inmate

SACRAMENTO — In howling winds and choking smoke during the January fires that devastated Altadena and Pacific Palisades, more than 1,100 incarcerated firefighters cleared brush and dug fire lines, some for wages of less than $30 per day.

Those firefighters could soon see a major raise. On Thursday, California lawmakers unanimously approved a plan to pay incarcerated firefighters the federal minimum wage of $7.25 per hour while assigned to an active fire, a raise of more than 700%.

“Nobody who puts their life on the line for other people should earn any less than the federal minimum wage,” said the bill’s author, Assemblymember Isaac Bryan (D-Los Angeles), before the Thursday vote.

Bryan’s legislation, Assembly Bill 247, would take effect immediately if signed by Gov. Gavin Newsom. Newsom’s office said he typically does not comment on pending legislation. But in July, he signed a budget that set aside $10 million for incarcerated firefighter wages.

Working at one of the state’s 35 minimum-security fire camps is a voluntary and coveted job, giving inmates a chance to spend time outside prison walls, help their communities and get paroled more quickly.

Incarcerated firefighters don’t wield hoses, but clear brush and dig containment lines while working on front-line hand crews and do work such as cooking and laundry to keep fire camps running.

Prison fire crews at times make up more than 1 in 4 of the firefighters battling California’s wildfires, and have drawn international praise during major wildfire seasons. After the January fires in Los Angeles, celebrity Kim Kardashian called them “heroes” who deserved a raise.

The state’s 2,000 or so incarcerated firefighters earn $5.80 to $10.24 per day at fire camps, and an extra $1 an hour during active wildfires, according to the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation. That means the lowest-paid firefighters earn $29.80 per 24-hour shift and the highest-paid, $34.24.

Higher wages are not only a key way to recognize the life-risking contributions made by incarcerated firefighters, backers said, but could also help inmates build up some savings before they are paroled, or more quickly pay restitution to their victims.

Republican lawmakers who backed the plan emphasized the life-changing nature of finding work with meaning.

“When we talk about anti-recidivism, when we talk about programs that work, this is one of the absolute best,” said Assemblymember Heath Flora (R-Ripon).

Flora said he worked alongside incarcerated and formerly incarcerated firefighters during 15 years as a volunteer firefighter, and said they were “some of the hardest working individuals I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.”

Bryan originally had proposed a $19 hourly wage, similar to the wage earned by entry-level firefighters with the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection. During the summer’s budget negotiations, that wage was trimmed to $7.25.

A lobbyist for the California State Sheriffs’ Assn., which opposed the bill, told lawmakers in July that incarcerated firefighters already are “receiving compensation in different ways.” Prison workers assigned to hand crews have their sentences reduced by two days for each day they serve on an active fire.

State Sen. Kelly Seyarto (R-Murrieta), who co-sponsored the bill, cautioned in July that paying higher wages could lead to hiring fewer incarcerated firefighters overall.

The cost to the state will depend on the number of inmate crews staffed and the severity of the fire season.

From 2020 to 2024, inmate firefighters spent 1,382,117 hours fighting fires for $1 per hour, according to a bill analysis by legislative staff. The state would have paid about $10 million in wages — or about $8.6 million more — had the federal minimum wage been in place over those five fire seasons, analysts said.

Years with more fire activity would be more expensive for the state. In 2020, the largest wildfire season in modern history, the state spent about $2.1 million on inmate firefighter wages at $1 per hour, which would have cost $15 million under the new bill language.

The bill follows years of effort to help improve the working conditions of inmate firefighters.

The number of inmates working on fire crews has shrunk by more than half since 2005, from a peak of about 4,250 that year to slightly less than 2,000 this year, according to the corrections department.

The number fell off sharply after the California policy known as realignment in 2011, which shifted many people who were convicted of nonserious, nonviolent and nonsexual offenses from California state prisons to county jails.

California bars people with a felony conviction from receiving an emergency medical technician, or EMT, certification for a decade after their release from prison. There is a lifetime ban for those convicted of two or more felonies.

In 2020, Newsom signed a bill allowing formerly incarcerated firefighters who were convicted of nonviolent, nonsexual offenses to appeal a court to expunge their criminal records and waive their parole time.

The Legislature this week also passed AB 218, by Assemblymembers Josh Lowenthal (D-Long Beach) and Sade Elhawary (D-Los Angeles), which would require prison officials to draft rules by 2027 to recommend incarcerated firefighters for resentencing.

A number of other bills dealing with fire issues are still pending in the Legislature in its final week of the year. Those include:

• AB 226, which would allow the California FAIR Plan, the state’s home insurer of last resort, to increase its capacity to pay out claims by issuing bonds or seeking a line of credit.
• AB 1032, which would require healthcare insurers to cover 12 visits a year with a licensed behavioral health provider, including mental health and substance abuse counselors, to residents affected by wildfires.

