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• The state’s prison population keeps growing — as does the share of older prisoners who have increasingly complex health care needs. 

• Increased use of compassionate release could help ease costs and crowding with minimal risks to public safety, prisoner advocates and legal experts say.

• Wisconsin courts approved just 53, or 11%, of 489 compassionate release petitions received between January 2019 and June 2025.

• California offers a different model for sick and dying prisoners, including by processing compassionate release applications more quickly, the result of a legislative overhaul.

It’s hard to find hope in a terminal illness. But for Darnell Price, the spread of a cancerous tumor opened the door for a new life. It was a chance to spend his remaining days outside of prison.

Two Wisconsin Department of Corrections doctors in 2023 projected Price would die within a year — one of several criteria by which prisoners may seek a shortened sentence due to an “extraordinary health condition,” a form of compassionate release.  

That was only the first step. A Corrections committee next had to vet his application. Its approval would send Price’s application to the court that convicted him for charges related to a 2015 bank robbery.

Victims of the crime did not oppose an early release, and a judge granted Price’s petition. That allowed him to walk free in August 2023 after an eight-year stint behind bars.

Price beat the odds in multiple ways. He’s still alive in his native Milwaukee and has authored a memoir about his journey. That his application succeeded is nearly as remarkable as his survival. 

Wisconsin grants few applicants compassionate release, leaving many severely ill inmates in short-staffed prisons that often struggle to meet health care needs. 

Wisconsin courts approved just 53, or 11%, of 489 compassionate release petitions they received between January 2019 and June 2025 — about eight petitions a year, Corrections data show. Courts approved just five of 63 petitions filed in all of 2024. 

That’s as the state’s adult prison population has swelled past 23,500, eclipsing the system’s built capacity. A growing share of those prisoners — 1 in 10 — are 60 or older with increasingly intense health care needs. 

Increased use of compassionate release could help ease costs and crowding with minimal risks to public safety, prisoner advocates and legal experts say, but it remains off limits to a significant share of the prison population in Wisconsin and elsewhere, including those posing little threat to the public.  

“The door is closed to so many people right at the very beginning,” said Mary Price, senior counsel for Families Against Mandatory Minimums, a nonprofit advocate for criminal justice reform. 

“There’s lots of good arguments why they ought to be released: They’re the most expensive people to incarcerate and the least likely to reoffend.”

Wisconsin’s aging prison population 

Wisconsin’s struggle to care for its graying prison population has long drawn concern.

By 2014, Corrections counted more than 900 inmates over the age of 60, or about 4% of the overall population. Citing that number, then-department medical director James Greer wondered in a WPR interview: 

“What’s that 900 (inmates) over 60 going to look like? It’s going to (be) 1,100? Is it going to be 1,200 in five years? And if so, how are (we) going to manage those in a correctional setting and keep them safe?”

Those projections undershot the trend. By the end of 2019, state prisons held more than 1,600 people older than 60. That number stood at 2,165 by the end of last year, nearly 10% of the population.

The state’s truth-in-sentencing law, which took effect in 2000, has helped drive that trend. It virtually eliminated parole for newly convicted offenders.

“Old law” prisoners sentenced before the change were eligible for release after serving 25% of their time. They were mandatorily released after serving two-thirds of their time. 

Truth-in-sentencing required prisoners to serve 100% of their sentences plus post-release “extended supervision” of at least 25% of the original sentence. Parole remains available only to those sentenced before 2000. 

The overhaul increased lockup time by nearly two years on average, said Michael O’Hear, a Marquette University Law School professor and expert on criminal punishment. That likely contributed to the aging trend. Lengthened post-release supervision played an even bigger role, if indirectly. 

“​​The longer a person serves on supervision, the greater the likelihood of revocation and return to prison,” O’Hear said.

Separately, harsher sentencing for drunken driving also sent more people to prison. 

Older prisoners need more health care 

As prisoners age, they develop more complicated medical needs. Research is finding that the conditions of incarceration —  overcrowding, lack of quality health care and psychological stress — accelerate those needs. Such conditions can shorten life expectancy by up to two years for every year behind bars, one study in New York state found.

“In Wisconsin overcrowding is a huge issue. Assigning more people to a room than they’re supposed to, which, of course, affects your sleep,” said Farah Kaiksow, associate professor of medicine at the University of Wisconsin School of Medicine and Public Health, who has researched aging and care in prison. 

The state has recognized the growing needs of older prisoners. In 2023, for instance, it opened a $7 million addition to the minimum-security Oakhill Correctional Institution that includes dozens of assisted living beds. 

“Patients are helped with daily living tasks such as eating, dressing, hygiene, mobility, etc. Patients may be admitted for temporary rehab stays after injury or illness or longer-term stays due to age and frailty,” Corrections spokesperson Beth Hardtke said.

Hardtke also cited hospice programs at Dodge, Taycheedah and Oshkosh prisons. 

But the department has struggled to recruit and retain competent medical staff. A Wisconsin Watch/New York Times investigation last year found nearly a third of the 60 prison staff physicians employed over a decade faced previous censure by a state medical board for an error or breach of ethics. Many faced lawsuits from inmates accusing them of serious errors that caused suffering or death. 

That included a doctor whom Darnell Price sued for failing to order a biopsy on his growing tumor. She had surrendered her medical license in California after pleading guilty to a drug possession charge and no contest to a charge of prescription forgery. 

Meanwhile, two Waupun Correctional Institution nurses are facing felony charges relating to deaths of two prisoners in their custody. One prisoner, 62-year-old Donald Maier, died in February 2024 from malnutrition and dehydration.

Compassionate release seen as cost saver

Advocates say boosting compassionate release could save taxpayer money in a state that spends more than its neighbors on incarceration. Health care tends to cost more for older prisoners.  

Wisconsin lawmakers in the state’s most recent budget assumed that per prisoner health care costs will increase to $6,554 by 2026-27 — a fraction of the roughly $50,000 officials say it costs to incarcerate one person in Wisconsin. 

The corrections department did not provide information breaking down health care costs by age. But a study of North Carolina’s prison system found that it spent about four times as much on health care for prisoners older than 50 compared to others. A 2012 ACLU report found it cost twice as much to incarcerate older prisoners nationally.

Most states and the Federal Bureau of Prisons have some version of compassionate release, though they vary wildly. 

Wisconsin offers two main avenues: one based on medical condition and the other based on age and time served. Over the last seven years, Wisconsin has been more likely to grant petitions for early release based on medical reasons. 

State law bars compassionate release for old law prisoners convicted before 2000 — about 1,600 people today. Parole is their only option for early release, and the state parole commission has been releasing fewer people on parole in recent years.

That leaves out people like Carmen Cooper, 80, a wheelchair-bound inmate at Fox Lake Correctional Institution who struggles to breathe. He lives with Parkinson’s disease, recurrent cancer and other ongoing pain and says he doesn’t always receive proper medication. 

Convicted of murder and attempted murder in 1993, he is not eligible for parole for another 12 years. He has submitted two compassionate release applications with doctors’ affidavits, but the timing and nature of his convictions ban him from such relief; state law categorically excludes people convicted of Class A or Class B felonies, the most serious types of crime.

Cooper has little hope of dying outside of prison. 

His daughters Qumine Hunter and Carmen Cooper say the incarceration has left a wide gap. He has missed deaths of close family members and births of grandchildren and great-grandchildren he has not met. The sisters never stop looking for ways to bring him home.

“If we got five years, 10 years, two years, whatever years we got left with him, we want all of them,” Hunter said. 

Renagh O’Leary, an assistant professor at the University of Wisconsin Law School, represents people in compassionate release hearings. She said several elements of the state’s process limit access, including that petitions first go to a Department of Corrections committee, which must include a social worker and can include health care representatives. 

Committee members might ask for a person’s plan for housing or to explain minor infractions from time in prison. The petition advances to a judge only if the committee unanimously approves. 

Sending petitions directly to the sentencing court would be fairer, O’Leary said. Those and other major changes to the process would require legislative action. 

“We’re talking about how long someone should serve in prison,” she added, “and I think those questions are best answered in a public courtroom, in a transparent process by a judge in the county that imposed the original prison sentence.” 

The courtroom is where crime victims can weigh in. Their opinions depend on individual circumstances, said Amy Brown, the longtime director of victim services at the Dane County District Attorney’s Office. 

“Victims don’t all fall into one category, just like offenders don’t all fall into one category,” she said. 

Another wrinkle in Wisconsin’s compassionate release system: Doctors must attest to prisoners having less than six to 12 months to live. Some doctors feel uncomfortable making such a prediction. 

“It’s really hard for a doctor to say, ‘Yeah, he’s going to be dead in six months,’” said Michele DiTomas, hospice medical director for the California Medical Facility in Vacaville, California. “You just don’t know. Some people will be dead in three months, some people will go on for 18 months.”

California a compassionate release model

California offers a different model for sick and dying prisoners. 

The 17-bed hospice unit DiTomas runs, the first of its kind in the U.S., offers dying men as much comfort as can be found within a prison: medications that ease pain, visits from family members, time outdoors and attention from other incarcerated men who have been trained to provide hospice care. That hasn’t stopped DiTomas from working to get people approved for compassionate release so they can finish their lives at home.  

California’s compassionate release process used to require a string of signatures — from the corrections secretary, the parole board, the governor and the original sentencing court — and often took longer than a person had left to live, she said. Similar barriers exist in many states.   

The state a decade ago approved about 10 applications on average each year, DiTomas said, with approvals taking four to six months. A legislative overhaul streamlined the process. The state now approves about 100 compassionate release applications a year, taking as little as four weeks each, DiTomas said. 

The changes resulted from leaders’ collaboration after recognizing that the previous system wasn’t working.

“We can give people their humanity and preserve public safety,” DiTomas said. “It’s not necessarily one or the other.” 

Housing shortage complicates release 

Price initially lacked a place to stay while applying for compassionate release in 2023. It was his job to fix that or risk dooming his application.

“They can deny you for not having a solid plan for housing, but it’s not something they help you with,” he said.  

He found a room in a transitional housing unit in Milwaukee through a faith-based organization. Had he required more intensive care, a nursing home may be a better option. But many nursing homes don’t accept someone fresh out of prison — a challenge described in a 2020 Legislative Audit Bureau report.  

Wisconsin faces a wide shortage of affordable senior care beds, let alone for people with a criminal record. 

That’s a problem nationwide, said Price, the Families Against Mandatory Minimums attorney. As more than 60,000 people aged 50 or older leave prison each year, housing demand continues to outpace supply. Her organization is creating a clearinghouse to help match prisoners who qualify for compassionate release with pro bono lawyers to help them find beds. 

O’Leary said that illustrates how expanding compassionate release in Wisconsin would require more post-prison housing options. 

Life on the outside

Price now lives in a modest efficiency apartment on Milwaukee’s north side. It doesn’t have much, he said, but it has everything he needs, including a laptop and smart TV to watch Packers highlights. On his wall hangs a framed version of the Wisconsin Watch/New York Times story that detailed his struggle to receive medical care in prison — a gift from his attorneys. The tumors still lurk in his body, though for now they do not seem to be growing. 

Price has faced some of his toughest challenges since leaving prison. 

The opioids doctors prescribed to ease his pain triggered a past cocaine addiction, Price said, and drug use cost him the first place he stayed.

But Price checked into a treatment facility in February 2024. He managed to stay sober in 24-hour increments. The days eventually turned into weeks.  

“At that time I didn’t have a plan. But in treatment, I started feeling better and better until finally, the lights started coming back,” he said. “Then there came a point that I even wanted to go back to that life.”  

Kyesha Felts, with whom Price shares a daughter, is also taking life one day at a time, enjoying the time she gets to spend with the man she has loved for 30 years. 

“I love it,” she said of Price being home. “I’m enjoying every minute of it. Because tomorrow’s promised to nobody.”

She said she admires his intelligence, the way he treats people and his strength and resilience. 

Price is now eight months sober, and he’s proud of the memoir he published, “The Ultimate Betrayal,” a chronicle of addiction, incarceration and redemption. He tells his story around the community. He doesn’t hold anything back, he said, because it’s all part of his testimony. 

