June 4, 2025

“We See You Walking Funny—We Shoot”: A Personal Account of Systemic Abuse and Civil Rights Violations at Red Onion State Prison

For privacy reasons, I can’t release specifics on my husband’s charges - the prison would retaliate and treat him worse. I can say that he is not a predator, rapist, terrorist or a danger to society. He is serving time for a minor incident which was blown out of proportion by an unfair judge. His release date is 12/27, and will be adjusted to 2026 this October. 

 

I met my husband in 2023 through what began as incidental and lighthearted conversations at my local salon. His sister, a lively and nurturing  mother with a gift for storytelling, was a regular there. Over time, through speakerphone conversations and exchanged anecdotes, what began as casual familiarity grew into an emotionally intimate connection between two people who had never met face to face.

 

At the time, my husband—let’s call him John—was incarcerated at Red Onion State Prison, housed in solitary confinement. I knew his history was troubled. I knew his upbringing had been unstable and he had been exposed to violence from a young age. But none of that changed the reality that his voice brought me an inexplicable sense of peace. His humanity shone through in every call. I found myself drawn to his mind, his resilience, and above all, his capacity to love despite living inside a system designed to dehumanize him.

 

Eventually, I asked his sister if it would be appropriate to speak with him one-on-one. From our very first private conversation, we became inseparable. I vividly remember the moment I told him—quietly, nervously—that I missed him. To my astonishment, he said he had been waiting for the right moment to say the same. He hadn’t wanted to ask anything of me, knowing it would mean entangling me in a complicated, difficult, and at times, dangerous reality. That respect only deepened my love for him.

 

We formalized our relationship on October 23, 2023. John had been in prolonged solitary confinement, an administrative practice that—according to international human rights law and multiple federal court rulings—constitutes torture when extended beyond 15 consecutive days. John had endured years. Yet he rarely complained. His natural optimism and stoicism would disarm even the most seasoned clinician. But as the months wore on, the cracks began to show.

 

John began reporting patterns of abuse—racial slurs, psychological degradation, humiliation rituals, unsanitary living conditions, and use of excessive force. Unlike earlier complaints that were rare and understated, these became urgent. He begged us to contact human rights organizations, civil rights attorneys, anyone who could bring visibility to what he and others were enduring. He wasn’t asking for leniency. He wasn’t asking to be released. He was pleading for recognition—basic constitutional protections, human decency, medical attention. Nothing more, nothing less.

 

The gravity of the abuse he witnessed—and experienced—was staggering. Inmates setting themselves on fire to prompt a transfer. Beatings so severe that men were left permanently injured. Maggot-infested food. Bedding stained with human waste. He washed his own linens using a bar of personal soap and hung them to dry like it was normal. That’s the level of institutional degradation we are dealing with—where a person becomes grateful simply for the chance to survive another day in filth.

 

Despite it all, John tried to protect us from the worst of it. For a long time, he kept quiet. He put on a brave face for me, for his sister—who raised him when his parents couldn’t. But eventually, his spirit broke under the weight of sustained racial hatred and physical abuse.

 

In winter of 2023, I drove six hours from my alma mater to visit John for the first time in person. I had only ever seen him through video calls. But the visit was denied on the grounds of a supposed dress code violation. I was wearing a long black dress and an ankle-length puffer coat. After being asked to remove the coat and pass through security, I was told I could not proceed. I asked if I could zip the coat, offered to return with different clothing, even suggested buying leggings from a nearby store—but all efforts were stonewalled. The guards waited until it was too late to fix the problem. The visit was effectively sabotaged.

 

In 2024, my sister-in-law and I returned. This time, we adhered strictly to the dress code and protocol. Still, I was racially profiled, ridiculed, and physically searched without cause. A scanning device flagged my body as having an “anomaly.” The guards refused to explain. When I asked to see the image, or be told what rule I had broken, they remained evasive. The process devolved into humiliation. My sister-in-law was denied entry on false pretenses about a mismatch in their address records. Ultimately, we were forced to settle for a video visit held in the same lobby—monitored, inaudible, and visibly hostile.

