Skip to main content

If Leverage Changes Systems, Then Who Actually Holds It?

We’ve established that outrage doesn’t move institutions. Evidence alone doesn’t either. Systems change when incentives shift, and incentives shift when leverage is applied in a way that cannot be ignored.

So the real question is simple: who actually has leverage over a system like Arizona Department of Corrections?

It isn’t the incarcerated. They exist at the bottom of the hierarchy. Their complaints can be categorized, delayed, minimized, or reframed as disciplinary issues. Their leverage is structurally limited by design.

It isn’t individual officers either. Most operate within policy constraints they didn’t create. They can influence daily culture, but not funding structures or long-term incentive models.

Real leverage exists in three places: funding authorities, legislative oversight, and public tolerance.

Funding authorities control the flow of resources. If money is tied strictly to containment and operational stability, then containment will be perfected. If funding becomes conditional on long-term outcomes — reduced returns, improved stability after release, measurable rehabilitation — behavior at the institutional level would shift quickly. Institutions respond to financial architecture.

Legislative oversight is the second pressure point. Oversight with teeth changes behavior. Oversight without enforcement becomes ceremony. When audits, reporting requirements, and outcome evaluations carry real consequences, institutional priorities adjust. Without consequence, oversight is simply paperwork.

But the most underestimated leverage point is public tolerance. Institutions operate within the boundaries the public allows. As long as voters equate toughness with safety and accept recidivism as inevitable, systemic failure remains politically survivable. When public expectation changes — when effectiveness matters more than optics — political incentives begin to realign.

The uncomfortable reality is that leverage rarely originates from inside the system itself. It emerges when external actors decide the cost of maintaining the current model outweighs the disruption of redesigning it.

And that’s where the tension lives.

Because redesign is uncomfortable. It threatens authority structures. It redistributes influence. It challenges decades of narrative around punishment and justice. It forces admission that severity alone has not delivered the outcomes promised.

Leverage requires sustained pressure. Not emotional spikes. Not viral moments. Sustained, measurable pressure tied to outcomes.

The system is stable not because it’s flawless, but because the forces capable of destabilizing it haven’t aligned consistently enough to outweigh the comfort of the status quo.

Tomorrow, we’re going to talk about what sustained pressure actually looks like — and why consistency, not intensity, is what eventually shifts institutional behavior.

This isn’t about anger.
It’s about influence.

And influence only matters when it’s applied strategically.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Exposing the Deadly Reality at La Palma Correctional Facility: How Many More Have to Die?

For years, La Palma Correctional Facility in Eloy, Arizona, has been a hotspot for controversy, yet little has been done to address the rampant corruption, officer misconduct, and systemic failures that have turned it into a living hell for those incarcerated within its walls. Most recently, another inmate has died—one of many whose deaths could have been prevented if those in charge had taken real action instead of covering up their negligence. On January 2, 2025, I fought to have my husband moved out of La Palma due to the sheer volume of drugs flooding the yard, which were being brought in by correctional officers. I reported specific names to the Special Security Unit (SSU), thinking that doing the right thing would bring change. Instead, my concerns fell on deaf ears. Now, here we are, with more inmates losing their lives—many of these deaths are suspected overdoses, yet little to no investigation ever seems to result in actual change. A History of Negligence and Deaths This lates...

Until You’ve Walked Through Those Gates, Sit Down and Be Quiet

-By DeAnna You see memes like this floating around all the time — the ones that crack jokes about how “good” inmates supposedly have it. You know the ones: they talk about sex three times a day, reading books, working out, and then “complaining” about prison life. People laugh, hit share, and feel smug because they think they know something about what it’s like inside. I used to be one of them. I used to think prison was “right.” I believed it was what people deserved if they broke the law. I repeated the clichés: “Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.” “Three hots and a cot.” “They’ve got it easy in there.” And then… I worked there. Let me tell you something: until you’ve walked through those locking gates — hearing that buzzer, watching that steel door slam behind you, feeling the air shift from free to suffocating — you don’t know a damn thing about prison. Until you’ve seen the reality — the mace, the gas grenades, the cell extractions that leave blood on the floor, the...

Two Years for Corruption. Seven Years for Addiction.

  There’s something I can’t shake today. And honestly… it makes me sick. I just read about a correctional officer at the same prison my husband is sitting in right now —Lewis Prison Complex—who was caught smuggling heroin, fentanyl, and cell phones into the facility. Not using. Not struggling. Not trying to survive addiction. Smuggling. Trafficking. Profiting. Investigators didn’t just catch him once either. This wasn’t some “bad decision” moment. This was a full investigation—months long—with surveillance, evidence, and tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of drugs tied to it. Let me say that again… A man with a badge, authority, and access was bringing poison into a prison —into a place already filled with men fighting addiction, trauma, and survival every single day. Now here’s the part that I cannot wrap my head around… My husband is serving seven years for doing drugs. Seven years. For addiction. For a battle that started when he was a child—before he even had ...