Transcript of The women who fought back when their jailers assaulted them New

I'm Ayesha Rascoe, and this is the Sunday Story from Up First. #IAmJaneDoe is surging on social media in response to allegations of a gang rape at Cornell University. The campaign is seeing women naming their abusers and calling for accountability across the country. Over at Snap Judgment, a podcast from KQED, reporters Maddie Bolaños, and Anna Sussman have been doing an investigation into sexual abuse at a women's prison in California. In their new 3-part series, We Are Jane Doe, 13 women break the silence about the assaults they experienced at the hands of the prison guards. A warning that this story contains strong language and descriptions of violence against women and sexual assault. Okay, here's episode 1 of We Are Jane Doe.

Okay, that's it.

Okay, introduce yourself.

Yes, I'm Alexandria Proulx, and I'm Jane Doe number 1. And I think Referring to myself as Jane Doe Number 1 was part of the privacy with such a high-profile case.

This is the first time Alexandria, who goes by Ali, has told her story publicly.

I felt like I had no choice but to speak up. I knew I wasn't the only victim. I knew there was other victims. And I just felt like if I didn't speak up, this was going to continue. And by me speaking up, I was going to make a difference for other women.

Ally grew up in California, in the suburbs outside of the state capital, Sacramento. She was the firstborn daughter in an immigrant family, so she was responsible and high-achieving.

Yeah, I had self-esteem, you know, and I'm educated. I was a varsity cheerleader. I was homecoming queen. Like, I, I You know, I'm a good mom.

After high school, she trained to work as a medical technician. She had 3 kids. But things with her ex went really bad. And in late 2021, she says she was in the midst of an ugly custody battle when the police showed up at her door.

I'm holding my 6-week-old daughter. They say, Ms. Prout, we have 2 felony no-bail warrants for you. We need to take you into custody. So my mom's there. I remember just kissing and smelling my daughter, handing my daughter to my mom, and they cuffed me and took me into custody.

She was charged with felony stalking in violation of a restraining order for sending threats over text in the heat of that custody battle. Her crime isn't what our story's about, so we're not going to spend a lot of time on it. But what you need to know is that It was a nonviolent offense.

I was sentenced to 3 years in prison.

What do you remember about the process of going to prison?

I remember the drive. We finally get there, we get off the bus, they unshackle us. They make you get naked and they put these big muumuus on you, like these huge muumuus, gowns. And then they, like, check you. They make you go through a body scanner. And then they give you your oranges, and then they give you these black and white platform-looking shoes. They give you everything you're gonna need for your cell, and you sit there for hours. And then finally, you line up against the wall, and they march you out on the yard.

The Central California Women's Prison near Chowchilla, California, is this massive, sprawling complex of housing units connected with interlocking hallways, checkpoint gates, and lifeless brown yards surrounded by miles of barbed wire. About 2,000 people are locked inside, making it one of the largest women's prisons on Earth. Allie was taken to A Yard, which is for prisoners who've just arrived.

And I just remember we were freezing. We were hungry. I think I dropped £20 on A Yard.

There were narrow metal bunk beds, a toilet, and a shower, with up to 8 women assigned to a cell.

And I remember all we had in that cell was a Bible. And so we would take turns reading the Bible out loud to one another.

She hadn't been there long when she first came across an officer named Gregory Rodriguez. Just a note, we reached out to Gregory Rodriguez for this story, but he did not get back to us.

I was walking to a medical docket, and he was the officer at the post that had to verify your docket.

A docket is like a hall pass. It's like this piece of paper that you need in order to move around the prison.

And I had an N95 mask on because it was during the time of COVID And so he asked me, can you please remove your N95 mask so I can identify you? So I did. I removed my mask, I lowered it, and he said, you have beautiful lips and beautiful eyes, you're so beautiful, and started making sexually objective comments towards me.

She's used to getting looks from men. And her Russian-Ukrainian grandmother would warn her to kind of watch out.

You know, my grandmother always told me, you may have it harder in life because you're a very pretty girl, and that has its blessings and downfalls at the same time.

In prison, she did not want to attract that kind of attention.

Fast forward 3 days later, I was in my cell. I was sitting on my bed, and they called me over the loudspeaker. And they said, Proulx, you have a docket, which is a pass. They told me I had an attorney visit.

Hmm.

And so I thought, okay, great, maybe I'm getting out of here because my crime is just— doesn't fit to be here. Maybe there's a technical error, something good's gonna happen. And as soon as I got to the main yard gate, I had seen that it was the same officer that had made the sexually explicit comments. And like, my heart just sank. I was like, okay, this isn't gonna be good.

She was still so new to the prison, and she kind of felt uneasy.