Wisconsin rarely grants compassionate release as aging, ailing prisoners stress systems is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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• A Manitowoc County dairy farmer can’t find an attorney and has no idea where her husband is after he was among 24 people arrested by Immigration and Customs Enforcement officers in Manitowoc County on Sept. 25.
  
• Wisconsin immigration attorneys said they were surprised to hear that, unlike during other recent federal government shutdowns, immigration court hearings for clients not in ICE detention would continue as planned. 
  
• Only about a third of immigrants in Wisconsin with upcoming hearings in federal immigration court have legal representation.

A Manitowoc County dairy worker arrived for her shift early on a Thursday morning in late September and waited for a message from her husband. It’s their routine, she said: rise early, commute to jobs at separate dairies and check in by phone.

“But when I called him, he didn’t answer,” she said in Spanish. “And so I was calling and calling and I said, ‘something happened, because he’s not answering – that’s not normal.’”

Her husband, Abraham Maldonado Almanza, was among the 24 people arrested by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officers in Manitowoc County on Sept. 25. As far as she knows, officers picked Maldonado Almanza up in the Walmart parking lot where dairy workers gather to carpool hours before sunrise. Within a matter of days, he had — at least from her perspective — effectively vanished, carried away at breakneck speed by the Trump administration’s sweeping immigration crackdown.

The pace of enforcement operations, lack of transparency and sudden shifts in policy have disoriented both those targeted in the crackdown and immigration attorneys already managing overwhelming caseloads.

A Department of Homeland Security press release tied the arrests to a joint operation with the FBI, IRS and other federal law enforcement agencies targeting an alleged human and drug trafficking ring. Neither DHS nor the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Eastern District of Wisconsin responded to inquiries about whether the investigation has resulted in criminal charges against any of those arrested last month, nor did federal district court dockets point to criminal charges resulting from the investigation as of Friday.

Over the following days, the dairy worker says she made her way through a list of immigration attorneys’ phone numbers, none of whom agreed to take her husband’s case. She attributed the reluctance to a preexisting removal order on her husband’s record, which can speed the deportation process. But without a reliable source of information, she was left relying on hearsay to keep track of Abraham’s case.

As the federal government entered a shutdown on Wednesday, several Wisconsin immigration attorneys said they were surprised to hear that, unlike during other shutdowns in recent memory, immigration court hearings for clients not in ICE detention would continue as planned. 

Attorneys had not expected the shutdown to slow down the cases of immigrants in detention, but the speed of operations has still caught some off guard. Some of those arrested in Manitowoc County last month were already out of the country days before Congress missed its funding deadline, according to Aissa Olivarez, an attorney with the Community Immigration Law Center in Madison.

“Historically, people are taken to (the Dodge County Jail) and we’re able to at least do an intake and speak with them before anything else happens,” Olivarez said. “But it seems like in this operation, they knew who they were looking for, or exactly what they were going to do. … They did this really, really fast.”

As of Friday, three of the six arrestees named in a DHS press release about the Manitowoc County operation were still in the Dodge County Jail, according to ICE’s detainee locator tool. 

Maldonado Almanza was not among them, though his name and photograph appeared in the press release, which also claimed he had a prior conviction for identity theft. 

Wisconsin circuit court records yield no matching criminal record, nor do trial court records in Iowa, where his wife says they lived after emigrating from Mexico and before moving to Wisconsin. Iowa court records do, however, reflect that Maldonado Almanza was fined for driving without insurance in 2009.

As first reported by the Wisconsin Examiner, another man named in the September DHS press release on the Manitowoc County operation had been in ICE custody since July. That man, Jose Hilario Moreno Portillo, was charged with second-degree sexual assault of a child in Manitowoc County in May. 

The dairy worker said her husband had previously received a deportation order in an immigration court case that began while the couple was living in Iowa. That detail matches Olivarez’s understanding of the Manitowoc operation. “It does seem like there were people who have been ordered deported before,” she said. In those cases, “without a quick stay of removal or motion to reopen, the government executes that removal order right away.”

“Because there is such a low capacity (of attorneys) in the state in general, when people already have removal orders, we can’t work fast enough to stop it,” she added.

Maldonado Almanza’s whereabouts remained unclear as of Friday.

Milwaukee immigration attorney John Sesini says his firm took the case of another man picked up in the Manitowoc operation only to discover he had been deported to Mexico within four days of his arrest. The man had no criminal record, Sesini said, and it remains unclear whether he had a prior deportation order. If not, it may still be possible to challenge the deportation in court. 

Only about a third of immigrants in Wisconsin with upcoming hearings in federal immigration court have legal representation. Unlike courts operated by the federal judiciary, immigration courts – part of the U.S. Department of Justice – do not provide free representation. Instead, immigrants must pay out of pocket, rely on the few free and low-cost legal services organizations like Olivarez’s legal center or face the courts alone. Those able to find attorneys are vastly more likely to avoid deportation than those who attempt to represent themselves. 

For some immigrants facing court dates in the coming weeks, a typical government shutdown could have provided breathing room. In past shutdowns, the DOJ has typically deemed only the cases of immigrants in detention “essential” enough to move forward. The shutdown from late December 2018 to mid-January 2019, for instance, forced the cancellation of at least 80,000 hearings nationwide, according to immigration court records analyzed by the nonprofit Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse (TRAC).

A Wisconsin Watch analysis of federal immigration court data suggests that as of August, almost 1,000 immigrants with Wisconsin addresses had hearings scheduled for October. So far, the DOJ has not called off those hearings en masse, though the agency has also not clarified whether immigration courts will continue holding hearings of immigrants who are not detained during a prolonged shutdown.

But in a press release issued on Wednesday, DHS Assistant Secretary Tricia McLaughlin underscored that the shutdown will not slow ICE. “The deportations will continue,” she wrote.

Rapid deportation push leaves immigrant families in the dark is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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Although all can agree that a fatal car crash in Milwaukee on Sept. 16 was a tragedy, there is less consensus on how to prevent similar incidents in the future. 

That day Pler Moo, 50, and her two sons, Moo Nay Taw, 21, and Kar Lah Kri Moo, 15, were killed and two other children seriously injured when their car was struck at North 35th and West Vliet streets by another vehicle fleeing police. 

Since the crash, some have called for changes to police pursuit policies, while others blame the crashes on those who flee police. 

“It is a very complex issue,” said Ruth Ehrgott, whose pregnant daughter, Erin Mogensen, was killed in 2023 when a reckless driver fleeing police crashed into her car. 

“I will always stop anybody that says, ‘Well, you know, the problem is … .’ These problems are too complex for that.” 

Ehrgott takes a nuanced approach to reckless driving through the nonprofit she founded in honor of her daughter, Enough is Enough – A Legacy for Erin.

She believes the entire community has a part to play in reducing deaths and injuries from reckless driving. 

Ongoing trend

The crash that occurred Sept. 16 likely would not have happened a decade ago, when the Milwaukee Police Department restricted vehicle pursuits to violent felonies.

In 2017, then-Police Chief Edward Flynn expanded the department’s policy to allow pursuits in cases involving drug dealing and reckless driving.

The following year, police pursuits rose 155%  – from 369 instances to 940 – with about two-thirds of the chases initiated because of reckless driving, according to a report from the Milwaukee Fire and Police Commission. In 2024, there were 957 police pursuits in Milwaukee, and just under one-third ended in a crash, according to another Fire and Police Commission report. 

There have been five deaths caused by crashes during police pursuits in Milwaukee since July. On July 29, El Moctar Sidiya was killed when a man fleeing officers crashed into his car on West Brady Street. On Aug. 23, Hasan Harris died after his car was struck by an individual who was fleeing police on West Center Street. 

The increase of pursuit-related deaths in Milwaukee is often cited as evidence of a link between looser pursuit policies and greater traffic risks, said Geoffrey Alpert, a professor of criminology and criminal justice at the University of South Carolina and an expert on police pursuits. 

MPD acknowledges the widespread effects of these pursuits. 

“Police pursuits present significant challenges due to the physical, emotional and financial impact on officers, the public and fleeing suspects,” an MPD spokesperson told NNS.  

Change to pursuit policy

Alpert said if the goal is to reduce traffic injuries and deaths, pursuits should be limited to cases involving violent crimes. 

He also said it is a myth that limiting police chases to violent crimes causes an increase in other offenses, such as drug dealing. He cited a study in Virginia that found more narrow pursuit policies did not lead to higher crime rates.

There were calls to change MPD’s pursuit policy from members of the public during a Fire and Police Commission meeting on Sept. 18. 

Kayla Patterson put it bluntly in her public comment. 

“Committing crimes and traffic stops should not be death sentences,” she said.

Others weigh in

Mayor Cavalier Johnson, while speaking at a news conference on Sept. 18, addressed reckless driving and high-speed pursuits. 

He said that traffic-calming measures had reduced reckless driving in the city, but high-speed chases involving police remain a serious problem. 

Johnson said the city is considering different options, including using technology to warn people about pursuits.

But the primary responsibility for stopping chases is on those who flee, Johnson said. 

“I believe that one of the most effective things we can do in order to eliminate these chases … is to listen to officer commands to pull the vehicles over and not proceed with the chase,” Johnson said. 

Ald. Peter Burgelis, vice chair of the Milwaukee Common Council’s Public Safety and Health Committee, agrees. 

“Criminals fleeing from police contribute to injuries and deaths,” Burgelis said in an email to NNS. 

Calling the Sept. 16 crash “particularly devastating,” Milwaukee County District Attorney Kent Lovern said police must be involved in the response to reckless driving. 

“It is important to keep in mind that reckless driving has injured and killed a number of innocent people in our community, without any police pursuits involved,” Lovern said. “Police cancel pursuits where the public safety concerns indicate that is the appropriate course of action.”  

Drea Rodriguez, global program officer at WomenServe, suggested that police get more training, including on ideal routes to take. 

In this way, she said, residents can be a part of the solution and “easily share some hot spots to be aware of.” 

A spokesperson for MPD said the department is committed to making sure its training, policies and risk mitigation strategies reflect national best practices. 

Ehrgott said in addition to proper training for police, there should be strong repercussions for those who flee from police in addition to greater awareness of its dangers.

“These problems are societal,” Ehrgott said. “It’s happening to all of us.”

Jonathan Aguilar is a visual journalist at Milwaukee Neighborhood News Service who is supported through a partnership between CatchLight Local and Report for America.

Milwaukee residents and officials weigh in on police pursuit policy after fatal crash is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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As immigration enforcement increases in Milwaukee, some community members want to better document the activities of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or ICE.  

Comité Sin Fronteras, an arm of Voces de la Frontera, is training people to serve as “community verifiers,” who confirm or deny reports of ICE actions and document incidents when they do happen. 

A key element of the project, dubbed “La Migra Watch,” is to raise awareness about the hotline anyone can use to report possible ICE activity, said Raul Rios, an organizer with Comité. 

“That is how, statewide, we can get involved and get on the ground to help each other,” Rios said. 

In the video above, Rios explains how the verification process works, and we follow a verifier after a call to the hotline is made. 

Video: How ‘community verifiers’ work to inform residents about ICE is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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If you avidly read Wisconsin Watch, you’ve learned plenty about prisons in Wisconsin. As our reporting has shown, they’re overcrowded, understaffed and particularly expensive to operate. In 2020, the state spent $220 per resident to lock up people — significantly higher than neighboring states. 

Wisconsin Watch has covered prison issues for more than a decade, but we’ve prioritized that coverage since reporter Mario Koran teamed up with The New York Times to expose a staffing crisis that resulted in extended lockdowns, substandard health care for prisoners and untenable working conditions for correctional officers. Our press corps colleagues joined us with months of sustained coverage, forcing lawmakers and the Department of Corrections to respond in some ways. 

We’re proud of that reporting. But as we continue exposing such problems, we’re doubling down on exploring solutions. For instance, Addie Costello and Joe Timmerman last month profiled Camp Reunite, a unique program that helps Wisconsin prisoners maintain relationships with their children — recognizing that family visits have been shown to reduce recidivism. 