The California Department of Justice will sue the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department and its sheriff, Robert Luna, for what Atty. Gen. Rob Bonta called a “humanitarian crisis” inside of the county jails.

Inmates are housed in unsafe, dirty facilities infested with roaches and rats, Bonta said in a news conference Monday, and lack basic access to clean water and edible food. “More alarming, people are dying,” he said.

There have been over 205 in-custody deaths in four years, Bonta said, with 40% caused by suicide, homicides and overdoses. He called for comprehensive reform, but said the county forced his hand by refusing to comply.

“I’d prefer collaboration over litigation, but the county has left us with no choice, so litigation it is,” he said.

Bonta called for L.A. County and the sheriff’s department to provide inmates with adequate medical, dental and mental health care, protect them from harm, provide safe and humane confinement conditions. He also called on jail officials to better accommodate the needs of disabled inmates and those with limited English proficiency.

Bonta painted a dark portrait of L.A. County’s jails, describing filthy conditions, vermin and insect infestations, a lack of clean water and moldy and spoiled food. He said prisoners face difficulty obtaining basic hygiene items and are not permitted to spend enough time outside of their cells.

L.A. County, which houses the largest jail system in the country, has long been criticized for poor conditions. As it has expanded to hold around 13,000 people on any given day, decades — perhaps a century — of mistreatment and overcrowding have been documented.

The system lost a federal lawsuit in 1978 after decades of dirty, mold-ridden and overcrowded jails prompted inmates to fight back through the courts, and frequently faces suits alleging it fails to provide proper food, water and shelter.

The state’s lawsuit comes amid a years-long struggle to close and replace Men’s Central Jail in downtown Los Angeles, from which inspectors regularly document poor conditions: mold, mildew, insufficient food and water and, more recently, a report last year that said jailers were too busy watching an “explicit video” to notice a noose hung inside a cell.

“In June 2024, the Sybil Brand Commission reported that multiple dorms at Men’s Central were overcrowded with broken toilets, some containing feces that could not be flushed; a urinal that caused ‘effluence to emerge through the mid-floor drain’ when flushed; and ceilings that had been painted over to cover mold,” Bonta’s office wrote in its complaint.

In addition to Luna and the sheriff’s department, the county Department of Health Services, Correctional Health Services and its director, Timothy Belavich, were also named as defendants.

The lawsuit decried the “dilapidated physical condition of the facility and the numerous instances of violence and death within its walls.” It went on to explain that the county Board of Supervisors voted to close the chronically overcrowded Men’s Central Jail twice, including in 2020.

The sheriff’s department has said it would be difficult to close the jail because of the high volume of inmate admissions and lack of viable alternatives.

But in-custody deaths this year are on track for what Bonta’s office described as at least a 20-year high with 36 reported so far, or about one a week, according to the county’s website.

Inmates have been known to set fires in rooms with no smoke alarms — not to cause mischief, but to cook and supplement cold, sometimes inedible meals.

Some inmates — many of whom have been arrested recently and have not been convicted of crimes — are left to sleep on urine-soaked floors with trash bags as blankets and no access to medications and working plumbing. A 2022 lawsuit from the American Civil Liberties Union called the conditions “medieval.”

“The LASD jails,” the state attorney general’s office wrote in the complaint, “have a longstanding history of deplorable conditions and constitutional violations.”

Gov. Gavin Newsom commuted the sentences of five inmates serving life without parole for murder, saying Friday that they deserve a chance at freedom after transforming their lives.

In all, the governor pardoned 23 people and commuted the sentences of 10 others. Newsom’s office said that many of those offered clemency had experienced childhood trauma and mental health struggles that impacted the choices they made.

Since he took office in 2019, Newsom has granted 247 pardons, which restore some rights to former felons, such as the ability to serve on a jury or obtain a professional license. He has also approved 160 commutations, which reduce sentences so that an inmate can appear before a parole board and potentially be released.

In this round, Newsom pardoned people convicted of assault with a deadly weapon, burglary, attempted murder and drug crimes. His office highlighted that pardons were prompted by what individuals did in the years after those convictions and were at the recommendation of elected officials, law enforcement officers and community leaders.

Among those whose sentences were commuted was Randolph Hoag, who was 28 years old in 1990 when he was convicted in Los Angeles County of murdering his girlfriend’s ex-husband. The Times reported that Hoag, a truck driver, shot Charles Sweed six times in the back before running away.

Newsom said Hoag, now 63, has “demonstrated a commitment to his rehabilitation and self-improvement” and is considered “a high medical risk based on his chronic, serious medical conditions.” Hoag will now be eligible to appear before the Board of Parole hearings, which decides whether a person is a risk to the community after considering input from victims, their families and prosecutors.

“This act of clemency for Mr. Hoag does not minimize or forgive his conduct or the harm it caused,” Newsom wrote in his order. “It does recognize the work he has done since to transform himself.”