Officer Rodriguez had then escorted me into the BPH room, which is the Board of Prison Hearings room. And he walked me in there. He said, there's no cameras in this room. And then he showed me his office next door. He said, there's also no cameras in this room. And I'm like, okay, well, where's my attorney visit? I never had an attorney visit.

Officer Rodriguez came close to her and tried to kiss her.

And so I'm just like— like, 1,000 things are going through my head. And I pushed him away. I'm like, no, I don't want to do this. Like, what's going on? I don't want to get in trouble. He had told me if I tried to say that I was engaging in sexual misconduct with an officer, I would be written up for a 115 and I would be put in SHU, segregated housing.

That's solitary confinement, basically a jail within a prison. And a write-up could also mean more time in prison and more time away from her little baby.

And in that moment, in my head, I'm like, I'm an inmate here. I'm a convicted felon. This is an officer who's been here for 10 years. He has seniority. I can do one of two things, fight him and pray that his superiors and fellow correctional officers are gonna believe me, a convicted felon, or I can just compartmentalize. And like all that mattered to me at that time was going home to my kids on my release date. I did not want to catch more time. I did not want to be there any longer than I had to be. And that's when he proceeded to kiss me.

He lifted up her shirt.

And, um, he took me to a chair that was like up against the wall. And began to sexually assault me.

He first forced her head down in front of him and then turned her around on this chair. The chair had green upholstery.

I remember just like looking down. I remember looking at his boot. He had his boot propped up on the left-hand side of me, and I remember just looking at his boot.

And then it was over.

And you know what really upset me was He didn't use protection. And I remember telling him, you know, like, this isn't okay. I was like, this is unbelievable. So after he told me to make sure you tell them you have an attorney visit when you get back to the housing unit, don't say anything, don't tell anybody, you know, they're not going to believe you anyways, you're an inmate.

Rodriguez left her alone in the room, and he went to go clean himself up in the bathroom.

I remember crying, but then the, the fear and the, like, hurt and the sadness quickly motivated me. I remember walking up to my cell, walking up the stairs to my cell, and just sitting in my cell for a minute. And I thought, I still have the docket.

The little piece of paper that said that she'd been out of her cell, that had the date and the time.

I'm gonna save it. And then the 20th of May, I get called up again for another attorney visit.

Again, there was no attorney. Rodriguez repeatedly called her back to that room, where there are no cameras. So she came to know what to expect. The same green chair, the same boots, the same disassociation. She didn't know what to do. She was surrounded by fences. She was state property. And so she turned to someone she trusted, a woman named Katrina Cameron. Tell us about your friendship with Katrina. Like, how did it start?

How did it develop?

It started when I first came to her cell. Like, I needed a home, and she welcomed me in her cell. And the first night there, she sewed a blanket together for me and sewed a pillow cover for me. She was so sweet, and she was just like a big sister to me. I trusted her. I trusted her over anyone. And so I came to her one day. It was about 3 PM. We were in our cell. I went over to her bunk, and I got real close with her because I wanted to keep it real low-tone, secret. I said, sis, I need to tell you something. And she's like, Do not tell anybody until you get out. Do not tell anyone. They do not tell anybody. She's like, you do what you have to do and be fake until you get out of here, and then you tell somebody.

And I remember her telling me when things started happening to her sexually.

Katrina Cameron had been in prison for about 11 years when Ally showed up. And she's actually still there now.

And I remember telling her that if she wanted to report something, to wait until she went home because there are— it's a very big chance that things could start happening to her in a retaliatory manner that I've seen before. And I didn't want that to happen to her.

We'll be right back.

American journalist Austin Tice vanished in Syria over a decade ago. For years, we've been searching for him, and now we finally have some answers. This is the prison that Austin was in. Oh my God, we found Austin's file! Listen to Where Is Austin Tice? from NPR's Embedded and BBC Radio 4 on the NPR app or wherever you get your podcasts. Hi, it's Terry Gross.

Ladies and gentlemen, I can say that now because this administration thinks there's only 2 genders, and I'm both of them.

Da-da-da.

That's actor and drag king Murray Hill. In the series Somebody Somewhere, he played the host of a queer cabaret, which is something he's done plenty of in real life, too. Listen on the NPR app or wherever you listen to FRESH AIR.

Welcome back to The Sunday Story. You're listening to We Are Jane Doe, brought to us by our friends over at Snap Judgment. And again, a warning: this story features descriptions of violence against women and sexual assault. When we left, Ally had just told her roommate a secret, and her roommate told her, don't tell anyone.

It was becoming clear to Ali that this was not a safe place to speak up.

I mean, from the moment I woke up, I was scanning for all correctional staff because there was a level of suspicion with everybody at that point.

She would go to the chow hall, walk the yard, and then there was her job. She'd been assigned to work at a place called the watch office.

We watch all the movement coming in and out of the prison. So we're on a computer and pretty much we can see every inmate in every cell on every yard. And we can see who's leaving the prison and who's coming into the prison.