But how might Wisconsin solve its biggest prison problems? We’re discussing that as a staff. The question is tricky because so many challenges outside of prison walls shape the problems within them, whether its barriers to housing, jobs or health care. That’s why we’re discussing coverage with beat reporters across the Wisconsin Watch and Milwaukee Neighborhood News Service newsrooms. 

In the coming months, expect more coverage that highlights more humane and cost-effective ways to protect public safety and rehabilitate people who do break the law. What can Wisconsin learn from other states that have reduced prison populations without jeopardizing safety? We’re asking. 

As with all of our stories, we’ll prioritize those with the potential for impact. Our journalism aims to help people navigate their lives, be seen and heard, hold power to account and come together in community and civic life.

Meantime, we want to hear from you. What topics or storylines do you hope to see us follow? What perspectives would you like to share? Feel free to email me at jmalewitz@wisconsinwatch.org.

How we’re reporting on Wisconsin prisons is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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• Criminal defendants needing a constitutionally guaranteed lawyer are experiencing longer and longer waits for their day in court.

• The median time it takes for felony cases to be adjudicated increased from 126 days in 2015 to 205 days in 2024. The case backlog remains more than 12,000 as of Aug. 1. A 2022 lawsuit against the State Public Defender office continues to move through the courts.

• The state budget added far more funding for prosecutors than support staff for the State Public Defender office. State reimbursement rates for private attorneys continue to lag average lawyer pay.

Tracy Germait has waited more than two years for a public defender in her Brown County felony drug cases.

In the time since her two cases were first opened, Germait has worked on turning her life around: She has led two addiction support groups, became a certified peer support specialist, worked toward her bachelor’s degree in criminal justice online from Colorado Tech University, gained custody of her three children and has stayed clean for 18 months. 

But every day she faces the possibility of being sent to prison once she finally has legal representation and stands trial. 

“My biggest fear is not being there for my kids,” Germait said. “I’m barely getting their trust back, having them on a routine, a schedule, and giving them stability, and that getting ripped all away.”

Germait reports to court every couple of months, only to learn she still lacks an appointed attorney. The last time she appeared, the court told her it attempted to contact an attorney 10,410 times for her 2023 drug possession case and 4,184 times for her 2022 drug possession and delivery case. 

“I’m kind of just stuck here,” Germait said. “I wish I could spend my vacation time with my kids, or doing something outside of work with them, but I can’t because I don’t know how many court dates I’m going to have in between now and the end of the year. So that is taxing.”

Germait isn’t the only defendant facing a long wait. In 2022 several indigent defendants lacking timely appointment of counsel filed a lawsuit against Wisconsin’s State Public Defender (SPD) office, claiming an ongoing pattern of delays in appointing a public defender for open criminal cases around the state. The suit found at least 8,445 defendants experienced a delay of 30 days or more in obtaining counsel for trials since 2019.

In January, the plaintiffs renewed their motion for class certification, meaning the suit would be able to continue. The case is awaiting a court ruling on the motion. If granted, the next step would likely be to begin litigating the case, moving toward a resolution. 

As of Aug. 1, the Wisconsin Court System reported a backlog of around 12,586 felony cases.

Court data show the median age of pending felony cases has risen since before the pandemic. In 2015, the median time cases were pending was 126 days. In 2020, during the pandemic, it was 192 days, compared to 205 days in 2024.

And yet in the latest state budget, Republican lawmakers only granted 12.5 of the 52.5 requested SPD support staff positions, while increasing the number of prosecutors statewide by 42 and providing state funding for 12 expiring federally funded prosecutors in Milwaukee. As Wisconsin Watch reported in August, those 12 Milwaukee positions may have been funded in a way that violates the state constitution.

A right guaranteed by the Constitution and courts

The Sixth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution and Article 1, Section 7, of the Wisconsin Constitution guarantee a defendant the right to a fair, speedy trial, including a lawyer. The landmark 1963 Supreme Court decision Gideon v. Wainwright required states to protect those rights. But how to do so was largely left up to the states. 

For the first few years, Wisconsin took a county-by-county approach to assign counsel, rather than relying on a state standard. But in 1977, Wisconsin established the independent Office of the State Public Defender to enforce the Gideon decision statewide. 

“That office was never expected to handle all of the cases,” said John Gross, director of the Public Defender Project at the University of Wisconsin Law School and a former New York state public defender. “It was never funded to that degree.” 

The backlog of open criminal cases stems from problems dating back decades that have yet to be solved.

When SPD first started, the agency was only expected to handle about half of the cases, and members of the private bar would enter into agreements to take on remaining public defender appointments, according to Gross. 

“It’s necessary in any system for the simple reason that you have conflicts of interest, so if three guys get arrested for a robbery, the public defender’s office can only represent one of them,” Gross said.

In Germait’s 2023 case, she was told there was an unspecified “conflict,” which means she’s waiting for SPD to appoint a private attorney.

The Legislature didn’t raise the $40 hourly rate — the lowest nationwide — for private attorneys handling public defender appointments for nearly 20 years. In 2020, it was raised to $70, then in the 2023-25 state budget the rate increased to $100 an hour.

But that rate remains well below the average hourly private attorney rate in Wisconsin, which averaged around $248 in 2023, according to SPD’s 2023-25 biennial budget request. 

Over the past decade private attorneys have handled anywhere from 37% to 40% of public defender cases. 

But private attorneys are often not interested in taking up public defender appointments due to low pay or just the stressful nature of working in a trial setting. 

Christian Thomas, a Milwaukee County-based criminal defense attorney, said one of the first things he looks for in a public defender appointment is whether the defendant has previously had an attorney. 

If an attorney previously dropped the case, that could make it more difficult to obtain evidence because a new attorney would rely on the previous lawyer rather than getting it directly from the prosecutor.

“After having spent much of my career doing sexual assault and homicide cases, I don’t take those anymore, unless they are my full pay clients,” Thomas said. “The public defender’s office is left holding on to a number of very serious cases that need very serious defense for whom there are very few of us (private attorneys) around, and most of us that have been around just don’t want to touch those cases anymore.” 

For the 2025-27 budget cycle, SPD requested and Gov. Tony Evers proposed a $25 hourly increase for the most severe criminal cases, which the Legislature rejected. 

Even when a private attorney takes on a public defender case, the lower reimbursement rate compared to full-paying clients incentivizes attorneys to cut a quick deal, risking the defendant’s legal outcome, according to a report from the Sixth Amendment Center.

To make the problem worse, during the COVID-19 pandemic, more public defenders aged out of the system to turn to the private sector, which increased wages more quickly than government employers to respond to pandemic-era inflation, the Wisconsin Policy Forum reported. 

Meanwhile, the State Public Defender office is struggling to attract law school graduates who are discouraged by low pay and the demanding nature of public defender appointments while still paying off student loans. The office has 37 unfilled positions, amounting to a 10% vacancy rate. The vacancy rate has decreased since the pandemic, when it rose to about 25%. 

Private law school tuition today is 2.54 times more expensive than it would have been if it had increased by inflation since 1985, while public law school tuition is over five times more expensive. 

The annual starting salary for a public defender in 2023 was $56,659, a Wisconsin Policy Forum analysis found, less than half of averages for all lawyers statewide.

Lawmakers this budget cycle approved two wage increases: a merit-based 3% general wage adjustment for all civil servants in the state for 2025 and 2% for 2026. 

But higher pay alone won’t likely solve the backlog issue that has plagued Wisconsin and other states. The Oregon Legislature, for example, approved hourly wage raises for public defender appointments, but the state still has a massive backlog. 

Public defenders require extensive training and education, so it may take years to see a noticeable increase in law school graduates willing to pursue a career as a public defender.

Recently, the UW Law School laid off Gross among other employees due to budget cuts. The future of the Public Defender Project, a clinic designed to prepare law students for a career in public defense, remains uncertain.

Cases in limbo destabilizing families

Defendants are facing consequences as cases pile up without attorneys to defend them. Even though those charged with a crime are presumed innocent until proven guilty in a court, an open felony case can hurt a defendant’s chance of finding employment and housing, creating financial instability for them and their families.

Housing and job insecurity put someone at risk of homelessness, increasing their chances of ending up back in jail or stacking up additional charges. 

Delaying a hearing by years or even months also jeopardizes the credibility of the evidence and witness testimony, said Amanda Merkwae, advocacy director at ACLU Wisconsin. In 2024, only 28% of cases were active for fewer than 90 days in Wisconsin. Over 5,000 cases were open for nearly two years.

“When people are detained pre-trial, it makes the problem even worse from a civil rights and liberties perspective because even spending a few days in jail can have devastating, long-lasting consequences for people who are presumptively innocent under the law,” Merkwae said. “It impacts them, it impacts their families, you think of the risk of job loss, losing housing, potential impact on child custody and parental rights.”

Many defendants awaiting counsel are sitting in jail because they can’t afford bail. 

In Brown County, only one in five county jail inmates is serving a sentence. The rest are awaiting a sentence. On July 30, the jail, which has a capacity of 750 inmates, was over capacity by 107 people with an average stay of 256 days.

So what can be done?

A problem that has worsened in recent decades has no quick fix. 

This past budget cycle, the State Public Defender office proposed two budget items aiming to  decrease the backlog and increase staffing. Neither passed as proposed. 

The first was to increase SPD administrative and support staff by about 52.5 positions; the agency was ultimately only granted 12.5. 

Support staff include investigators, who help collect evidence and identify witnesses for a case, and personnel to help clients understand the legal system, ensuring they are well-equipped for court.

Merkwae said another way to reduce the backlogs is reexamining and changing charging practices. 

The state’s three most charged crimes are disorderly conduct, felony bail jumping and misdemeanor bail jumping. 

This past budget cycle, the public defender office recommended changing the sentencing and charging for a first-time disorderly conduct violation, which was projected to yield $1.9 million in savings for SPD by affecting 2,448 cases.

Felony and misdemeanor bail jumping are bail rule violations that get tacked onto other felony cases. They range from missing a curfew or appointment to not updating an address or having beer, and they can dramatically affect case outcomes, Merkwae said, adding that they can make defendants feel “coerced into entering a plea to their original charge because of the leverage that’s created by the bail jumping charges.”

Wisconsin is one of only seven states that allow prosecutors to file additional felony charges if someone violates pretrial release conditions.

During this budget session, the Legislature also added 42 new prosecutors around the state, with the highest number in Brown and Waukesha counties, where felony bail jumping is the most commonly charged felony.

Adding prosecutors without boosting resources for public defenders and private attorneys could exacerbate backlog issues, according to Thomas.

“This is simple economics,” Thomas said. “If you’re paying 12 extra people to do that job, you’re going to end up with 12 extra people’s worth of charges.”

In Wisconsin, the median case age at disposition for nontraffic felony cases is 247 days. In Brown County, it’s 373 days, with over 2,000 open felony cases filed in 2024. 

For Germait, the limbo is constantly on her mind — and it’s shaping her life. 

After living in Amanda’s House, a sober-living home for women and children, Germait applied to several housing programs and apartments but was denied from most due to the active felony case.

Germait now lives in a transitional housing unit set to expire in April 2026. But with no updates or progress on her open cases, Germait faces the added stress of finding stable housing for herself and her children. 

“I had to do an appeal and go through all that, and eventually they said yes because I had letters of support,” Germait said. “We have to move out in April, and it’s like, ‘What am I going to do then?’”

Three years and more than 10,000 lawyer calls after being charged, this Wisconsin mother still doesn’t have a defense attorney is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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Click here to read highlights from the story

• Judge Mark McGinnis will resign Feb. 1, but won’t face criminal charges after jailing a man during a probation hearing for an unrelated financial dispute in December 2021.

• The special prosecutor, La Crosse County District Attorney Tim Gruenke, said the decision was based on McGinnis’ decision to resign, acknowledgement he could have handled case differently and concerns about the separation of powers.