Sweed’s sister, Cremae Sweed, became emotional Friday after learning from The Times that Hoag’s sentence was reduced. She said a prosecutor assured her that Hoag would never be released. Her brother, who had a 5-year-old daughter, served in the Marines and owned a tow truck company. Her family was never the same after his death, she said.

“My brother has been dead longer than he was alive, and [Hoag] is still alive,” she said. “He deliberately killed another man, so no, I don’t want him out, and he shouldn’t come out.”

Many of those granted clemency Friday were young adults when they committed their crimes, including Christian Rodriguez, who was 19 when he killed one victim and injured another in 1996. Rodriguez, 47, will now be eligible to appear before the parole board.

“Mr. Rodriguez has worked as both a youth offender and peer literacy mentor, and correctional officers have commended him for his leadership and rehabilitative gains,” Newsom wrote.

Others whose lengthy sentences were reduced included:

• David Fitts, who was 23 when he shot and injured one victim, while his accomplice shot and killed a second victim in 1992. Fitts was sentenced to life without parole in Los Angeles County. Newsom said Fitts, 56, has “dedicated himself to his rehabilitation” and has received commendations from correctional officers for his work ethic and good conduct.
• Karina Poncio, who was 21 when her accomplice fatally shot one person and injured another during a gang-related confrontation in 2000. She was sentenced in Orange County to life without parole. Poncio, 47, earned three associate degrees while in prison and is training to become a certified alcohol and drug specialist.
• Cleveland Lindley, who was 25 when he was convicted of a 1995 armed robbery. He was sentenced in San Bernardino County to 75 years to life for three counts of robbery and another 30 years of sentence enhancements, Newsom’s office said. In prison, Lindley, 55, participated in a service dog training program and was commended by correctional staff for his compassion, maturity and work ethic.

Citing evidence of childhood trauma, Newsom reduced the sentence of Arthur Battle, who was 18 when he and an accomplice murdered a person in a contract killing in 2006. He was sentenced in Sacramento County to life without parole plus a 25-years-to-life sentence enhancement.

Newsom’s office said Battle had adverse childhood experiences, a term used to describe a range of traumatic events that can impact a person’s physical, mental and social health.

While in prison, Battle earned his GED, took college courses and works as an aide to inmates with disabilities. Battle, 37, had his sentence commuted to 21 years to life so he can appear before the Board of Parole hearings.

State parole officials had not yet publicly announced that Erik Menendez would remain behind bars, but word of the outcome was already spreading among his family members early Thursday evening.

Stunned and angry at the decision, some relatives took to social media just as news broke that Menendez, 54, had been denied parole for the 1989 shotgun murders of his parents, a grisly crime committed with his older brother, Lyle.

“How is my dad a threat to society,” Talia Menendez, his stepdaughter, wrote on Instagram. “This has been torture to our family. How much longer???”

In the all-caps post, Menendez’s daughter castigated the parole board, calling them “money hungry media feeding pieces of trash” after the decision.

“You will not have peace until my dad is free!!!!” she wrote in a following post.

A hearing for Lyle, 57, began Friday morning, leaving family members who support his case clinging to hope his ruling will be different.

Originally sentenced to life without parole, the brothers eventually qualified for resentencing because they were under 26 years old at the time of the killings.

Several petitions and legal filings went nowhere for decades, but their case received renewed attention after the popular Netflix series “Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story” sparked a social media interest in their case, and the sexual abuse the two siblings alleged was perpetuated by their father, Jose Menendez.

A superior court granted their resentencing petition in May, paving the way for the parole hearings this week.

More than a dozen relatives of the two brothers testified in favor of parole during the Thursday hearing for Erik Menendez, and were also expected to speak for Lyle as well.

After a nearly 10-hour hearing Thursday, Parole Commissioner Robert Barton commended the support Menendez received from his family.

“You’ve got a great support network,” he said Thursday before pointing to Erik Menendez’s repeated violation of prison rules by using a contraband cellphone. “But you didn’t go to them before you committed these murders. And you didn’t go to them before you used the cellphone.”

Erik’s wife, Tammi Menendez, blasted the decision.

“Parole Commissioner Robert Barton had his mind made up to deny Erik parole from the start!” she wrote on X. “This was a complete setup, and Erik never stood a chance!”

Anamaria Baralt, a Menendez cousin and the family spokesperson, tried to remain positive in a video posted on Instagram, noting he could re-apply for parole in three years.

“Erik was given the lowest possible denial time,” she said. “It’s disappointing. we are certainly disappointed as a family.”

However, she said she was proud of Menendez as he addressed the parole board for the first time, something the family did not view as a possibility a few years ago.

“We knew this was a steep climb,” she said in the video. “California is very rigorous in its standards. Not many people get out on parole on their first try. So it wasn’t entirely a surprise. But it is nonetheless very disappointing.”

According to the Prison Policy Initiative, a research and advocacy group that pushes for criminal justice reform, the vast majority of inmates who go before the board are denied parole.

