At Adirondack Correctional Facility near the Canadian border, the job of delivering meals to hungry inmates fell suddenly to the prison’s superintendent and its teachers and counselors.
At Auburn Correctional Facility in central New York, two ailing men died after not receiving medical care quickly enough.
At Sing Sing Correctional Facility north of New York City, where inmates had been confined in housing areas for more than a week, a man hanged himself in his cell — with no one around to intervene.
Across the state, as wildcat strikes by corrections officers wore on for a 15th straight day, their toll on the men and women who live and work in New York’s prisons was becoming clearer.
In some prisons, inmates have been forced to go without hot food and showers. In others, they have missed court dates or languished without needed medicine, services or mental health care, according to interviews with prisoners, staff members and National Guard soldiers who were called in to keep order when the corrections officers walked off the job.
At least seven prisoners have died since the strikes began on Feb. 17.
Some of the more than 7,000 Guard members deployed to the prisons described feeling unprepared for the task and being forced to work without a clear understanding of their duties. Some were not provided with pepper spray or other means of protecting themselves. Unable to leave the prisons during the deployment, many have slept on gym floors and eaten the same bologna sandwiches served to the prisoners.
On Thursday, Gov. Kathy Hochul announced that the state had reached a deal with leaders of the corrections officers’ union to end the work stoppage by Saturday. The deal included a 90-day suspension of a state law that restricts the use of long-term solitary confinement; limits on mandatory overtime for officers; and a promise not to discipline guards who returned to work before the deadline.
But because the strikes were supposedly never sanctioned by the union’s leaders in the first place, it was unclear how many of the striking officers would comply. A union spokesman issued a statement on Friday encouraging guards to stop striking.
Last week, nine in 10 of the state’s prison guards were participating in the work stoppage, officials said. By Monday, about 8,000 remained on strike. Dozens of prisons were still being affected, the officials said. They added that fewer than 10 officers had been fired for being absent for 11 days or more, and that further steps were being taken to end health insurance for those who had not returned to work.
In the meantime, visits by inmates’ lawyers, family members and friends have remained discontinued along with nonessential medical appointments, early release programs and prisoner classes.
Nearly a week into the strike, the state’s corrections commissioner, Daniel F. Martuscello III, circulated a letter among inmates asking them to “recognize the sacrifices” of the correction staff who had shown up to work.
“Be respectful to those helping you, cooperate and don’t escalate violence, and understand that staff is also frustrated,” Mr. Martuscello wrote. “I challenge each of you to be proud of how you behave during this time of uncertainty.”
Each day the strikes have continued, concerns have grown over the restlessness and frustration brewing among the more than 30,000 people incarcerated in the prisons, with some worrying that if the work stoppage was not resolved soon, it might create the potential for a prison uprising such as the violent riot that occurred in Attica in 1971.
“We are still human beings,” said Rockie Hoose, 28, a prisoner at Five Points Correctional Facility. “The officers claim that working conditions are unsafe. But we are unsafe.”
The strikes also threatened to further destabilize a prison system that already was on edge. Late last year, guards at Marcy Correctional Facility were captured on body-worn cameras beating a handcuffed man to death, a jarring episode that advocates for inmate rights and prison watchdog groups said reflected a widespread culture of brutality behind the walls of the state’s prisons.
And on Saturday, another inmate at a facility across the street, 22-year-old Messiah Nantwi, died after an incident in which other inmates said he was beaten by corrections officers. Eleven corrections staff members involved in the incident were placed on administrative leave while the State Police and other agencies investigate the death, said Thomas Mailey, a prisons spokesman.
‘I’m really not OK’
The strikes started on Feb. 17, after officers assigned to two upstate prisons, Collins Correctional Facility and Elmira Correctional Facility, walked off the job.
Their stated reason was opposition to a 2022 law that placed strict limits on the use of solitary confinement, a measure the correction officers’ union said led to unsafe working conditions for guards. As an example, they held up an incident that had occurred five days earlier at Collins, where inmates reportedly took over a housing facility.
Evidence has since emerged to suggest that at least some of the guards involved may have allowed the prisoners to take over, according to a person with knowledge of the matter. The incident is under investigation by the State Police.
Within a week of the walk-offs at Collins and Elmira, a majority of the state’s correction officers were on strike — the largest work stoppage in the prison system in more than 40 years.