• The cement contractor who was jailed for three days said he may pursue a lawsuit now that the criminal case is resolved.

An Appleton-area judge won’t face criminal charges for jailing a man during a probation hearing over an unrelated financial dispute, but he will resign in February before his term expires, a special prosecutor assigned to the case said Thursday.

Outagamie County Judge Mark McGinnis had jailed cement contractor Tyler Barth in December 2021 over a private money dispute that was not a matter before the court. McGinnis accused Barth of theft, but Barth had not been arrested or charged with a crime. Wisconsin Watch first reported the case in January 2024.

La Crosse County District Attorney Tim Gruenke was appointed as a special prosecutor in the case in March 2024, more than a year after the Wisconsin Department of Justice opened a criminal investigation.

“That’s crazy, the fact that nobody’s going to prosecute him for it, that’s insane,” Barth said in an interview Thursday. “If he’s retiring, I guess that’s good, he can’t do that to nobody else,” but “it’s just bullshit, in my opinion.”

Gruenke said several factors led him not to charge: McGinnis had acknowledged through his attorney that he could have handled the matter differently; McGinnis’ decision to retire; and concerns about the separation of powers between the executive and judicial branches of government over charging a judge for a “mistake” made on the bench.

“This isn’t a case to test those parameters, especially since he acknowledged that he should have done it differently,” Gruenke said in an interview.

McGinnis informed Gov. Tony Evers in a letter Wednesday of his retirement effective Feb. 1, which he said would follow his 55th birthday and make him eligible for retirement benefits. McGinnis did not mention the investigation. He said his plans include educating judges in the U.S. and internationally.

McGinnis and his attorney Michelle Jacobs, the former top federal prosecutor in Milwaukee, did not reply immediately to calls and emails requesting comment.

Barth had appeared before McGinnis for a probation review hearing on a felony conviction for fleeing an officer. McGinnis accused him of stealing several thousand dollars from a cement contracting customer.

The customer’s spouse worked in the same courthouse for another Outagamie County judge.

Even though Barth had not been arrested or charged with theft, McGinnis ordered him jailed for 90 days, saying he would release Barth as soon as he repaid the customer.

The 32-year-old Fremont resident spent three days in jail before Fond du Lac attorney Kirk Everson intervened and persuaded McGinnis to release him.

Barth said Thursday he would seek an attorney in hopes of filing a lawsuit.

McGinnis was first elected in 2005, at age 34, and has been re-elected every six years without opposition. Most recently he was re-elected in April 2023 for a term that runs through July 2029.

Wisconsin judgeships are nonpartisan.

Gruenke, a Democrat, is a 30-year prosecutor, including the past 18 years as the La Crosse County district attorney.

Gruenke was appointed as special prosecutor by the Outagamie County Circuit Court in March 2024 after Outagamie County District Attorney Melinda Tempelis determined it would be a conflict of interest for her office to handle the case.

Legal experts agree judges have unparalleled latitude for taking away someone’s liberty, especially if the person is on probation. But invoking criminal penalties to compel action in an unrelated dispute arguably goes beyond a judge’s lawful authority.

Wisconsin legal experts said they weren’t aware of any instance in which a sitting Wisconsin judge was charged with a crime for actions taken as a judge.

Experts also had said they did not expect criminal charges against McGinnis, but that a referral to the state Judicial Commission would be possible. 

With McGinnis’ announced retirement, it’s unclear if the commission, which could take up the matter on its own, would do so.

Any matters before the Judicial Commission are generally confidential. They become public only if the commission files a complaint against a judge or if the judge being investigated waives confidentiality.

Editor’s note: This story corrects the spelling of Kirk Everson’s name.

Wisconsin judge will resign, won’t face criminal charges for jailing cement contractor is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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A jail lieutenant for a northern Wisconsin sheriff’s office resigned in 2022 after an internal investigation found he sent sexually explicit messages and photos to female subordinates. He now works as a police officer in a neighboring county.

Jeffrey Johnson worked at the Sawyer County Sheriff’s Office for 10 years, rising to administrator of the county jail, before he “resigned in lieu of termination,” according to a Wisconsin Department of Justice database that tracks law enforcement officers who leave a position under negative circumstances. Johnson started working for the Minong Police Department in Washburn County a little over a year later, according to the same database.

His resignation came after he admitted to sending “text messages of a sexual nature to a subordinate jail deputy, including pictures of your genitals,” according to a document from the sheriff’s office The Badger Project obtained in a records request. “When confronted about these text messages, you did not deny sending them and noted you could not recall the messages, given you were likely intoxicated when they were sent.”

Sawyer County refused to release the full investigation report to The Badger Project, citing client-attorney privilege, but one of the documents it did release notes that Johnson interacted similarly with “a number of other female deputies.”

Sawyer County Sheriff Doug Mrotek said in an interview that scrutiny on Johnson was greater because he was a leader and oversaw the jail’s staff of about 17 people. But he was not on duty when he sent the messages and the interactions didn’t constitute harassment, Mrotek said.

“We all make mistakes,” Mrotek said. “We all can have a bad day. It’s tough for me not to have a lot of respect for his integrity and character. Now make no mistake, I’m not saying that I condone his wrong action … but he made a mistake. And that mistake cost him his position as a leader.”

Mrotek said if Johnson had been a patrol deputy and not a jail lieutenant at the time, he would probably still be working for the Sawyer County Sheriff’s Office.

“It’s a leader-subordinate issue,” Mrotek said. But “he’s not going to make the same mistake twice.”

Johnson used Mrotek as a reference when he applied to his current job, where he works as a patrol officer and not in a supervisory role.

Johnson did not respond to requests for comment.

Minong Police Department Chief Lucas Shepard wrote in an email that Johnson was recommended for the position by the command staff at Sawyer County Sheriff’s Office.

Shepard also said Johnson was unanimously approved for the position at his department by himself and four citizen representatives. The chief and Johnson are Minong’s only full-time police officers.

Shepard said his department’s own background check revealed that the allegations of misconduct against Johnson involved consensual behavior that happened off duty.

“Beyond his resignation from that department, Officer Johnson offered the Minong Police Department years of valuable knowledge, training, and experience in law enforcement,” Shepard wrote. He “exemplifies what community-based policing strives for and if he has one definite characteristic as an officer, it is the care that he has for the people that he is policing.”

Wandering officers increasing in Wisconsin during cop crunch

The total number of law enforcement officers in Wisconsin has dropped for years and now sits at a near-record low, according to stats from the state DOJ, as chiefs and sheriffs, especially in rural areas, say they struggle to fill positions in an industry less attractive to people than it once was.

This cop crunch has been a problem for years across the country, experts say.

Statewide, the number of wandering officers, those who were fired or forced out from a previous job in law enforcement, continues to rise. Nearly 400 officers in Wisconsin currently employed were fired or forced out of previous jobs in law enforcement in the state, almost double the amount from 2021. And that doesn’t include officers who were pushed out of law enforcement jobs outside of the state and came to Wisconsin to work.

Despite their work histories, wandering officers can be attractive to hire for law enforcement agencies, as they already have their certification, have experience and can start working immediately.

Law enforcement agencies can look up job applicants in the state DOJ’s database to get more insight into officers’ work history. And a law enacted in 2021 in Wisconsin bans law enforcement agencies from sealing the personnel files and work histories of former officers, previously a common tactic for cops with a black mark on their record.

About 13,400 law enforcement officers are currently employed in Wisconsin, excluding those who primarily work in a corrections facility, according to the state DOJ. Wandering officers make up about 2.5% of the total.

At least one major study published in the Yale Law Journal has found that wandering officers are more likely to receive a complaint for a moral character violation, compared to new officers and veterans who haven’t been fired or forced out from a previous position in law enforcement.

This article first appeared on The Badger Project and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.

The Badger Project is a nonpartisan, citizen-supported journalism nonprofit in Wisconsin.

Ex-Sawyer County jail head who sent lewd texts to female employees is now working at nearby police department is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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The federal government has extended its lease on a downtown Milwaukee property used by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, according to federal lease records and the building’s owner. 

The property at 310 E. Knapp St. is owned by the Milwaukee School of Engineering but will remain in use by the federal government through at least April 2026, with options to extend through 2028, said JoEllen Burdue, the college’s senior communications director. 

“We do not have immediate plans for the building and will reevaluate next year when we know whether or not the government wants to extend the lease,” Burdue said.

The lease was originally scheduled to expire in April 2025. 

With a new ICE facility under construction on the city’s Northwest Side, the downtown lease extension raises the possibility that the federal government is expanding local immigration infrastructure or enforcement. This would be consistent with other forms of expansion in immigration enforcement, statewide and nationally. 

“I’m upset and concerned about what this means for my immigrant constituency. For my constituents, period,” said Ald. JoCasta Zamarripa, who represents the 8th District on the South Side.

Immigration infrastructure

The Knapp Street property is used by ICE as a field office for its Enforcement and Removal Operations, according to ICE. 

This includes serving as a check‑in location for individuals under ICE supervision who aren’t in custody and a processing center for individuals with pending immigration cases or removal proceedings.

According to a Vera Institute of Justice analysis, the number of people held at the Knapp Street location has been increasing. 

The Vera Institute is a national nonpartisan nonprofit that does research and advocates for policy concerning incarceration and public safety. 

The most people held by ICE at a given time at that Knapp Street location during the Biden administration was six. On June 3, 22 people were held there – also exceeding the high of 17 during President Donald Trump’s first administration, according to data from Vera Institute. 

The office generally does not detain people overnight but can facilitate transfer to detention centers that do. 

The functions carried out at the Knapp Street office mirror those planned for the Northwest Side facility.

City records show the West Lake Park Drive property will be used to process non-detained people as well as detainees for transport to detention centers.

The records also state that the property will serve as the main southeastern Wisconsin office for immigration officers and staff.

The U.S. General Services Administration, the federal government’s real estate arm, initially projected the new site would open in October. However, a spokesperson said there was no update and did not confirm whether that timeline still stands.

Neither ICE nor the Department of Homeland Security, which oversees ICE, responded to NNS’ requests for comment. 

Rise in immigration enforcement

As local immigration enforcement grows, so does enforcement throughout the state and the rest of the country. 

Nationally, the number of immigrants booked into ICE detention facilities increased in less than a year – from 24,696 in August 2024 to 36,713 in June 2025, according to the Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse. 

The Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse is a nonprofit at Syracuse University that conducts nonpartisan research. 

Not only are more people being detained, but they are being detained for longer, said Jennifer Chacón, the Bruce Tyson Mitchell professor of law at Stanford Law School. 

A July 8 internal memo from ICE Acting Director Todd Lyons instructs agents to detain immigrants for the duration of their removal proceedings, effectively eliminating access to bond hearings. 

Eighty-four of 181 detention facilities exceeded their contractual capacity on at least one day from October 2024 to mid-April 2025, according to a July report from the Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse. 

The Dodge County Jail, which ICE uses to detain people apprehended in Milwaukee, is one of the facilities that exceeded its contractual capacity. On its busiest day, it held 139 individuals – four more than its 135-bed limit.   

In addition to Dodge County, Brown and Sauk county jails have also entered into agreements with ICE to house detained immigrants, according to records obtained by the ACLU of Wisconsin. 

ICE’s unprecedented budget

Noelle Smart, a principal research associate at the Vera Institute, notes that it remains unclear whether increased immigration enforcement drives the need for more detention infrastructure or expands to catch up with more infrastructure. 

But, Smart said, with ICE’s unprecedented new budget, the question of which one drives the other becomes less relevant.

Trump’s proposed ICE budget in 2025 was $9.7 billion – a billion more than ICE’s 2024 budget. An additional $29.85 billion was made available through 2029 for enforcement and removal as part of the “One Big Beautiful Bill Act.” 

“We know this administration intends to vastly increase the number of people subject to arrests and detention, and we expect to see increases in both given this budget,” Smart said.

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Jonathan Aguilar is a visual journalist at Milwaukee Neighborhood News Service who is supported through a partnership between CatchLight Local and Report for America.