A recent study of parole rates across the states by the Prison Policy Initiative found that 14% of parole hearings in 2022 resulted in approval.

“While we respect the decision, [Thursday’s] outcome was of course disappointing and not what we hoped for,” the Menendez family said in a statement. “But our belief in Erik remains unwavering and we know he will take the Board’s recommendation in stride. His remorse, growth, and the positive impact he’s had on others speak for themselves.”

Family, friends and cellmates have commended the two brothers for their work inside prison in the past few years, referring to them as “mentors” for other prisoners and spearheading programs inside prison walls.

Lyle Menendez spearheaded a beatification project at Richard J. Donovan Correctional Facility, and his brother has organized artwork for the project.

The two have started programs dealing with anger management, meditation, and assisting inmates in hospice care.

But Thursday‘s hearing also aired struggles and issues the younger sibling has faced during more than three decades in prison, including drug and alcohol use, fights with other inmates, instances of being found with contraband, and allegations he helped a prison gang in a tax fraud scheme in 2013.

Members of the parole board spent several minutes in particular asking about being caught multiple times with a cellphone, which he said he used to speak with his wife, watch YouTube videos, pornography, and look for updates on his case in the media.

Menendez said he paid about $1,000 for the phones, and said he did not consider the impacts the devices could have in the prison system.

“I knew 50, 60 people that had phones,” he said Thursday. “I just justified it by saying if I don’t buy it someone else is going to buy it. The phones were going to be sold.”

It was in January that he said a lieutenant had an extended talk with him about the impacts, including how someone must smuggle the phone, how it must be paid for, how it corrupts staff, and how they can be used for more criminal activity.

Despite the connection phones provided to the outside, Menendez said, it was later that he realized the effect that using one was having on his life, now that the prospect of freedom was possible.

“In November of 2024, now the consequences mattered,” he told the board. “Now the consequences meant I was destroying my life.”

Los Angeles County Dist. Atty. Nathan Hochman, who has opposed parole and resentencing for the two brothers, applauded the decision by the board.

“The California Board of Parole has rightly decided against granting parole to Erik Menendez,” he said in a statement. “This ruling does justice for Jose and Kitty Menendez, the victims of the brutal murders carried out by their sons on Aug. 20, 1989.”

Hochman said that, during their time in prison, the brothers have continued to claim they killed their parents in self-defense, but pointed out that their parents suffered shotgun blasts to the back and at point-blank range during the killings.

“The Board correctly determined that Erik Menendez’s actions speak louder than words, and that his conduct in prison and current mentality demonstrates that he still poses an unreasonable risk of danger to the community.”

The U.S. Justice Department on Thursday asked California counties to provide it with lists of all inmates in their jails who are not American citizens, as well as the crimes they have been accused or convicted of and their scheduled release dates.

The Justice Department said in a statement that its “data requests” to the counties — including Los Angeles and San Francisco counties — were “designed to assist federal immigration authorities in prioritizing the removal of illegal aliens who committed crimes after illegally entering the United States.”

The requests add another layer to the Trump administration’s already roiling turf war with California over immigration policy and state and local sanctuary laws. U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents have been swarming the region making thousands of arrests as part of President Trump’s call for mass deportations, and the Justice Department is already suing the city of Los Angeles over its sanctuary policy.

State officials have long defended California’s sanctuary policies, which generally forbid local authorities from enforcing civil immigration laws but provide for exceptions in cases involving criminal offenses. They have also criticized the administration and ICE agents for their recent arrest tactics in Southern California, including by citing figures that show that a majority of those arrested had no criminal convictions.

What immediate impact the demands would have — and whether they would spark a legal challenge from the state or counties — was not immediately clear. California Atty. Gen. Rob Bonta’s office did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department recently resumed transferring some jail inmates to ICE for the first time in years, citing criminal exceptions to state and local sanctuary laws.

A spokesperson for L.A. County referred questions about the request to the Sheriff’s Department.

Asked about the request during a Civilian Oversight Commission meeting Thursday morning, L.A. County Sheriff Robert Luna said information about all county inmates is already publicly available on the department’s website.

“The minute you get booked, processed and you get Livescanned, that’s a national system, so agents of the federal government will know you’re in custody,” he said. “So it’s not that we’re notifying them, it’s an automatic notification based on your fingerprints.”

The Justice Department said that it hoped the counties would voluntarily comply with its requests. But if they do not, it said, it would “pursue all available means of obtaining the data, including through subpoenas or other compulsory process.”

It said that while “every illegal alien by definition violates federal law, those who go on to commit crimes after doing so show that they pose a heightened risk to our Nation’s safety and security.”

Not every noncitizen in the U.S. is in the country illegally, given that there are non-citizen permanent residents and other visa holders. However, as part of its immigration crackdown, the Trump administration has given heightened scrutiny to people in those categories, as well.