Early on, at Auburn Correctional Facility west of Syracuse, an inmate named Jonathan Grant pleaded for medical attention, other prisoners said, but help never came. On Feb. 22, Mr. Grant, 61, who had a history of strokes, was found dead in his cell.
Mason Earle, a 26-year-old inmate at Auburn, described another incident during the strike when someone in his unit began having chest pains. Mr. Earle said he and others shouted for help until the man was taken away in a wheelchair. A short time later, his cell was cleared out. It was not clear what became of him, but soon after, officials announced another death at the facility, that of Jeffery Bair, 40, who was found unconscious in his cell on Feb. 24 and could not be revived.
“People are very nervous right now,” Mr. Earle said last week. “We haven’t seen the sun or felt the wind; there’s no visits, no law library. This is rough for everybody.”
Four hours away, in a housing unit at Sing Sing in Ossining, N.Y., there were no officers in sight.
Meals were delivered late, and dinner offerings were more meager than usual — cold bologna and cheese sandwiches.
The prisoners were locked in their cells for days as nurses stopped making rounds. National Guard members did their best to respond to the prisoners’ needs, inmates said.
Jose Colon, 43, a prisoner at Sing Sing, said he worried about tensions boiling over.
“I don’t want to be here for the next Attica riot, because it’s going to come,” Mr. Colon said. “When you take visitations from everybody — visits and property and clothing and packages,” he said, that “can mobilize a population.”
Mr. Colon said some prisoners began falling ill during the strikes, prompting other inmates to shout in unison, “Medical emergency! Medical emergency!” and bang on the cell gates to get the attention of anyone who could help. Mr. Colon said at least three men were wheeled out of his unit after medical episodes.
When prisoners at Sing Sing were let out for recreation after a week of being confined to one unit, one of them, Anthony Douglas, 66, remained behind. He was found hanging dead in his cell just after 4 p.m. on Wednesday. Four hours later, another man, Franklyn Dominguez, 35, died after he, too, was found unresponsive in his cell.
The strikes have also been difficult for the relatives of prisoners, who have been unable to visit their loved ones.
Shonda Williams, 33, said she stopped regularly hearing from her brother, who is incarcerated at Clinton Correctional Facility in far northeastern New York, after the strikes began. She said her brother, who has schizophrenia, sent her a chilling email on Feb. 24 before falling silent.
“‘I’m really not OK,’” it said. “‘I don’t have food. In all honesty, I really don’t know what to do anymore.’”
“It was very overwhelming,” said Ms. Williams. She said she did not hear from him again until Sunday night, when he complained again of going without food.
As inmates made do inside the prisons, corrections officers have stood outside them in freezing weather, some huddling around burn barrels for warmth. Many waved signs calling on the state to overturn a 2022 law that limited use of solitary confinement, a deeply unpopular measure among the guards.
In interviews, more than a dozen corrections officers said they were striking over harsh and untenable working conditions. Some had to work as many as 80 hours per week because of staffing shortages, they said.
“I love the job, it’s just the policies forced me out,” said Steve Martin, 55, who retired from Marcy in January. He said the limits on using solitary confinement in particular had made the job less safe.
“They take all the cells away, they say, ‘Oh, the cells are inhumane,’” Mr. Martin said, “but what are you supposed to do with these guys?”
Filling in for the striking guards, National Guard members from across the state streamed in to 41 prisons on charter buses, Army helicopters and vans early in the morning.
It was an expensive move, costing the state about $25 million so far, according to Jackie Bray, the commissioner of the State Division of Homeland Security and Emergency Services. Ms. Bray added that officials expected to spend about $106 million a month on the deployments if the strikes continue.
The few corrections officers who were still in the facilities when the Guard members arrived walked them through the housing areas, offering brief rundowns of what to expect and warnings about which units to be especially wary of.
Since then, the Guard members have worked 12-hour shifts, sleeping in prison gyms on plastic mattresses or in nearby, unused facilities.
At Bedford Hills Correctional Facility in Westchester County, hundreds of National Guard members had to share three toilets. One quickly overflowed.
Some of those deployed were college students concerned about missing classes and being set back academically. None knew their mission’s end date.
Wesley Parnell and Ed Shanahan contributed reporting.