And in the watch office, she would see a list of actual attorney visits for the day. And this is where things suddenly started to click for her. Ducketts list a reason a prisoner is moving around the prison.

Which would be in the system, you know? When you don't have an attorney visit, there's nothing there.

There were cameras recording her movements, and there was a paper trail of those supposed lawyer visits. But her docket was blank.

I was nervous, of course. I was like, okay, we're gonna do this. Let's do this. I said, you want to issue me attorney visits and not have attorney visits? I'm gonna save those dockets. So I saved those dockets.

She was able to save 2 of the dockets. And she put them at first in her Bible and later, to be extra safe—

Under the locker. I lifted the locker up and hit it.

When she was taken to the Board of Parole hearings room, she took note of the cameras along the journey, like the one at the end of the hall.

I drew diagrams with where cameras were placed, where they were angled at, and, like, put camera here, camera there, camera there, camera there. Like, you really messed with the wrong girl here. Like, I'm taking you down.

On August 9th, Rodriguez walked her past those cameras for what would be the last time. And then a little more than a week later, she heard her name called over the loudspeaker.

So it was August 19th, 2022. I had just came off the yard. I was in basketball shorts, sports bra, a white tank top, and my Vans. And I went to go walk in my room and they said, Prout, come to the cop shop and pick up the phone. And I'm like, oh, shit.

The cop shop is this little room where all the rows of cells meet D Yard. It's where all the correctional officers hang out.

And I— so I asked Katrina, why do they want me to go to the cop shop and pick up the phone? She's like, just go. Just go pick up the phone. So I'm, like, slowly going down the hallway. Like, I go to the cop shop. I'm like, what is this phone call about?

There's this window that slides open for when prisoners come up with questions.

And they're like, just pick the phone up. And it's R&R, which is receiving, where you come in. And they're like, call somebody to come get you. You're paroling today.

She'd been sentenced to 3 years, but she'd kept a clean record in prison. And she was being released early, after less than a year in custody. We still don't know why.

And I'm like, excuse me, wait, can you repeat that? And they're like, today. You're paroling today. And I'm like, I still have 2 months left. They're like, nope, we're not doing any of that. You're paroling today. Call somebody right now.

She walked back to her cell and started packing her things. Most of her stuff, she said, she'd gave away to her cellmate, Katrina Cameron. Things like her makeup and her prison-issued hair dryer. And when she saw the guards had passed on their rounds, she lifted up her locker.

And so I'm like, okay. I grabbed the ducats. I put them in my bra. I didn't know if I— I just wanted them to be safe. I just wanted to get through the gates and really be free before it In case it wasn't real. It wasn't real until I got through the gates.

A family member was waiting to give her a ride home, so she threw her stuff in the back and got in the car.

I had everything with me. That's when I was like, that's when it kind of hit me like, okay, I'm carrying this like big secret. I knew my mission had just started.

One of the first things she did when she got out was to meet with lawyers. And she was connected to a prisoners' rights attorney named Robert Chalfant.

And I think that's how the domino effect started.

I called CCWF.

I called the sheriff of Madera County. And I said, there's an officer down there raping women. We need to stop it. I'll offer up my clients for an interview.

Let's Go.

And so next thing you know, my clients were being interviewed by CCWFIA officers.

He found out that even before Ali came forward, the prison had started investigating a couple of complaints about Officer Rodriguez. And then when press coverage came out about Ali's lawsuit, Chalfant said his phone started ringing.

At that point, victims were just coming out of the woodwork. My attorney, when I called him, he He said, oh my God, this case is bigger than you know. He was assaulting women all over the facility. When I found out there was over 20 women, I was like, okay, I did the right thing. A former correctional officer is accused of sexual misconduct against inmates at the Central California Women's Facility in Chowchilla. They eventually identified at least 22 potential victims. Rodriguez was fired from state service.

A former correctional officer now finds himself on the other side of the cell bars tonight. Good evening, I'm Liz Gonzalez.

And I'm Marty Torres. We thank you for joining us tonight. I saw the picture of him being escorted into the van and arrested, and for me, I didn't believe it. I still thought it was like— it was surreal to me. Like, it didn't register for me.

Stay with us.

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Okay.

Thank you all for being here. Appreciate those of you who are staying for this briefing that you take a seat. And that you turn off your cell phone because we're going to—

In the wake of the Rodriguez case, state lawmakers called a special hearing.

The incidence of sexual assault in our California women's prisons. It is prevalent. It's prevalent and it has to stop. California has a zero tolerance policy on that issue. There was a bill enacted in 2009.

There's something called the Prison Rape Elimination Act. aimed at preventing and responding to sexual abuse in prison. But what happened with Rodriguez showed it wasn't really working.

