|
CENTER ON JUVENILE AND CRIMINAL JUSTICE PRESS ROOM | |
| http://www.cjcj.org/index.php |
| Center on Juvenile and Criminal Justice, 1622 Folsom Street, San Francisco, CA 94103 | Tel: (415) 621-5661 | Fax: (415) 621-5466 |
Court and State Senators Are Investigating Coverup Allegations
Five years ago, after prison scandals gripped California with tales of guards setting up inmates in human cockfights and then shooting them dead, the state Department of Corrections vowed to change its ways.
Whistle-blowers would be protected, not punished. Internal investigators would be encouraged to pursue abusive guards. And the correctional officers union no longer would have a hand in dictating policy.
That new day never came, interviews and documents show. California guards did stop shooting at inmates engaged in fistfights, a practice that had turned Corcoran State Prison into the deadliest lock-up in America.
But the Corrections Department remains troubled by allegations that rogue guards still go unpunished, union bosses continue to exert strong influence, and top administrators still thwart whistle-blowers.
Whether his departure clears the way for much-needed change is an open question, say civil rights attorneys, watchdog groups and whistle-blowers. The culture inside the nation's largest state prison system - from top administrators in Sacramento to wardens in the field - resists easy reform, they say.
The department now finds itself in the crosshairs of two inquiries that could bring new disclosures of wrongdoing.
The code of silence makes it difficult to know the extent of misconduct in the vast prison system. But in addition to recent troubles at Pelican Bay and Chino, The Times has learned of more cases in which whistle-blowers were punished and abusive guards were not.
o Richard Krupp, a systems analyst, tried to save the state millions of dollars by revealing alleged abuses in sick leave and overtime pay to guards. Krupp, a 31-year corrections veteran, was stripped of his duties in 1999 because of his disclosures to state auditors, according to the state inspector general's office.
Top corrections officials ignored his ideas for fixing what was then a $50-million-a-year problem and today costs taxpayers $250 million annually - about half the department's reported deficit. "This is an employee who should be held up as a hero," said John H. Scott, Krupp's attorney. "Instead, the department is treating him like a pariah."
Reforms in Late '90s
Some of the episodes now in focus are sequels to cases that led to reforms in the late 1990s. Under then-Director James Gomez and his top administrator, David Tristan, California prisons had become synonymous with brutality.
As the changes took hold, Tristan and much of the old guard retired.
Testifying last month in the federal inquiry, Alameida denied having shut down the case at the behest of the union. He acknowledged having talked briefly on the phone with the union vice president who had worked to block the original investigation at Pelican Bay.
But Alameida said he had decided not to pursue sanctions against the officers after participants at the meeting agreed that the case was old and weak - a contention that Ballard and others strongly dispute.
Similar Themes
Now, as legislators prepare to hold their hearings, The Times has found other cases with similar themes.
In the last year, according to state documents and interviews, the department has reversed its demotion of two sergeants at Ironwood State Prison in Blythe.
In the case of Krupp, the systems analyst who alleged abuses of sick leave and overtime, Heimerich said the department could not comment because the matter was still before the State Personnel Board.
But both the state board and the inspector general have found already that Krupp was retaliated against after the department tried and failed to thwart his study in 1999. Krupp had taken the sick leave and overtime figures to top corrections officials Wendy Still and Teresa Rocha; Rocha would later become interim director.
State records show that the two administrators produced numbers suggesting that overtime and sick leave were declining. "They were trying to cook the books," Krupp said. "Sick leave and overtime weren't falling. They were doubling."
Krupp took his own figures to state auditors, who confirmed his findings in published reports that embarrassed the department. He was promptly shipped off to another office far from the data and given nothing to do. "So, I read over 200 books in 15 months - nonfiction mostly," he said.
The department still refuses to consider Krupp a whistle-blower, and opposes his claim for a retroactive promotion with back pay. His experience, according to state investigators, is just one of many instances in which the inspector general found retaliation against whistle-blowers, but the Corrections Department refused to work out a remedy.
"It's as if the reforms that grew out of the Corcoran hearings never happened," said Scott.
The department has stood firm in its reshaping of the shooting policy. Since 1999, only two inmates have been killed by guards; both incidents involved melees, not standing fistfights. But civil rights attorneys question the commitment of top administrators to fully investigate future shootings after the flip-flop in the 1998 killing of Orozco at Pleasant Valley.
The 23-year-old was serving a nine-year sentence for dealing drugs when he was gunned down by Officer Bruce Brumana during a fight at Pleasant Valley State Prison, according to the prison's official shooting report.
A few months later, the department's shooting review board ruled the killing unwarranted. The fight posed no "imminent great bodily harm" to inmates or staff, the board found, and could have been stopped without a gunshot.
The department suspended Brumana for 90 days. It was the first time a shooting review board ever ruled against a guard.
Union representatives weren't pleased, but Director Terhune stood firm, assembling an executive review committee that ratified the finding. The case ended - or so it seemed - with Brumana agreeing to his punishment before the State Personnel Board.
"It was signed, sealed and delivered," said Bob Navarro, co-counsel for the Orozco family. "It went all the way up to the director."
Then late last year, Robert Borg, a former warden and longtime corrections analyst, took it upon himself to dig back into the case. Borg had remained a defender of the old shooting policy. After reading the accounts of inmates and staff, Borg decided that Brumana had been justified in using deadly force.
Borg said the victim of the fight had been knocked to the ground and was being kicked by several inmates. The fact that he hadn't suffered any serious injuries wasn't relevant, Borg said. The victim still had faced "imminent great bodily harm" in Brumana's eyes. Borg said the shooting review board had ignored this evidence. He took his findings to Tristan.
In a unilateral decision outside department policy, Tristan assigned an internal investigator to review the shooting. Three months ago, after the investigator arrived at the same opinion as Borg, Tristan reversed the finding. Brumana was awarded back pay.
"It is extraordinary; I will admit that," Tristan said. "But after taking another look at all the evidence, I felt I had to do right by this officer. I couldn't let the adverse action stand."
Tristan said he never told Alameida about his decision, although he did tell a union official.
In an interview before he announced his resignation, Alameida said he had already made at least one important reform. He had placed the internal affairs units in the hands of six hard-charging agents from the inspector general's office.
"I've done something that's never been done. I've brought in the core from an outside agency and asked them to take over our investigations," Alameida said. He said he wanted a unit "that doesn't have internal or external influences And we're going to get there."
| This site and its contents © 2002 Center on Juvenile and Criminal Justice |