Atty. Gen. Pam Bondi, in her own statement about the requests, said that removing “criminal illegal aliens” from the country was the administration’s “highest priority.”

“I look forward to cooperating with California’s county sheriffs to accomplish our shared duty of keeping Californians and all Americans safe and secure,” Bondi said.

In May, Luna’s department transferred inmates from its jails to ICE for the first time since early 2020. Between May and June, the department handed 20 inmates over to the federal agency.

At Thursday’s oversight meeting, Luna said the department received 995 civil detainer requests from ICE in 2024, and that it did not comply with any of them, which it is not legally required to do. But he said that the department had to turn over the 20 inmates because it received federal judicial warrants from federal authorities for each of them.

He said he expected such warrants to increase, which would increase the number of inmates turned over.

“Those are legal documents signed by a judge. We cannot deny those,” he said.

Max Huntsman, the county’s inspector general, and other experts have said the Sheriff’s Department is required by federal and state law to comply with the warrants, and the process is legal under state and local sanctuary policies.

Times staff writers Rebecca Ellis and Rachel Uranga contributed to this report.

An attorney for R. Kelly is painting a picture of corruption and deceit among the ranks of the federal Bureau of Prison’s staff and inmates, alleging there is a target on his client’s back that can be removed only if the disgraced R&B singer is sent home.

Beau Brindley is asking that Kelly be placed in temporary home confinement while serving his decades-long sex trafficking sentences. He alleges that a trio of prison officials plotted to have the singer killed by a terminally ill member of the Aryan Brotherhood who — except for a brief stint when he escaped from prison — has been in federal custody since 1982.

An emergency motion for that temporary furlough was filed Tuesday in federal court, and documents were obtained and reviewed by The Times.

In addition to detailing the supposed murder plot, the motion alleges that Kelly’s private communications while in custody were “stolen” from him by people working with various prosecutors who took the information and used it against the singer at trial. One witness never intended to testify against Kelly, the motion says, until she was approached by one of the people who allegedly stole those communications.

The motion alleges that three prison officials, including a warden and an assistant warden, conspired to have Kelly killed by another inmate, Mikeal Glenn Stine. Stine, a self-proclaimed “Commissioner” of the Aryan Brotherhood who joined the racist gang in prison, said in a declaration that an official who was not one of the wardens had previously directed him to order multiple “assaults, beatings, and killings of inmates.” That official approached him in February 2023 about ending Kelly’s life.

Stine said he first met that official during the 13 years he spent at a federal Supermax prison in Colorado, and that the alleged victims were targeted because they had been making things rough for the BOP. Stine said he had “ordered multiple assaults and murders” at the official’s requestand at various federal prisons, and he participated in some of the attacks himself.

The official told him in 2023 that there was a high-profile inmate in North Carolina “whose high-priced lawyers are going to expose a bunch of damaging information that will harm other Bureau of Prisons officers and higher-ups” and that he wanted Stine “to help to eliminate the problem,” according to Stine.

After asking Stine if he knew who R. Kelly was, the declaration said, the official told him “that Kelly is a rapist. He told me Kelly raped little white girls. He told me Kelly was scum. And he told me that Kelly was someone the A.B. would want gone. It is R. Kelly who poses the threat to the BOP.”

Stine said he was transferred to North Carolina in October 2023. He was in the medical unit from then until March 2025 when he finally wound up in Kelly’s unit, the court document said.

Stine, who says he has terminal cancer, said he was told that once he got into Kelly’s unit he should “execute” the singer. He said he was told he would be charged for the murder, but that evidence would be “mishandled” and he wouldn’t be convicted. Then, Stine said, he would be “permitted to escape” while in transit, as he had done when he escaped previously, and could live out his final months as a “free man.” Stine said he agreed to the deal but changed his mind after keeping an eye on Kelly for a few weeks.

Instead of killing the singer, Stine said in his May 19 declaration, “I told him the truth. I told him that I had been sent to kill him. I told him how and by who. And I told him his life was absolutely in danger.”

Stine said that a prison execution was nothing new for him, but killing Kelly “to hide misconduct by [Bureau of Prisons] officers and government officials is something that should not happen. … And it is going to happen to him if no one takes action.” He stated that time was “of the essence.”

Kelly’s attorney, Brindley, said in his motion that his client’s “continued incarceration while he knows his life is in jeopardy constitutes cruel and unusual punishment,” a violation of his constitutional rights. The attorney said Kelly has already been attacked in prison by others.

In his motion, Brindley accused the U.S. Attorney’s Office of knowingly conspiring to use information protected by attorney-client privilege, including information procured from one of Kelly’s cellmates. That cellmate provided a declaration stating he had stolen privileged legal documents and delivered them to a BOP investigator who copied them and sent them for use by prosecutors in both of Kelly’s trials.

