous background checks and continuous monitoring of prison staff can deter potential misconduct.

2. Robust Security Measures: Upgrading surveillance and inspection protocols can help detect and prevent the smuggling of contraband.

3. Support Systems for Staff: Providing adequate support and addressing the pressures faced by correctional officers can reduce susceptibility to corruption.

4. Transparent Accountability: Establishing clear channels for reporting and addressing misconduct ensures that violations are promptly and effectively dealt with.

The case of Berman Comon serves as a stark reminder of the vulnerabilities within our correctional system. It underscores the urgent need for comprehensive reforms to safeguard the integrity of our institutions and the well-being of those within them.

For more details on this case, refer to the original report by ABC15: Lewis Prison corrections officer arrested, accused of selling drugs to inmates.

Fighting a Whole Prison System: One Wife's War for Justice

Let me tell you what it’s like to go to war—not with guns or bombs, but with phone calls, legal documents, and a heart that refuses to give up. I’m not just fighting for my husband—I’m fighting against an entire prison system built to wear people down until they give up. But I won’t. I haven’t. And I never will.

My husband is incarcerated in Arizona Department of Corrections. And what started out as a mission to simply advocate for his safety has turned into a full-scale, nonstop battle with a system so corrupt, so broken, and so indifferent to human life that some days, I feel like I'm in the twilight zone.

Where do I begin? Maybe with the time he was brutally attacked by another inmate and had to go into protective custody. Or when they transferred him from Red Rock to La Palma without notice, like a pawn on a chessboard. Or the multiple times his PC requests were denied, despite evidence of credible threats—and then used against him to accuse him of making false allegations.

Then there's the retaliation. Oh, the retaliation. My husband is being punished because I advocate for him. Staff lie. They gaslight him. They deny the existence of inmates I can prove are real with a simple AZDOC lookup. Officers call him into meetings with no intention of helping—they try to intimidate, to break his spirit. I’ve heard everything from COs refusing to record conversations (even after being asked) to them manipulating his mental health score to keep him labeled as a 3D—effectively blocking his chance at programs, transfers, and even clemency.

Medical care? Forget it. The for-profit medical providers like NaphCare are only interested in covering their own asses, not in helping inmates. ROI forms go missing. Medications get stopped without explanation. Staff try to trick him into signing documents without my knowledge. And don’t even get me started on the mental health designation game they play. The goal? Keep him boxed in, isolated, and discredited.

I’ve watched as drug rings operate freely inside, run by staff. I’ve reported it. Nothing changes. Meanwhile, my husband—who desperately wants to get clean and change—is surrounded by easy access to the very thing that destroyed him in the first place. And the moment I speak up about it, they retaliate. Against me. Against him. Against both of us.

We’ve faced false accusations, unsubstantiated write-ups, and now even criminal allegations stemming from a bunk fall—right after I questioned his medical treatment. Coincidence? I think not.

They’ve denied him visitation with me, even though I resigned from my job at a private prison over two years ago. They say it's because I was under investigation, which is a lie. I have documentation proving the investigation started after I quit. But facts don’t seem to matter in a system designed to protect itself at all costs.

The trauma isn’t just his. It’s mine. I’ve had my personal, confidential information stolen and passed around inside prison walls. My health has suffered. I’m disabled and still fighting every day—not just for him but for our future. I’ve watched courts shrug. I’ve seen lawyers bail. I’ve mailed out clemency packets to the highest offices in this country and heard nothing back.

And yet—I keep going.

I do it because love doesn’t quit. Because the truth still matters. Because my husband deserves a chance to rebuild his life outside of concrete and barbed wire. Because nobody should be thrown away just because they were broken.

This blog isn’t just a story. It’s a warning. It’s a war cry. It’s a middle finger to the entire system that thinks people like me will stay silent. I won’t. I’m loud, I’m relentless, and I’ve got receipts.

To anyone reading this who thinks you’re alone in your fight: you’re not. And if you need someone to stand with you in the flames, know this—I’ve been living in them for years. And I’m still standing.

Welcome to the resistance.

#PrisonWife
#PrisonReformNow
#JusticeForInmates
#StopTheRetaliation
#MassIncarceration
#MyHusbandMatters
#CorruptionBehindBars
#FromGuardToWife
#InmateAdvocacy
#PrisonSystemFailure
#PrisonRetaliation
#ProtectOurLovedOnes
#NaphCareNegligence
#ClemencyNow
#WifeOnAMission
#TheyMessedWithTheWrongWife
#EndPrivatePrisons
#DOCAccountability
#MentalHealthNotManipulation
#PrisonWivesMatter