Federal government extends lease at downtown Milwaukee building used by ICE is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 12 minutes

Wearing his Milwaukee police uniform, Gregory Carson Jr. stepped into the witness stand, raised his right hand and swore to tell the truth.

Two years earlier, a man had been shot in an alley. His girlfriend said police pressured her to allow a search of the duplex as she held her infant. That search had turned up five guns, and now her boyfriend faced a federal charge.

On the stand that afternoon, a public defender asked Carson if he recalled making inappropriate statements to the girlfriend. Commenting on seeing her underwear on the floor? Reaching out to her hours later? Texting her?

Carson’s answer under oath to each question was the same.

No.

A few witnesses later, the girlfriend swore to tell the truth and read screenshots of text messages she had received.

Hey, it’s me. Honestly it was seeing your thong on the floor that had me like damn lol.

The woman replied to ask who was contacting her. She read the response in court: Hey it’s Carson from yesterday and I understand.

The officer had been caught in a lie.

At the time, Carson already was on the Milwaukee County district attorney’s list of officers with a history of credibility, integrity or bias concerns, commonly referred to as a “Brady/Giglio” list.

He also was under internal investigation for those same text messages. None of that was known to the defense attorney who questioned him. 

After that court hearing, Carson remained on the Milwaukee Police Department payroll for more than two years. In that period, he came under internal investigation three more times.

His nine-year career illustrates the risk of keeping such officers on the force and interacting with the public after their credibility and integrity have come under question. At least a dozen officers, including Carson, kept their jobs after landing on the Brady list, then ended up on the list again for another incident, an investigation by the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, TMJ4 News and Wisconsin Watch found.

Reached in April, Carson declined an interview request. 

Police Chief Jeffrey Norman said Carson faced several allegations that overlapped in time and that the officer had due process and collective bargaining rights. Internal investigations can take months or even years to complete, the chief added.

“But we still have to remember, just as a court case, you are innocent until proven guilty,” Norman said in an interview in January.

Officers’ rights are important, but so is protecting public trust, said Justin Nix, associate professor of criminology and criminal justice at the University of Nebraska Omaha.

“Officers can arrest us, they can use force on us, and along with that comes a lot of responsibility to uphold certain values and to be honest,” Nix said in June. 

“When officers fail to meet those standards, in my mind, it’s unacceptable.”

Officer lands on Brady list after domestic violence arrest but keeps his job

Carson wanted a long career with the Milwaukee Police Department.

He started as a police aide.

He had relatives who were cops and he wanted to make a difference in his community, “busting down drug houses, getting guns off the streets,” he wrote to a supervisor in 2015.

“I am striving for success, and 25 years plus on the job,” he added.

He became a sworn officer in 2018. Two years later, his own department arrested him on a domestic violence allegation.

A woman had called for help, saying she wanted Carson to leave their shared residence. She had confronted him over infidelity suspicions, and then he held her against the couch and bit her cheek, she said. 

Police separated the two. Officer Roy Caul asked the woman about domestic violence incidents that had occurred at any time, not just that night in 2020.

“Just because he’s a cop doesn’t mean that he’s free to do this to you,” Caul said, according to transcripts from body camera footage. 

The woman said she just wanted Carson out of the house.

The officer asked if anything occurred that night or within the last 28 days to cause her pain or make her fear for her safety. The woman replied no.

Officers arrested Carson, already in uniform for his next shift, and took him to the training academy for further questioning. He denied hurting the woman.

The department referred the case to the district attorney’s office. Assistant District Attorney Nicolas Heitman declined to charge Carson. In a recent email to the Journal Sentinel, Heitman said the office did not feel it could meet the burden of proof with the available evidence.

Three months later, the woman told Internal Affairs she had not feared for her safety. Carson told Internal Affairs nothing physical happened.

“I feel that I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, according to department records.

Norman, the chief, disagreed and gave Carson a three-day suspension. 

The arrest resulted in the district attorney’s office placing Carson on its list of officers with credibility or integrity issues, often called a “Brady/Giglio” list, named after two landmark U.S. Supreme Court rulings. 

These lists are maintained to help prosecutors fulfill their legal obligations to share information favorable to the defense. Often, criminal cases come down to the word of an officer against a defendant. Judges and juries must weigh the credibility of both.

With Carson’s name added to the list, prosecutors would need to disclose his criminal referral and integrity violation to defense attorneys if he appeared on their witness list. 

Then it would be up to a defense attorney, and later a judge, to determine if it was relevant to bring up in court.

Carson kept his job, his badge and his ability to testify.

Wisconsin does not have statewide standards for Brady lists, leaving it to each county to track material

Until recently, the county’s full Brady list was kept secret.

After months of pressure from media organizations, the district attorney’s office released the entire list last September. It was inaccurate, inconsistent and incomplete, an investigation by the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, TMJ4 News and Wisconsin Watch found.

As a result of reporters’ questions, District Attorney Kent Lovern removed officers and added others. His office released a corrected and updated list of nearly 200 officers in February, which was published by the Journal Sentinel and media partners.

Who gets on a list – and whether counties even have a list – varies widely in Wisconsin, where there are no statewide standards. Officers can testify in multiple counties or in federal court, depending on the case and where an investigation leads. 

Federal prosecutors, however, have standardized U.S. Department of Justice guidelines. Prosecutors are supposed to ask law enforcement witnesses directly about potential Brady material and check with officers’ home agencies. 

“This process is designed to identify information that is even broader in scope than what is legally required and what might trigger being on a list in another jurisdiction,” said Kenneth Gales, a spokesman with the U.S. Attorney’s Office in Milwaukee, in an email.

Gales maintained the office followed all proper procedures prior to Carson’s testimony in the federal hearing.

Even if a formal list is not shared by prosecutors, state and federal public defenders in eastern Wisconsin often exchange information between their offices about the credibility of law enforcement witnesses.

Criminal defense attorneys in Wisconsin say inconsistencies in disclosing Brady material can lead to injustice and wrongful convictions.

Such information is crucial for an effective defense, said Bridget Krause, trial division director for the State Public Defender’s Office.

“Our clients have liberty at stake,” she said.

In shooting case, a witness says officer made inappropriate comments in person and through texts

In late 2021, the Milwaukee Police Department’s Internal Affairs Division received a letter from a prisoner at Kettle Moraine Correctional Institution.

In it, a man accused officers of illegally searching his house during a shooting investigation. 

It was the call involving Carson. 

Internal Affairs opened an investigation and notified Carson, saying he was accused of taking part in an illegal search and failing to activate his body camera. 

A third allegation read that “while on scene, you made inappropriate comments to a female citizen as well as sending her an inappropriate text message,” according to paperwork served on Carson on March 1, 2022.

Seven days later at the court hearing, Carson denied knowing anything about the texts.

He also defended his decision to turn off his body camera, saying he had switched off the device to speak with other officers, who did the same. No one recorded the conversation detectives had with the woman about searching the home.

“My role in the investigation was over once the detectives were on scene inside the residence,” Carson said, according to a court transcript.

When the man’s girlfriend testified, she said she felt pressured to allow the search after an officer mentioned child welfare. She feared her baby would be taken away. She also said that Carson had flirted with her in the house.

When the prosecutor asked her to elaborate, she quoted Carson as saying: “Oh, you might as well kiss your man goodbye, because you ain’t never going to see him again.”

She also remembered this comment: “I’m going to come back and see you later, okay? You going to let me in? It’s just going to be me and you.”

As the hearing closed, Joshua Uller, a federal public defender, sharpened his argument that officers had acted improperly and their search was not lawful.

Carson and others violated department policy when they didn’t record their interaction with the woman as she signed the consent form. They treated a shooting victim as a suspect without evidence to do so, and Carson had acted completely inappropriately, he said.

“Turning a woman with a newborn child whose boyfriend was just taken away in an ambulance into a romantic objective is really beyond the pale,” Uller said, according to a transcript.

Later that month, Magistrate Judge Stephen C. Dries issued his report and recommendation. Though he chided officers for failing to record the woman signing the form, he concluded they had properly gotten her consent and the search was legal.

Carson’s testimony on the text messages, he said, was not credible.

Officer, already on the Brady list, tries to dissuade a woman from filing a complaint against another officer

Two days after the hearing, an internal investigator questioned Carson about the text messages.

He admitted to sending them, contradicting his testimony. 

He said he had a “weakness” and had contacted the woman in “romantic pursuit,” department records say.

“In no way shape or form did I ever intend to be inappropriate or disrespect her in that manner,” he said, according to the records. “It was honestly me trying to shoot my shot and that was it.”

He denied making inappropriate comments to her in person and denied using his position as a police officer as an advantage. He said he regretted it and had learned a lesson.

He never mentioned his false testimony. At this point, federal prosecutors had not notified the police department of any concerns.

About three months after that interview, Carson had another troubling interaction with a woman he met on duty when she and her ex-boyfriend walked into District 7 on the city’s north side.

The former couple had a heated property dispute. The woman also said the man had intentionally hit her head while closing a car door. The man said it was an accident.

Carson was one of four officers dealing with the situation.

The woman grew frustrated with an officer who implied she was lying about the car door injury and refused to write a report about the incident. Police cited the man for battery.

Hours later, the woman received a call from a blocked number. 

It was Carson.

He explained who he was and said he was off-duty. He pleaded with her not to file a complaint against his co-worker who had implied she was lying, according to police records. All of the officers involved were “good guys” who could only do so much, she remembered him saying.

She also recalled Carson saying that he hoped she would leave her ex-boyfriend alone because he did not want the ex “popping up at her house” while Carson was there, which she believed to be a flirtatious comment.

The next day, she filed two complaints at District 7: one against the officer who implied she lied and one against Carson.

In a recent interview with the Journal Sentinel, the woman called the actions of the officers that day “extremely disheartening.”

“When you’re going through one of the toughest times of your life, the last thing you should have to deal with is them approaching you in a sexual manner or accusing you of lying when you’re literally crying out for help,” said the woman, who asked not to be named publicly for privacy and safety reasons.

Internal Affairs classified her complaint against Carson as potential misconduct in office and assigned a detective to investigate.

A federal prosecutor tells the Milwaukee Police Department an officer gave false testimony in court

That summer, the federal case involving the shooting victim and Carson’s texts continued.

The defense attorney asked another judge to weigh in on the legality of the search. 

As prosecutors prepared for another hearing in July 2022, Assistant U.S. Attorney Megan Paulson reached out to Carson about his prior testimony. 

She then wrote a memo summarizing their conversation, in which she said Carson admitted to sending the texts and not being truthful in his testimony, adding: “I’m human and I’m attracted to women.”

On July 6, 2022, Assistant U.S. Attorney Tim Funnell emailed Internal Affairs with concerns about Carson’s credibility. He followed up the next day with a transcript from the March hearing, the earlier judge’s report and the defense motion for a second evidentiary hearing. 

Asked about the case and the length of time it took the U.S. Attorney’s Office to contact Milwaukee police, a spokesman for the office said prosecutors acted appropriately.

“The United States also timely satisfied all legal disclosure obligations to the Court and to the defense in the matter you have referenced,” Gales said in an email. 

Carson was on the county’s Brady list of officers with credibility issues — he had been since 2021 — but Uller, the federal public defender, said he had never seen the county’s Brady list until the Journal Sentinel and other media partners published it in February.

“While I cannot comment on this particular case, I am not aware of any instance in which, prior to the publication of this list, a lawyer in our office was notified of an officer’s inclusion in this list,” he said.

The Journal Sentinel tried to contact the woman who received the texts but was not successful. Her then-boyfriend charged in the case died in a shooting two years ago.

After hearing from the federal prosecutor in July 2022, Internal Affairs opened an investigation into Carson’s false testimony.

Carson was now the subject of three pending internal investigations, had previously received a three-day suspension and was on the county’s Brady list.  

Still, he remained on patrol.

“At the time, it’s an allegation,” Norman, the police chief, said in an interview.

“We have, again, due process,” he added. “And so we need to make sure that there is, you know, the fairness of ensuring that there is credibility to everything, even from a prosecutor.”