“This conspiracy involved the Bureau of Prisons and was apparently orchestrated by the U.S. Attorney’s Office,” the motion says. “There is no room left to speculate about some way that the U.S. Attorney’s Office did not know about the corrupt conduct of these cooperating persons.”

According to the motion, Kelly got a call from a prison official in North Carolina, who warned him that the government knew his attorneys had been meeting with the cellmate who provided the declaration.

“The official then advised Mr. Kelly that he was in danger and that Mr. Kelly needed to be careful. The BOP official intimated that Mr. Kelly was not safe in Bureau of Prisons custody,” the motion says. “The BOP official further advised that Mr. Kelly should avoid the mess hall.”

The motion alleges that Kelly was already attacked by another inmate who, after the fact, wrote a letter saying had put him up to it. It says Stine approached Kelly and came clean about the alleged murder plot on April 11.

“On June 6, 2025, the defense learned that a second member of the Aryan Brotherhood, who is housed at FCI Butner, had just been approached by [a BOP official] and directed to carry out the execution of Mr. Kelly and Mr. Stine,” the motion states. Methods of murder that were discussed allegedly included mixing poison into the food at the chow hall and in the commissary.

“Time is now of the essence,” Brindley wrote. “It is with these breathtaking facts in mind that Mr. Kelly asks this Court for an extraordinary legal remedy: his release from Bureau of Prisons custody.”

Admitting that Kelly was asking for an “extraordinary” remedy to his problem, the attorney cited the allegations in his motion and offered a sweeping indictment of the federal prison system.

“The circumstances set forth above are as extraordinary as they are terrifying,” Brindley wrote. “Incarcerated persons have no redress for protection outside of the guards that are hired to keep them safe. When the hierarchy under which those guards work has sanctioned and ordered an inmate’s execution, then there is no safety for that inmate.

“The declaration of Mr. Stine shows that inmate murder at the behest of prison officials is neither new nor uncommon. It happens regularly and without consequence. Hence, the threat to Mr. Kelly’s life continues each day that no action is taken.”

On a recent morning inside San Quentin prison, Los Angeles County Dist. Atty. Nathan Hochman and more than a dozen other prosecutors crowded into a high-ceilinged meeting hall surrounded by killers, rapists and other serious offenders.

Name the crime, one of these guys has probably done it.

“It’s not every day that you’re in a room of 100 people, most of whom have committed murder, extremely violent crimes, and been convicted of it,” Hochman later said.

Many of these men, in their casual blue uniforms, were serving long sentences with little chance of getting out, like Marlon Arturo Melendez, an L.A. native who is now in for murder.

Melendez sat in a “sharing circle,” close enough to Hochman that their knees could touch, no bars between them. They chatted about the decrease in gang violence in the decades since Melendez was first incarcerated more than 20 years ago, and Melendez said he found Hochman “interesting.”

Inside San Quentin, this kind of interaction between inmates and guests isn’t unusual. For decades, the prison by the Bay has been doing incarceration differently, cobbling together a system that focuses on accountability and rehabilitation.

Like the other men in the room, Melendez takes responsibility for the harm he caused, and every day works to be a better man. When he introduces himself, he names his victims — an acknowledgment that what he did can’t be undone but also an acknowledgment that he doesn’t have to remain the same man who pulled the trigger.

Whether or not Melendez or any of these men ever walk free, what was once California’s most notorious lockup is now a place that offers them the chance to change and provides the most elusive of emotions for prisoners — hope.

Creating that culture is a theory and practice of imprisonment that Gov. Gavin Newsom wants to make the standard across the state.

He’s dubbed it the California Model, but as I’ve written about before, it’s common practice in other countries (and even in a few places in the United States). It’s based on a simple truth about incarceration: Most people who go into prison come out again. Public safety demands that they behave differently when they do.

“We are either paying to keep them here or we are paying if they come back out and harm somebody,” said Brooke Jenkins, the district attorney of San Francisco, who has visited San Quentin regularly for years.

Jenkins was the organizer of this unusual day that brought district attorneys from around the state inside of San Quentin to gain a better understanding of how the California Model works, and why even tough-on-crime district attorneys should support transforming our prisons.

As California does an about-face away from a decade of progressive criminal justice advances with new crackdowns such as those promised by the recently passed Proposition 36 (which is expected to increase the state inmate population), it is also continuing to move ahead with the controversial plan to remake prison culture, both for inmates and guards, by centering on rehabilitation over punishment.

Despite a tough economic year that is requiring the state to slash spending, Newsom has kept intact more than $200 million from the prior budget to revamp San Quentin so that its outdated facilities can support more than just locking up folks in cells.

Some of that construction, already happening on the grounds, is expected to be completed next year. It will make San Quentin the most visible example of the California Model. But changes in how inmates and guards interact and what rehabilitation opportunities are available are already underway at prisons across the state.

It is an overdue and profound transformation that has the potential to not only improve public safety and save money in the long run, but to fundamentally reshape what incarceration means across the country.