 

Later, John shared what happened on his end. He was verbally assaulted and called a “nigger lover” by a young female officer who shoved him and mocked his marriage to a woman of color. This racial abuse was not coded; it was explicit and violent. That day, I realized that John was not just unsafe—he was in imminent danger. Ever since our relationship became visible to staff, he has been targeted. The guard had exclaimed, “I can’t believe you brought your bitch of a wife here. You don’t deserve to call yourself a white man!” 

 

In December 2024, I hadn’t heard from John in days. I knew something was wrong. I called the prison repeatedly. First, they told me he was fine. Then, that he had been in a fight and sustained a minor injury (a scratch). Then, finally, that he had suffered a fall from the top bunk and was transported off-site for emergency treatment. Why wasn’t his next of kin notified? Why were details of my husband’s injury purposely withheld from me and our family? His only advocate inside the prison was his counselor, whom I had to coerce information from — over the course of several days and multiple phone calls. When I finally got some version of the truth, it was devastating.  

 

He had sustained two deep lacerations to the head that required staples. He was left for days in the infirmary, covered in his own blood, denied basic hygiene, and subjected to what he described as “the most disgusting room I’ve ever been in.” His sheets reeked of urine. The walls were covered in dried feces and blood. He was denied medication for pain. He was denied a toothbrush for days. He was denied clean clothing. When he requested a follow-up medical exam for worsening symptoms, he was ignored. Standard protocol for head trauma was disregarded.

 

Fearing hypothermia and worsening infection, John removed his own staples.

 

No action was taken.

 

In May 2025, the prison was effectively reclassified from Level 5 to Level 6—a change that has intensified violence, stripped inmates of their few remaining privileges, and introduced “riot control” weapons used arbitrarily. One guard told an inmate: “You don’t have to do anything. If you walk funny, we shoot.” Another said: “You have no rights.” Inmates are denied food and water for speaking. Showers and clean linens are withheld without justification. The food is no longer recognizable as food.

 

Attorneys are reluctant to take cases involving Red Onion or its sister prison, Wallens Ridge, because the problem is what legal scholars call a “wicked problem”—a complex, self-sustaining system of abuse, impunity, and administrative opacity. Multiple active lawsuits are pending, and yet, the torture continues.

 

John is not serving a Level 6 sentence. His offenses were classified at Level 5. The reclassification before his transfer amounts to preemptive punishment without cause. This is a denial of due process and violates Eighth Amendment protections against cruel and unusual punishment.

 

Now, I am seeking compassionate release for my husband. He has served time—years in solitary confinement, time that experts agree constitutes psychological torture. He has rehabilitated himself. He completed self-betterment programs. He was moved out of solitary for good behavior. And now, he is being punished again, not for any act of violence or defiance—but for falling in love with someone who looks like me.

 

The military is forbidden from torturing terrorists. Yet here, in the United States of America, we allow our citizens to be degraded, dehumanized, and stripped of constitutional rights because they are poor, incarcerated, and—most egregiously—loved by someone of another race.

 

As of today, June 4, 2025, John remains in danger. His release date, with good time credited, will be revised in October 2025. I am fighting to have him home by this July. He deserves to live. He deserves safety. And if the Virginia Department of Corrections cannot guarantee either, then they cannot be trusted to hold a man for even one more night.

 

Red Onion must be shut down. Wallens Ridge must not become the “solution.” These are not correctional facilities. They are laboratories of racial cruelty and systemic collapse. Who knows what horrors lie in level 5/6 prisons in other states? Perhaps the worst of it all, is the fear of retaliation from prison guards and officials —which has rendered inmates silent and invisible. One man who has an ongoing lawsuit against a specific guard, had that same guard assigned to him. He remains his guard despite the obvious conflict of interest and bias it presents. I am scared myself. I am scared to even mention my husbands name out of fear it gets back to Red Onion officials. They will torture him. They will assault and beat him. I cannot stand by and hope for the best while these atrocities persist.

 

And I will not stop until my husband is free.