A domestic violence victim calls for help, and an officer under internal investigation responds

Bobbie Lou Schoeffling called 911 for help on July 11, 2022.

Over the previous months, Schoeffling or her sister had repeatedly called police to report violence from Schoeffling’s ex-boyfriend, Nicholas Howell. Howell had not been arrested despite the multiple reports, having an open warrant for fleeing and being under the supervision of correctional agents for a past robbery conviction.

That night, Schoeffling called police twice to report threats from Howell. On the second call, she said he had threatened to burn down her house on Hampton Avenue. She had left the area, fearing for her safety, she added.

Carson and his partner were dispatched to the second call. They did not drive to her house. Instead, Carson spoke to her over the phone and failed to activate his body camera to record their conversation.

Carson and his partner — and the two officers who responded earlier that night — did not file any reports or make any arrests.

Schoeffling was found shot to death two weeks later, on July 26. 

On Sept. 4, 2022, police leaders finally pulled Carson from patrol, stripped him of his police powers and assigned him to the stolen vehicle desk in the forensics division. 

He did not routinely interact with the public in the role, and the job limited him from having to testify, a department spokesperson said in an email to the Journal Sentinel.

As internal investigations conclude, officer faces a suspension, then termination

As Carson sat at his desk job, his discipline piled up.

In February 2023, Norman suspended him for six days for the inappropriate texts and for failing to activate his body camera at the shooting scene.

Two months later, in April, the Journal Sentinel published an investigation into Schoeffling’s death. The article prompted Norman to order a review of every contact she had with the department, including the one involving Carson. The chief later suspended Carson for eight days for how he handled the call.

That same month, Internal Affairs interviewed Carson about the complaint filed by the woman at District 7. That investigation had slowed, in part, because it was difficult to reach the woman for follow-up interviews, records show.

The woman told the Journal Sentinel that she recalled speaking to an investigator once after filing her complaint and said she received several letters from the department.

Carson told the investigator, Sgt. Adam Riley, that when he called the woman, he did not say anything suggestive, only that she was worth more than her ex-boyfriend, according to department records. He acknowledged urging her not to make a complaint.

Riley pointed out the officer appeared to have a “pattern.”

Riley asked about Carson’s court testimony in the earlier case, pointing out he knew about the allegation related to the texts before his testimony. Carson said he thought he was truthful on the stand because he did not remember the text at the time.

Carson also said the federal prosecutor who wrote the memo had “misinterpreted” their conversation. Riley asked if Carson would have done anything differently. 

No, he said.

Federal and state prosecutors declined to file criminal charges of perjury or misconduct against Carson.

But the district attorney’s office did add him to the Brady list for a second time — and the false testimony cost him his job.

Norman fired him for lying under oath and for discouraging the woman at District 7 from making a complaint. 

Carson’s discharge date was Aug. 28, 2024, three years after he was first placed on the Brady list in the aftermath of his domestic violence arrest.

The woman who filed the complaint against Carson and the other officer at District 7 knew Carson had been fired. Still, she has concerns about how the department investigates misconduct allegations.

“I think it’s not handled appropriately or quickly enough,” she said.

Tia Schoeffling, Bobbie Lou Schoeffling’s sister, called it “ridiculous” that an officer arrested in such a case could then respond to domestic violence victims.

She thought of Carson on desk duty for two years, collecting nearly $80,000 in annual wages while he was the subject of several ongoing internal investigations.

She questioned if it would have taken that long to investigate a regular citizen for similar allegations. 

“It’s mind-blowing that he was even allowed to respond to her call,” she said.

This story is part of Duty to Disclose, an investigation by the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, TMJ4 News and Wisconsin Watch. The Fund for Investigative Journalism provided financial support for this project.

Already flagged for integrity concerns, a Milwaukee police officer lied under oath – and kept patrolling is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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A Wisconsin court commissioner has resigned from his job after he asked to see an immigration arrest warrant, the latest conflict between judges and President Donald Trump’s administration over the Republican’s sweeping immigration crackdown.

Peter Navis, who worked as a Walworth County court commissioner for four years, resigned from his position last month, county clerk Michelle Jacobs said Thursday. She declined to comment further because it is a personnel matter.

The incident that cost Navis his job happened on July 15. It was first reported on Thursday by the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.

The blowup in Navis’ courtroom comes after Milwaukee County Circuit Judge Hannah Dugan was charged in May with obstructing federal officers and attempting to hide a person to avoid arrest. Authorities said Dugan tried to help a man who is in the country illegally evade U.S. immigration agents who wanted to arrest him in her courthouse.

Dugan is seeking to have the charges against her dropped, arguing that she was acting in her official capacity as a judge and therefore is immune to prosecution. A ruling on that motion by U.S. District Judge Lynn Adelman is pending.

Navis was presiding in his courtroom that day in the case of Enrrique Onan Zamora Castro, of Milwaukee, who faced a misdemeanor charge of operating a vehicle without a valid driver’s license for the second time in three years.

Navis said in an interview Thursday that about 15 minutes before Castro’s case was to be called, a deputy told him that Castro was going to be arrested on behalf of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or ICE, on an immigration warrant.

A court transcript shows that Navis objected to sheriff’s deputies attempting to detain Castro without a valid federal warrant.

“In my courtroom, a person cannot be detained without lawful authority,” Navis said in the transcript.

The prosecutor, Assistant District Attorney Andrew Herrmann, said Navis had no right to see the warrant, according to the transcript. Herrmann did not respond to a voicemail seeking comment.

Navis said he spoke with Walworth County Judge Kristine Drettwan for guidance, and she told him he had the authority to run his courtroom as he saw fit. Drettwan did not return an email seeking comment.

Sometime after Castro was detained, ICE officers appeared with deputies to make a second arrest of someone in the courtroom. Navis said he didn’t know who that person was.

According to the transcript, Navis said, “I’ve been instructed by the judges of this county to require warrants before individuals are detained in my courtroom.”

Navis said he met with three of the court’s judges six days after the incident and they told him that because he misstated their position he could either resign or be fired. None of the judges in that meeting returned emails seeking comment Thursday.

Navis said on Thursday that he misspoke in the courtroom.

“I misstated it, I did,” Navis said. “It’s not something I had intended to misstate. It’s not like I was trying to mislead anyone. What I was trying to express was I had been given the authority to act in my courtroom. That’s what I meant to say, but it didn’t come out that way.”

Navis said he is currently looking for work.

Walworth County Sheriff Dave Gerber did not respond to an email seeking comment. ICE officials had no immediate comment.

Walworth County, home to about 100,000 people, is in south-central Wisconsin along the Illinois border. Trump won the county with about 60% of the vote in November.

Wisconsin Watch is a nonprofit and nonpartisan newsroom. Subscribe to our newsletters to get our investigative stories and Friday news roundup. This story is published in partnership with The Associated Press.

Wisconsin court commissioner in Walworth County resigns after dispute over immigration warrant is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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• A special prosecutor was appointed in March 2024 to look into Judge Mark McGinnis’ decision to jail a concrete contractor in December 2021 over a money dispute during a probation hearing for an unrelated crime. The money dispute was with a courthouse employee.

• The special prosecutor, La Crosse County District Attorney Tim Gruenke, said he plans to make a decision on the case around Labor Day.

• Criminal charges against a judge for a decision made from the bench are possible, but unlikely and without recent precedent. Judicial misconduct cases have been reviewed by the Wisconsin Judicial Commission since 1978, and the Wisconsin Supreme Court has the final say on any penalty.

A special prosecutor expects to decide in early September whether to take the extraordinary step of filing criminal charges against an Appleton-area judge over his actions from the bench.

The special prosecutor, La Crosse County District Attorney Tim Gruenke, declined further comment to Wisconsin Watch on his investigation of Outagamie County Circuit Court Judge Mark McGinnis.

Wisconsin Watch reported in January 2024 that McGinnis’ actions were the focus of a Wisconsin Department of Justice criminal investigation that had been ongoing for more than a year. The March 2024 appointment of the special prosecutor has not previously been reported.

McGinnis had jailed cement contractor Tyler Barth in December 2021 over a private dispute that was not a matter before the court. 

When Barth appeared before McGinnis for a probation review hearing, on a felony conviction for fleeing an officer, McGinnis accused him of stealing several thousand dollars from a cement contracting customer.

The customer worked in the same courthouse for another Outagamie County judge. 

Even though Barth had not been arrested or charged with theft, McGinnis ordered him jailed for 90 days, saying he would release Barth as soon as he repaid the customer.

“I think it’s definitely crazy, just lock a guy up with no charge, no pending charge, no nothing and then get away with it,” Barth told Wisconsin Watch in a recent interview.

The 32-year-old Fremont resident said he spent three days in jail before Fond du Lac attorney Kirk Evenson intervened and persuaded McGinnis to release him.

“I just don’t think the guy should be able to do this to anyone else,” Barth said.

Barth later settled the money dispute with his customer. An attorney advised him it would be difficult to win civil damages against McGinnis because of judicial immunity, but Barth is waiting to see what happens with the criminal case before deciding whether to pursue a federal civil rights lawsuit.

McGinnis did not reply to requests seeking comment.

McGinnis was first elected in 2005, at age 34, and has been re-elected each time, without opposition. Most recently he was re-elected in April 2023 for a term that runs through July 2029.

Wisconsin judgeships are nonpartisan.

Gruenke, a Democrat, is a 30-year prosecutor, including the past 18 years as the La Crosse County district attorney. 

Gruenke was appointed as special prosecutor by the Outagamie County Circuit Court in March 2024 after Outagamie County District Attorney Melinda Tempelis determined it would be a conflict of interest for her office to handle the case.

Legal experts agree judges have unparalleled latitude for taking away someone’s liberty, especially if the person is on probation. But invoking criminal penalties to compel action in an unrelated dispute arguably goes beyond a judge’s lawful authority.

Judicial historian Joseph Ranney, an adjunct professor at Marquette University Law School, said he is not aware of any instance in which a sitting Wisconsin judge was charged with a crime for actions taken as a judge.

Jeremiah Van Hecke, executive director of the Wisconsin Judicial Commission, also said he was not aware of such a case.

Since 1978, the Judicial Commission has been the body responsible for investigating complaints against judges, which are then referred to the state Supreme Court. The Supreme Court has published 31 decisions that carried some form of punishment, often a reprimand, including several for actions taken from the bench.

In 1980, Milwaukee County Judge Christ Seraphim was suspended for three years without pay for a number of violations, including “retaliatory use of bail.” In 1985, retaliatory use of bail was one of the charges brought against Rusk County Judge Donald Sterlinske, who was ordered removed from office even though he had resigned.

Former state Supreme Court Justice Michael Gableman has agreed to a three-year suspension of his law license, but is awaiting formal action in that case. It centers on his work as a special counsel investigating the 2020 presidential election, not his work as a judge.

Marquette University law professor Chad Oldfather said, though it’s unlikely, McGinnis could be charged with misconduct in public office. That state law prohibits, among other things, officials from knowingly exceeding their lawful authority. 

But a referral to the Judicial Commission seems much more likely than a criminal charge, Oldfather said.

The commission could also initiate an investigation on its own.

A special prosecutor, Sauk County District Attorney Patricia Barrett, decided not to file criminal charges following a 2011 incident in which state Supreme Court Justice Ann Walsh Bradley accused Justice David Prosser of choking her during an argument in a justice’s office.  

The Judicial Commission recommended that the Supreme Court discipline Prosser for misconduct, but the court took no action for lack of a quorum of four of the seven justices. Three justices recused themselves because they were witnesses to the incident. 

Any matters before the Judicial Commission are generally confidential. They become public only if the commission files a complaint against a judge or if the judge being investigated waives confidentiality.

There have been criminal charges filed in connection with a judge’s role as a judge, though they were not in response to official actions taken by a judge. 

In April, federal prosecutors charged Milwaukee County Circuit Court Judge Hannah Dugan with two crimes for allegedly obstructing Immigration and Customs Enforcement from arresting a criminal defendant in her courtroom. Her case is pending.