Jenkins’ push to help more prosecutors understand and value this metamorphosis might be crucial to helping the public support it as well — especially for those D.A.s whose constituents are just fine with a system that locks up men to suffer for their (often atrocious) crimes. Or even those Californians, such as many in San Francisco and Los Angeles, who are just fed up with the perception that California is soft on criminals.

“It’s not about moderate or progressive, but I think all of us that are moderates have to admit that there are reforms that still need to happen,” Jenkins told me as we walked through the prison yard. She took office after the successful recall of her progressive predecessor, Chesa Boudin, and a rightward shift in San Francisco on crime policy.

Still, she is vocal about the need for second chances. For her, prison reform is about more than the California Model, but a broader lens that includes the perspectives of incarcerated people, and their insights on what they need to make rehabilitation work.

“It really grounds you in your obligation to make sure that the culture in the [district attorney’s] office is fair,” she said.

For Hochman, a former federal prosecutor and defense lawyer who resoundingly ousted progressive George Gascón last year, rehabilitation makes sense. He likes to paraphrase a Fyodor Dostoevsky quote, “The degree of civilization in a society is revealed by entering its prisons.”

“In my perfect world, the education system, the family system, the community, would have done all this work on the front end such that these people wouldn’t have been in position to commit crimes in the first place,” he said. But when that fails, it’s up to the criminal justice system to help people fix themselves.

Despite being perceived as a tough-on-crime D.A. (he prefers “fair on crime”) he’s so committed to that goal of rehabilitation that he is determined to push for a new Men’s Central Jail in Los Angeles County — an expensive (billions) and unpopular idea that he says is long overdue but critical to public safety.

“Los Angeles County is absolutely failing because our prisons and jails are woefully inadequate,” he said.

He’s quick to add that rehabilitation isn’t for everyone. Some just aren’t ready for it. Some don’t care. The inmates of San Quentin agree with him. They are often fiercely vocal about who gets transferred to the prison, knowing that its success relies on having incarcerated people who want to change — one rogue inmate at San Quentin could ruin it for all of them.

“It has to be a choice. You have to understand that for yourself,” Oscar Acosta told me. Now 32, he’s a “CDC baby,” as he puts it — referring to the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation — and has been behind bars since he was 18. He credits San Quentin with helping him accept responsibility for his crimes and see a path forward.

When the California Model works, as the district attorneys saw, it’s obvious what its value is. Men who once were nothing but dangerous have the option to live different lives, with different values. Even if they remain incarcerated.

“After having been considered the worst of the worst, today I am a new man,” Melendez told me. “I hope (the district attorneys) were able to see real change in those who sat with them and be persuaded that rehabilitation over punishment is more fruitful and that justice seasoned with restoration is better for all.”

Melendez and the other incarcerated men at San Quentin aspire for us to see them as more than their worst actions. And they take heart that even prosecutors like Jenkins and Hochman, who put them behind bars, sometimes with triple-digit sentences, do see that the past does not always determine the future, and that investing in their change is an investment in safer communities.

A cadre of civil rights groups brought a lawsuit late Wednesday challenging Riverside County’s use of cash bail to detain people as they await trial, citing squalid conditions inside the county’s jails where dozens of inmates have died in recent years.

The class-action suit is the latest to challenge the legality of cash bail systems in California after a 2021 state Supreme Court ruling found it is unconstitutional to jail defendants solely because of their inability to pay their way out from behind bars.

“Every day, Riverside County imprisons people based on nothing more than their inability to pay an arbitrary, pre-set amount of cash that Defendants demand for their release,” attorneys for the civil rights groups argue in the 80-page complaint. “These individuals are not detained because they are too dangerous to release: The government would release them right away if they could pay. They are detained simply because they are too poor to purchase their freedom.”

The suit was brought by the Washington, D.C.-based nonprofit Civil Rights Corps, Public Justice in Oakland and several other law firms on behalf of two people incarcerated in Riverside County jails and two local faith leaders. It names as defendants the Riverside County Sheriff’s Department, Sheriff Chad Bianco, the Riverside County Superior Court system and the county.

Lt. Deirdre Vickers, a sheriff’s department spokesperson, said she could not comment on pending litigation, as did a representative for the county court system. The county executive’s office did not immediately respond to requests for comment.

While the suit argues money bail is unconstitutional across California and seeks an injunction ending its use, attorneys said they are focusing on Riverside County following a spate of deaths in the jails in 2022. That year, Riverside County recorded 18 inmate fatalities, the highest number in a decade.

The following year, California Atty. Gen. Rob Bonta, a Democrat, opened what remains an ongoing investigation into complaints about living conditions in the county jails and allegations that deputies use excessive force against detainees.

Inmate deaths have fallen since 2022. The county reported 13 jail fatalities in 2023 and six last year, according to Vickers.