However, Rodriguez's violence is not an anomaly. It exemplifies a pattern in which prison staff assault many, many people because they are helped by many, many people. In his case, there was at least a 10-year—

So they called in the warden of Chowchilla. She got up in front of the lawmakers and survivors to Answer for the prison. We take swift and appropriate disciplinary actions.

Equally critical is the support and care we provide to the victims. I cannot overstate the urgency of our response to these issues.

Prison officials told the lawmakers they were taking action.

For a while. But anyway, thank you all again, and thanks staff for putting this all together. You did an excellent job.

Inside the prison, pretty unheard of things were happening too. The incarcerated women held these town hall meetings led by a nonprofit group where those who wanted to could start talking about the things they'd been keeping a secret.

In the 30 years that I had been there, never had the prison allowed such a large a group of us to gather inside there with guests and without One staff present.

This is Elizabeth Lozano, who was in prison at Chowchilla and was there. She says a woman from the nonprofit stood posted at each door of the prison gym to make sure no correctional officers came in. Everyone else sat together on chairs arranged in a circle. Lozano spoke up.

I had the times where I said no. Mm-hmm. You know? And when I said no, being still groped from my breast and my hand put on someone's penis. And I never reported that. And how did I feel when that happened to me? I felt like I was, like, raped, even though I was— there might have not been no penetration, but I felt how I felt when I was raped as a teenager. There's things that happen where it's out of your control, truly, honestly out of your control.

Person after person spoke. These conversations were difficult, but it felt like something hard and immovable and secret was starting to shift. Internal reports of sexual assault, those PREA reports, went through the roof. And lawsuits were getting filed left and right. More than 130 former female inmates claim they were sexually abused by prison staff at the California Institute for Women in Chino. And while there was no formal acknowledgment of wrongdoing, the state also began to settle some of the lawsuits filed by Rodriguez's victims, including Ali's. Her lawyer told her this was significant.

I just remember, like, sitting on my bathroom floor and him talking to me. And he's always been really encouraging. He's like, Ally, you have no idea the magnitude of this case and what you've done.

But Ally had one more choice she had to make, whether or not to testify. If Rodriguez was going to do time, like, actually get convicted, It was going to take a lot. Witnesses willing to come forward. Physical evidence. And a jury being willing to listen to women like Ali. Women who've been in prison.

Nobody in my family wanted me to pursue this. They told me the correctional officers union is dangerous. The magnitude of this case is so big, I feel like I'm balancing the world I had people beg me not to take the stand, beg me not to pursue this on a criminal matter. I was going to see justice through and testify regardless of whatever was coming my way.

It was late summer 2024 when Madera County prosecutors were taking the final steps to bring Rodriguez to trial. Ally was gearing up to testify. when she got a call from the prison. It was her former cellmate, Katrina Cameron. It was August 2nd, and she would remember that date.

I called Ally, and I was in so much distress. All I could tell her is that we had just got assaulted in the chow hall. I was scared. I didn't know. I didn't know. I just needed help. And that's all I could say was that I needed help.

She had told me what had happened. She told me she couldn't see out of one eye. That Christina, our other cellmate, had gotten beat up by correctional staff, that Christina was trying to protect her, that they were trying to beat up her, but she has a pacemaker.

I didn't know what they were doing to us or why, but I needed help, and I need somebody out there to know.

I think me speaking out has held a lot of nasty, bad people accountable for a lot of bad things. I think August 2nd was the boiling point.

Coming up next, what happened on August 2nd? Just a quick note, we are largely talking about the experience of women in this series, but there are also some people who identify as men or nonbinary at the Central California Women's Prison, and sexual assault in prison is an issue that cuts To hear the rest of the series, We Are Jane Doe, you can follow the link in our show notes or search for Snap Judgment wherever you get your podcasts.

The producers of We Are Jane Doe are Maddy Bolaños, Anna Sussman, and Suki Lewis. It's edited by Nancy Lopez, Mark Ristic, and me, Ashley C. Ford. and Suki Lewis. It was executive produced by Glenn Washington and Mark Ristic. Fact-checked by Mark Bettencourt. The original music and engineering was by Dirk Schwarzhoff. Production support from Marissa Dodge. Jeremy Rue from the UC Berkeley Graduate School of Journalism was the data editor. Special thanks to Amika Moda and all the women still inside the Central California Women's Facility brave enough to share their stories. This reporting was made possible in part by funding from the Poynter Institute. The Sunday Story team includes Andrew Mambo, Sharon Mashihi, Jenny Schmidt, and Justine Yan. Our intern is Maddie Barron. Our supervising senior producer is Liana Simstrom, and our executive producer is Irene Noguchi. I'm Aisha Roscoe, and Up First will be back tomorrow with all the news you need to start your week. Until then, have a great rest of your weekend.

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