In 2019, a Winnebago County jury found Leonard Kachinsky, a municipal court judge, guilty of misdemeanor violation of a harassment restraining order involving his court manager.

Special prosecutor weighing whether to criminally charge Outagamie County judge is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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The Milwaukee Police Department is still undecided about whether to expand its use of facial recognition technology, an MPD spokesperson said. 

“We are in continued conversations with the public related to FRT (facial recognition technology) and have not made any decisions,” the spokesperson said.

MPD has been in discussions with the company Biometrica, which partners with police agencies and others to provide the technology. 

Meanwhile, opposition to the technology continues to grow. 

In July, the Milwaukee Equal Rights Commission unanimously passed a resolution opposing MPD’s use of facial recognition. The Equal Rights Commission is a city body working to promote equality in the city’s institutions and the broader community. 

Tony Snell, chair of the commission, sent a letter to Milwaukee Police Chief Jeffrey Norman urging him to reject the technology. Copies were also sent to the Milwaukee Common Council, Milwaukee Mayor Cavalier Johnson and the Milwaukee Fire and Police Commission.

The resolution cited the risk of error, which it said disproportionately affects historically marginalized groups, as a major reason for opposition.

The Equal Rights Commission’s overall goal is to help the city limit the risk of discrimination against people, Snell said. 

The resolution also noted a lack of publicly available data on positive outcomes in other cities that have adopted the technology. 

In May, 11 of the 15 members of the Milwaukee Common Council sent a letter to Norman opposing facial recognition, citing the risk of misidentification – particularly for people of color and women – and the potential for harm to the community’s trust in law enforcement. 

Additional concerns raised in public testimony to the commission – by community members and civil groups – included the potential sharing of immigration-related data with federal agencies and the targeting of individuals and groups exercising their First Amendment rights. 

What MPD says

MPD has consistently stated that a carefully developed policy could help reduce risks associated with facial recognition.

“Should MPD move forward with acquiring FRT, a policy will be drafted based upon best practices and public input,” a department spokesperson said. 

Facial recognition technology is a potent investigation tool to quickly and effectively generate leads, said Heather Hough, MPD’s chief of staff, during the Equal Rights Commission public meeting about the technology. 

But Hough emphasized facial recognition’s role as one tool among many used by MPD.

“The real work is in the human analysis and additional investigation by our detectives, by our officers,” Hough said.  

She also presented case studies, including a March 2024 homicide, in which facial recognition from a neighboring jurisdiction helped identify suspects.

More recently, MPD said it used facial recognition to identify a suspect in a July 20 homicide on Milwaukee’s North Side after accessing footage from a residential camera near North 55th Street and West Custer Avenue.

What Biometrica says

Biometrica, the company MPD is considering partnering with, stressed how facial recognition’s potential errors can be reduced. 

Kadambari Wade, Biometrica’s chief privacy officer, said the company is constantly evaluating and re-evaluating how it does its work, looking for ways to ensure it is more accurate. 

She said she and her husband, Biometrica CEO Wyly Wade, are aware of concerns about racial bias and work to address them.

“Wyly is a white man from Texas. I’m a brown-skinned immigrant,” she said.

Kadambari Wade said they want to make sure their services would work as well on her as they do on him. 

Wade also denied any current or future plans to cooperate with U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

“We do not work with ICE. We do not work in immigration,” she said. 

What’s next?

Since the passage of Wisconsin Act 12, the only official way to amend or reject MPD policy is by a vote of at least two-thirds of the Common Council, or 10 members. 

However, council members cannot make any decision about it until MPD actually drafts its policy, often referred to as a “standard operating procedure.” 

Ald. Peter Burgelis – one of four council members who did not sign onto the Common Council letter to Norman – said he is waiting to make a decision until he sees potential policy from MPD or an official piece of legislation considered by the city’s Public Safety and Health Committee. 

Snell’s main concern is for MPD’s decision to be fair and just.

“Regardless … you want to be part of the process in order to eliminate, or to the extent possible, reduce risk of discrimination to people,” Snell said.

Milwaukee police still weighing expanding use of facial recognition technology is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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• Maintaining relationships between children and incarcerated parents helps mitigate the negative impacts of the separation. Family visits have been shown to reduce recidivism. 

• At Camp Reunite, children spend a week at a traditional summer camp, with access to outdoors activities and trauma-informed programming. Two days out of the week, campers spend an entire day with their incarcerated parents.

• The program is accessible only to children of those incarcerated at Taycheedah and Kettle Moraine prisons, but the camp is discussing an expansion to Racine Correctional Institution.  

• Stigma surrounding incarceration and transportation barriers have limited growth of the camp.

The thunk of a plastic bat followed each pitch and question Tasha H. lobbed toward her 14-year-old son. She cheered after each hit as she tracked down the whiffle ball and prepared her next throw. 

“Maybe baseball next year?” 

No, he responded before hitting the ball over his mom’s head. He plans to try out for varsity football instead.

“You’re getting a lot better than you give yourself credit for,” Tasha told him.

Standing in a patch of green grass in late June, working to extract more than one-word answers from her son, Tasha looked like a typical mom of a soon-to-be high schooler. But as the ball landed on the wrong side of a chain rope fence, it was clear they were not standing in a backyard or baseball field. 

“I can’t go get that,” she said. 

The fence stood only about 2 feet high. But Tasha could not cross it or the much taller, barbed fence bordering Taycheedah Correctional Institution in Fond du Lac — not for at least another year. 

The brief batting practice was part of Camp Reunite, a program for children with incarcerated parents. Before camp, Tasha had not seen her son in the year since she was arrested for crimes she committed related to a drug relapse.

WPR and Wisconsin Watch are withholding the last names of parents or kids included in the story at the request of Camp Reunite to protect the campers’ privacy.

One of the first things Tasha noticed about her son was that he’s taller than her now. 

“Then he spoke and it was like a man, and I was appalled,” Tasha said. “I know that sounds crazy, but I just want to be there as much as I can, even though I’m in here.”

They both needed the visit, she said. 

Maintaining relationships between children and incarcerated parents helps mitigate the negative impacts of the separation, experts say. Family visits have been shown to reduce recidivism. 

Camp Reunite allows children to spend a week at a traditional summer camp where they can hike, canoe and participate in trauma-informed programming like art therapy. Two days out of the week, campers get to spend an entire day with their incarcerated parents in a more relaxed setting than typical visits.

Despite the camp’s success for parents and their kids, it remains unique to Wisconsin and has operated in just two prisons this summer: the women’s prison at Taycheedah and Kettle Moraine, a nearby men’s facility.

Public opinion is the camp’s biggest obstacle, said Chloe Blish, the camp’s mental wellness director. Prison and camp staff described hearing and reading concerns over the perception that the program is a safety risk — and that it rewards incarcerated parents. 

Past media coverage of the camp has prompted online backlash against named parents — personal attacks that older campers can read and absorb, Blish said.

She wishes skeptics could experience a day at Camp Reunite, she said. “It’s electric.”

Tasha and her son started their reunion playing the board game Sorry!

“I miss you,” she said before moving her pawn 10 spaces and asking if he signed up to attend the winter camp. 

He nodded before knocking her piece back to the start, softly telling his mom “sorry.”

Between turns and debates about the rules, she asked about school, football, friends, food at camp and where he got his shoes. He reminded her that she bought them for him. She told him he needed to clean them with an old toothbrush, which led to a short lecture about how often he should replace his toothbrush. 

He asked her why she didn’t spend extra money to get Nikes with her prison uniform, a gray T-shirt and teal scrub pants. They joked about her all-white Reebok sneakers.

“I’m glad you came,” she said. “It’s been a long time, huh?”

Not like other camps

When Taycheedah social worker Rachel Fryda-Gehde heard officials were trying to host a camp at the prison, her first reaction was: “Nobody’s ever going to entertain such a crazy idea.”

This summer, she helped run the prison’s eighth season. 

She and other camp leaders plan to present on the program’s success at national conferences this fall, she said. They want to see the camp grow, but there are barriers, including public perception.

The nonprofit Hometown Heroes runs the camp in coordination with the Wisconsin Department of Corrections.

Camp Hometown Heroes started as a summer camp for children whose parents died after serving in the military. The camp paid to fly Blish and her sister from California to Wisconsin during summers when they were teenagers.

She still loves Hometown Heroes, but Camp Reunite has more impact, she said.

“There’s a lot of camps for gold star kids, that’s easy support,” Blish said. Things are different at Camp Reunite.

She and other camp leaders often work in the kitchen, filling in to wash dishes during Camp Reunite. During Hometown Heroes, that’s never necessary, because so many community members volunteer to help, she said. 

Hometown Heroes, an exponentially larger operation, also receives more individual donations because of people who have a passion for helping veterans and military families, wrote Liz Braatz, the camp’s director of development. 

She has heard the stigma around supporting people in prison, she wrote in an email. But discussing the camp as a way to help children affected by trauma “has made all the difference” in reshaping perceptions, she said. 

Outside of camp, the organization provides campers with new clothing, school supplies and hygiene products. 

“It does not matter who your God is or who you vote for, if your passion is helping these kids,” Braatz wrote. 

The camp is in conversation with Racine Correctional Institution and now has plans to expand its program next summer. 

The Wisconsin Department of Corrections would welcome Camp Reunite in additional facilities, spokesperson Beth Hardtke said. 

Barriers stifle attendance 

The camp faces additional obstacles in expanding its service. 

This summer’s camp at Taycheedah was far from capacity. There were enough camp staff for more than 100 kids, Blish said. But just over a dozen families showed up. 

“We started out with a lot more,” Fryda-Gehde said. 

There are two major requirements for moms to join the camp: no sex crime convictions and no major conduct issues in the six months leading up to camp. This year’s attendance shrank after women were placed into segregation cells after breaking prison rules.

Prison social workers spend months with the moms to prepare for camp. Moms create posters to decorate their campers’ bunk beds, while prison staff set up activity stations like a beauty parlor and photo booth in the visiting room.

But the biggest reason for lower attendance: getting some caregivers on board. 

Some kids might not be ready to visit with their incarcerated parents, Blish said. Other times, caretakers are hesitant to allow them in a prison or struggle to get them there. 

Women are more likely than men to be the primary caretakers for their children at the time of arrest. That often leads to major life disruptions for campers visiting the women’s prison who are more likely to live with foster placements or more distant relatives. 

Even caretakers comfortable with the camp might struggle to get there. Many families lack cars, Blish said. The camp tries to arrange rides for as many kids as possible, but it can’t always pick up kids who live farther away. 

‘You’re here to have fun’

Nyzaiah and his three younger siblings live with their grandparents in Milwaukee. Camp was the first time they’ve made the more than hourlong drive to visit their mom since she was incarcerated. 

“I was trying not to cry because I don’t like really showing my emotions to people, but I did drop a tear,” he said. “Me and my mom are really close.”

They talk on the phone around four times a week, but seeing her in person felt different, he said. 

Most of his classmates get picked up by their parents. Only his close friends know why his grandparents pick him up each day.

“At home, I’m big brother. I gotta do everything and make sure it’s good. I don’t like to bring a lot of stress on my grandma,” the 13-year-old said. 

But at camp, his brothers and sister are in separate cabins. 

“The counselors told me, ‘You’re here to have fun. Don’t worry about your siblings. We’ve got them,’” he said. 

Glitter, braids and tearful goodbyes 

Moms aren’t the only ones asking questions at camp. 

“You’ve got a TV?” asked Deloise L.’s 11-year-old son.

“Of course,” she answered. The morning before camp she woke up early from excitement and watched the morning news while she waited. 

Deloise’s children are staying with her sister who brings them for somewhat regular visits throughout the year. But camp is different.

“I love this,” she said. 

During a normal visit, her family is under the supervision of correctional officers, and her movement is more limited. At camp, most of the prison staff present are social workers. Moms walk from activity to activity without asking permission, including to the camp’s crowded “salon.”

Deloise clipped hot pink braids into her teenage daughter’s hair and applied glittery makeup over her eyes. Her son picked out a fake mustache.