Bianco — a law-and-order conservative who has joined a crowded field of Democrats to succeed Gov. Gavin Newsom in the 2026 election — has previously dismissed the state’s investigation into his jails as politically motivated. Bianco maintains the jail deaths, many of which authorities attribute to drug overdoses and suicides, are a reflection of the inmates’ life choices rather than a sign of any problem with the jail system.

“Every single one of these inmate deaths was out of anyone’s control,” Bianco said after news of the state investigation broke. “The fact of the matter is that they just happened to be in our custody.”

The cash bail system has deep roots in the U.S. as a means of pressuring defendants to show up for scheduled court appearances. Attend trial, and the sizable cash payments are returned to you or your family; skip court, and you forfeit your deposit.

Critics argue it effectively creates a two-tiered justice system, allowing wealthy defendants to pay their way out while awaiting trial, and leaving low-income defendants stuck behind bars. Proponents of eliminating the bail system contend that decisions about whether to jail defendants ahead of trial should be based on the severity of their crimes and the risk they pose to public safety, and not hinge on their income status.

Brian Hardingham, a senior attorney with Public Justice, said people sometimes spend days in jail awaiting their first court appearance, only for a prosecutor to decline to file a case presented by local police. That stint behind bars can have an outsize effect on people’s lives, especially if they are low-income, Hardingham said.

“You meet people with 6-month-old kids in jail who, if they’re lucky, there is a partner or a parent or someone who can watch their kids,” he said, adding that even a brief stretch in a county jail can result in people losing their job, vehicle or even their residence.

Supporters of the cash bail system, including many law enforcement groups, say that doing away with it would leave too many defendants free to potentially flee and re-offend, leading to crime spikes.

The issue grew increasingly controversial during the COVID-19 pandemic, when the virus spread with deadly consequences through the state’s jails and prisons. Los Angeles County instituted a zero-bail policy for most offenses in 2020, trying to reduce jail crowding at a time when the virus was spreading rapidly. That policy was rescinded in June 2022.

Despite concerns from police groups, a 2023 report to the L.A. County Board of Supervisors showed re-arrest and failure-to-appear rates remained relatively static among those freed pre-trial while the zero-bail policy was in place.

A similar lawsuit to the one filed against Riverside County prompted Los Angeles County court officials to revise their bail policies in 2023. Under the new system, the vast majority of defendants accused of misdemeanors or nonviolent felonies are now cited and released, or freed under specified conditions after a judge reviews their case. Defendants accused of serious offenses, including murder, manslaughter, rape and most types of assault, still face a stiff cash bail schedule.

Fears that the new system would result in a crime spike have not been borne out. Total crime in areas patrolled by the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department fell by about 2% in 2024, the first calendar year the reduced bail policy was in place, according to department data. The city of Los Angeles has seen significant decreases in the number of robberies, property crimes and aggravated assaults committed this year, as of mid-May, records show.

Given the 2021 state Supreme Court ruling and the changes in Los Angeles, Hardingham said he is hopeful other counties will shift their bail policies without having to engage in a court fight.

“We would hope that they would be willing to see the writing on the wall and make the changes that are necessary,” he said.

Authorities have identified the inmate accused of stabbing incarcerated rapper Tory Lanez with a self-made shank as 41-year-old Santino Casio, who is serving a life sentence for murder.

Casio allegedly attacked Lanez, whose legal name is Daystar Peterson, around 7:20 a.m. Monday in a housing unit at the California Correctional Institute in Tehachapi, according to the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation.

Peterson is serving a 10-year sentence for shooting rapper Megan Thee Stallion in 2020. He was transported to an outside medical facility for treatment and is currently in fair condition, prison officials said Tuesday afternoon.

An Instagram account ascribed to Lanez said the rapper was stabbed 14 times — including seven wounds to his back, four to his torso, two to the back of his head and one to his face. The 32-year-old Canadian artist was said to have suffered two collapsed lungs but was “in good spirits” and “pulling through.”

Casio has been placed in restrictive housing while prison officials and the Kern County district attorney’s office investigate the attack.

The alleged assailant was sent to the California Correctional Institute from Los Angeles County in 2004 after being sentenced to life with the possibility of parole for second-degree murder, first-degree attempted murder, use of a deadly weapon and inflicting great bodily injury, according to the CDCR.

While in prison, Casio has been sentenced for two additional crimes.

In 2008, he was sentenced to six years for assaulting a prisoner with a deadly weapon. Then, in 2018, he was sentenced to two years for possessing a deadly weapon in prison.

Peterson was sentenced in August 2023 for shooting Grammy-winning artist Megan Thee Stallion, whose legal name is Megan Pete. He was convicted in December 2022 of assault with a firearm, illegal possession of a firearm and negligent discharge of a gun.

The “Savage” musician has alleged that Peterson has continued to harass her from prison by directing his fans and online trolls to disparage her online. In January, a Los Angeles judge granted Pete a restraining order against Peterson until 2030.

Staff writer Richard Winton contributed to this report