As spring approaches, faith leaders and advocates are raising alarms about inhumane heat conditions in U.S. prisons, especially in southern states such as Mississippi, where extreme temperatures threaten the lives of incarcerated individuals and staff.

During a recent webinar, "85 to Stay Alive: Answering the Call," hosted by Texas Prison Community Advocates and the Climate and Incarceration Research Collective, panelists shared harrowing stories and urged action before summer heat arrives.

The Rev. Joseph Clark, assistant imam at the 5th Ward Islamic Center for Human Development in Texas, recounted his own prison experiences, describing dangerous conditions caused by extreme heat.

"It would be so hot on the unit that we would break out the windows on the turn roller so air can come through the window," he said, "and the warden would not fix the window purposely for when it got cold, so during winter conditions we would freeze to death."

The problem is severe in Mississippi, where many prisons lack air conditioning. Reports frequently expose extreme heat at the Mississippi State Penitentiary at Parchman, where cell temperatures often exceed 100 degrees. The Justice Department has found conditions at Parchman and two other state prisons unconstitutional.

Amite Dominick, founder and president of Texas Prison Community Advocates, warned that climate change is causing longer, hotter summers, escalating risks in prisons. She urged leaders to act quickly to protect human rights.

"We do consider it to be cruel and unusual punishment and a violation of an individuals 8th Amendment rights," she said. "Essentially, what we're asking for is that temperatures are maintained between 65 and 85 heat index within all of our Texas prisons and within all of our prisons across the nation."

Advocates also emphasized the toll on prison staff, who endure the same sweltering conditions. As Mississippi and other southern states face growing pressure to address prison conditions, advocates are urging policymakers to invest in air conditioning and other cooling measures, arguing that current practices are inhumane.


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Next month, the city of Morgantown, West Virginia, will ask residents to vote on whether to keep or eliminate a city ordinance banning camping on public property, enacted last year.

Sarah Hutson, a volunteer for the advocacy group West Virginia Can't Wait, said Morgantown has struggled with affordable housing and a lack of resources for years. She pointed out the city has only 28 shelter beds for an unhoused population of around 150 individuals.

"This is an expensive waste of taxpayer money to just put folks in jail rather than actually provide solutions that would end homelessness in Morgantown," Hutson argued.

An estimated 150 cities in 32 states have passed ordinances aimed at discouraging homelessness, according to the National Criminal Justice Association. The U.S. Supreme Court has also weighed in on the issue. In a 2024 ruling, justices found a camping ban in Grants Pass, Oregon, did not violate the Constitution's cruel and unusual punishments clause.

Hutson added the number of Morgantown residents who came together and gathered signatures on a petition to put the issue on the ballot highlights the momentum against criminalizing not having a place to live.

"It was an incredible force of effort," Hutson observed. "It was also easy, in that most people that we talked to, at most doors that we knocked, were more than happy to sign. They also see that this is not a solution."

Hutson noted groups like West Virginia Can't Wait have continued to push affordable housing and increased services for unhoused people to the top of local city council agendas, statewide.

"To work with our elected officials on city council to introduce pro-housing solutions and ordinances that would help make a difference in this fight." Hutson urged.

Data from the Pew Research Center show in cities across the nation, places where rents increased faster than the national average have seen sharp spikes in the number of homeless residents.


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An audit by Allegheny County reveals most public defenders face excessive caseloads and a lack of resources, putting clients at a disadvantage.

It showed 36 of 42 trial attorneys carry caseloads above the national average.

Robert Perkins, attorney for the Allegheny Lawyers Initiative for Justice, said the state has a history of underfunding public defenders, allowing only $100,000 per county annually. But he added it is the first time the county controller's office has reviewed public defense, focusing on areas of improvement in a neglected system.

"On average, your typical public defender, trial lawyer has two or three times as many cases as they should," Perkins pointed out. "You can be the best lawyer in the world. If you have triple the caseload that you should per national standards, then you can't do a good job for every client. You end up having to pick and choose."

Perkins noted while the American Bar Association outlines 10 key principles for an effective public defense system, the recent audit only examined one for both the Public Defender and court-appointed counsel systems. He argued a deeper review would have shown both fall short of most bar association standards. The study also found the court-run indigent defense system violates standards.

Sarah Linder Marx, senior deputy of public outreach and staff development for the Allegheny County Office of the Public Defender, said she is concerned the audit implied clients must meet requirements beyond those outlined in the Public Defender Act to qualify for a public defender attorney. Specifically, she emphasized the audit suggested stricter income verification measures.

Under the Public Defender Act, individuals qualify based on income eligibility and sign an affidavit confirming their income falls below the poverty line percentage indicating indigence.

"In practice, we would be asking people who are already extremely vulnerable to get us documentation that may not even exist for them," Linder Marx stressed. "We don't have software or access to government documents like other government agencies do to verify income like that."

Linder Marx's office also recommended implementing new case management software would greatly improve the ability to manage workloads and provide opportunities for analysis. The current case management software is dated and inadequate, often creating more work.


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An Illinois documentary takes a deep dive into the Illinois Prisoner Review Board and the politics that influence its decision-making through one man's fight for a second chance.

"In their Hands" follows the life of Ronnie Carrasquillo, who was charged with murdering a plainclothes Chicago police officer in 1976. He was 18 years old when a judge sentenced him to 200 to 600 years in prison. Despite earning a bachelor's degree in theology and creating a committee with other prisoners focused on education and rehabilitation, Carrasquillo was denied parole more than 30 times.

"Every year I went to the parole board, they said, 'You're the same guy, you're still the same gang kid, you're still the same gang leader,'" Carrasquillo recounted. "So they can evolve, but they want to marginalize me and hold me in that position that 'you're still this.' So I used to say, 'I'm the oldest 18-year-old that you know.'"

Carrasquillo spent nearly 50 years in prison before finally being released at age 65 in 2023. An appellate court ruled his sentence was excessive and his profuse parole denial unfair. The film is available on all PBS digital platforms.

Carrasquillo grew up in Chicago during a time where racial violence and street gangs were prevalent. Along with highlighting the factors leading to Carrasquillo's crime, the documentary offers a snapshot of the kinds of extreme sentences young people receive that lead to mass incarceration.

Dan Protess, producer and director of the documentary, said he used Carrasquillo's story to expose the systemic issues in the criminal legal system, including how officials prioritize economic interests over rehabilitation.

"Who are these parole board members?" Protess asked. "What are the political considerations in their appointment? Who in Springfield, the state's capital, is looking over their shoulders? And what other parties might be able to influence them in their decision-making?"

Protess added he hopes the film draws attention to the parole process he believes often gets overlooked, and the great need for reform.

According to state law, the review board consists of 15 people appointed by the governor and the Senate, who must have five years of experience in areas ranging from law and policing to medicine and social work. At least six must also have juvenile experience and no more than eight members may be of the same political party.


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