As counselors warned that there were 10 minutes left until they would bus back to camp, kids scrambled to get close to their moms. Even the knowledge that they would be back later that week failed to stop the tears.

“When you got to separate from them, that’s when it gets bad,” Deloise said, wiping her eyes with a tissue. “It just gets bad when you want to be around your kids.”

This is her family’s second camp. They plan to attend one more summer camp before her release in 2026.

“I’m learning from my mistakes,” she said. “They won’t have to worry about this again.”

‘I did drop a tear’: Camp Reunite helps kids connect with their incarcerated parents is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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States with weak gun laws, including Wisconsin, experience more firearm deaths among children ages 0 to 17, according to a study published in the June issue of JAMA Pediatrics. 

“We cannot accept that harsh reality as normal,” said Nick Matuszewski, associate executive director at WAVE Educational Fund, a statewide grassroots organization dedicated to preventing gun violence. “This study provides dramatic evidence that when lawmakers step up and take action, they can save young lives.”

The study, authored by national public health researchers using data from the U.S. Centers for Disease Control, found that in Wisconsin, which was categorized as one of 28 states with the most permissive gun laws, child firearm deaths increased by 15%. The most affected group nationally was African American children. 

The study examined a period of time before and after a 2010 Supreme Court ruling that expanded local and state control over firearms laws. 

After that ruling, many states enacted new and more permissive firearm laws, according to the report.  The study looked at all types of firearm deaths, including suicides, homicides and unintentional shootings. 

In 2015, Wisconsin ended its 48-hour waiting period to purchase firearms, said Tyler Kelly, policy and engagement senior associate at WAVE. 

Kelly said many neighboring states and others across the country have strengthened their laws on background checks. 

“In Wisconsin, we have no red flag law, weak storage laws and a lack of a waiting period for buying a firearm,” Kelly said. “All have been shown to save lives.” 

Reaction from state leaders

State Sen. LaTonya Johnson, D-Milwaukee, said the findings of the study are no surprise to anyone who lives in Milwaukee. 

“We see the consequences of this inaction in every child that dies and every family that grieves,” Johnson said. “Most of the kids killed by gun violence in Wisconsin come from right here in our city.” 

New Milwaukee Public Schools Superintendent Brenda Cassellius said during a recent interview that 24 students in the district were victims of homicide this school year. Most were shot. 

New legislation, same old story

Johnson is among a group of Democratic elected officials who are pushing their Republican counterparts to move forward the Safe Summer package of legislation that would revamp the state’s gun laws. 

“I’m always hopeful, but if I’m being realistic, over and over again, Republican leadership has refused to debate common-sense gun safety proposals,” Johnson said. “Even a hearing would be a step forward at this point. I don’t believe that’s too much to ask.”

Championing the legislation is Democratic State Rep. Shelia Stubbs of Madison. She experienced a mass shooting at a school in her district in December 2024. 

“That day was a really difficult day for me. As a parent, I cried,” she said. “I don’t know how many more people must die from gun violence in the state of Wisconsin.” 

The Safe Summer package includes four bills. They would reinstitute the 48-hour waiting period to purchase a firearm; create an extreme-risk protection order, also known as a red flag law; ban ghost guns; and institute universal background checks for all firearm purchases. 

“We need better gun laws to keep guns out of the wrong hands,” Stubbs said. 

Gov. Tony Evers included similar measures in his last budget request, but they were removed by Republican lawmakers on the Joint Committee on Finance. 

NNS reached out to several Republican elected officials from Wisconsin for comment, but they did not respond. 

Republican leaders in Wisconsin and Second Amendment advocates have said over the years that gun violence is tied to a lack of accountability for criminals and not gun ownership. 

Stubbs and others disagree. She said the Republicans in Wisconsin refuse to discuss gun control legislation. 

‘We need better gun laws’

“We need better gun laws to keep guns out of the wrong hands,” she said. “It’s important to talk about the gun safety legislation to regulate access to firearms and promote responsible gun ownership.” 

Kelly said polls have found that the majority of Wisconsinites support stronger gun laws, including universal background checks and waiting periods to purchase guns. 

“If you’re using the gun for the right reasons, you shouldn’t have a problem waiting two days for it. “People in crisis shouldn’t be able to get a gun at the snap of their hands.” 

Stubbs said another major issue that the legislation would resolve is closing a loophole that allows private sales of firearms without background checks. 

“Those are transactions that do not get vetted,” she said. 

A universal issue

While proposed gun laws often become a partisan issue in Wisconsin and around the country, Stubbs hopes that changes. 

She said Democrats are looking for a Republican co-sponsor for the bills, calling gun violence a universal issue that affects everyone. 

“At the end of the day, many of my colleagues are parents. They have loved ones. Gun violence has impacted all of us in one way or another,” Stubbs said. 

Her hope is that something gets done before the next tragedy. 

“I hope it doesn’t take something more to happen before we do something,” she said. “We want everyone to have a safe summer. Enough is enough.” 

New study ties weak state gun laws to child deaths in Wisconsin is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 7 minutes

As she sits on her living room sofa surrounded by a large cutout, framed photos and a houseful of other reminders of her son Javon, Andrea Wilson, 41, can’t help but lose hope that her son’s murder will ever be solved. 

“Nobody’s ever going to be held accountable,” she said. “It just feels like no one is going to be held responsible for his murder.” 

It’s been nearly a year since she’s heard from Milwaukee homicide detectives and more than 16 months since Javon, 21, was hanging out with a group of friends when someone opened fire on them. They took him to St. Joseph’s hospital, where he died from a gunshot wound to his stomach. 

Losing her firstborn is bad enough, she said, but not having justice makes it harder.  Wilson is not alone in her struggles. In Milwaukee, hundreds of families share the unenviable bond of having a loved one murdered, with no one held responsible for it. 

Unsolved murders in Milwaukee

From 2020 to 2024, 901 homicides occurred in the city of Milwaukee. Over 350 of those murders remain unsolved, based on homicide clearance data provided by the Milwaukee Police Department. 

The homicide clearance rate refers to the percentage of cases cleared through arrest or because an arrest is impossible because of certain circumstances such as death, divided by the total number of homicides. Clearance rates also factor in murders solved during a calendar year for incidents that occurred in prior years. 

The clearance rate in Milwaukee fluctuated between 50% and 59% from 2020 to 2023. The year Javon was murdered, in 2023, 59% of 172 murders were cleared. 

Last year, when homicides dropped in the city by 30%, the clearance rate rose to 78%. Unsurprisingly, the clearance rate was lowest during the peak of the COVID pandemic when the number of homicides exploded in Milwaukee. 

Javon’s story

Javon was a fast talker and good kid who excelled at wrestling and other sports in school. He was also extremely bright, graduating from West Allis Central High School with a 3.9 GPA. Offered two college scholarships, he chose instead to attend MATC and pursue his dreams of being a rapper and entrepreneur. 

The day he got shot began like any other. He went to play basketball, came home to shower, and he let his mother know that he was heading out again. 

Then there was a knock at the door, and she learned Javon had been shot and was in the hospital. 

As she arrived, she asked about his condition. 

All the hospital staff would tell her, she said, is that they were waiting for detectives to arrive. 

“I should have realized then that he was already dead,” Wilson said. 

Wilson said her son wasn’t the intended victim but got caught up in someone else’s beef. 

After he died, she said, she called detectives for two weeks straight, even providing the names of potential suspects. 

“It didn’t matter. They called it hearsay,” Wilson said. “I feel like I know who murdered my son.”  

MPD stated that it continues to seek suspects in Javon’s homicide. 

‘There’s no stopping them’

Janice Gorden, who founded the organization Victims of Milwaukee Violence Burial Fund 10 years ago, said it’s common for mothers to conduct their own investigations in their loved one’s murder. 

“Sometimes they have way more information than the detectives do,” she said. 

Sadly, she said, many become consumed with trying to solve the murder themselves. 

“They drive themselves crazy trying to find answers to who killed their loved one,” she said. “I try to help but I can’t. I just listen to people like that because there’s no helping them. There’s no stopping them.” 

Since Javon’s death, Wilson said she’s gone through thousands of emotions, one of them being severe depression. Her mother, who helped raise Javon, her first grandson, is equally devastated. Javon also had a special bond with his little brother Shamus, who’s 8 years old. 

Shamus keeps a large cutout of Javon’s high school graduation photo in his bedroom and even grew out his hair to mimic his brother’s dreadlock hairstyle. Wilson said Shamus has struggled with anger issues since his big brother was killed.

“He doesn’t know how to adjust his emotions,” she said. “It’s been a very downward spiral for all of us.” 

‘I never knew it would happen to me’

Like Wilson, Brenda Hines knows the pain of losing a son to gun violence. 

Her middle child, Donovan, 23, was shot and killed while driving a car near North 29th Street and West Hampton Avenue in 2017. His case also remains unsolved. 

Hines said Donovan was never afraid to travel somewhere new without a plan other than to make it. She said she isn’t sure whether her son was killed in an ongoing dispute over a car or whether it stemmed from a woman. 

“I know there were people at the funeral home and at his vigil who knew,” she said. 

Hines has worked as a Salvation Army chaplain since 2014, heading to crime scenes to help other families deal with tragic incidents such as murders. 

“I never knew it would happen to me,” she said. 

Since Donovan’s death, she’s turned her pain into action, opening the Donovan Hines Foundation of Exuberance to honor her son and to help other families by providing mental health, grief counseling and other support. 

She also hosts an annual vigil to honor homicide victims in Milwaukee, part of a national series of events. Many of the families she’s met along the way are also waiting for justice for their loved one’s murders. 

“It really tears the family apart,” she said. “It’s like an open wound that is still bleeding. The tears flow every day.” 

Hines says she can’t tell families she knows exactly how they feel. 

“Every situation is different. But, I can tell them I understand,” she said. 

Solving murders

James Hutchinson, captain of the Milwaukee Police Department’s Homicide Division, said his team of 33 detectives remains committed to solving a case even as the days grow into years. 

“If someone comes in and says we have info on something that happened five years ago, we’ll take that info and follow up,” he said. “From the first two weeks, to a month, or months or years down the line, we’re equally as committed to solving a murder as we were today.” 

Many families, such as those of Hines’ and Wilson’s, question whether every stone gets turned in an investigation. 

“I don’t know if they did their due diligence,” Wilson said. “I don’t know if they care.” 

Hines, who has worked closely with officers during her time as a chaplain, said she respects the challenges police officers face.   

“They don’t have enough evidence,” she said.

Still, she can’t help but feel that more could have and should be done. 

“I’ve met personally with detectives because they won’t call back,” she said. “It’s a bad process.” 

Though it may not be much solace to the hundreds of families in Milwaukee still hoping for justice, Hutchinson said he and the detectives in his unit take each case personally. They know that the victim’s family and friends are devastated by their loved one’s murder. 

“It’s heartbreaking,” he said. “Making a death notification is one of the hardest parts of this job.” 

Hutchinson said resources in his department were spread thin when murders exploded in the city during the pandemic, which increased the challenge of building a case. 

The biggest challenge, though, he said, is that witness cooperation isn’t what it used to be. 

“It’s changed for the worse,” Hutchinson said. “There wasn’t a no snitching campaign back then.”

Wilson admits that witnesses to her son’s murder were reluctant to talk to police. She tracked down suspects on her own and offered those names to officers. That wasn’t enough to warrant charges, police told her. She needed her son’s friends to step up. 

“At this point y’all should tell what happened,” she told them. “Somebody needs to be held responsible.” 

How Milwaukee compares nationally

Thomas Hargrove, founder of the Murder Accountability Project, the largest database of unsolved murders in America, said Milwaukee homicide clearance rates are similar to what he saw nationally, especially during the pandemic. 

Many cities have struggled to solve murders since then. Part of the challenge is resources. 

“When you have enough resources, good things happen. When you don’t, bad things happen,” Hargrove said. “When you have over 200 murders, your system is off.” 

He also said it’s also much harder to get a conviction now than it was 20 years ago, which can create friction between the district attorney’s office and local police. 

Although police might make an arrest in a homicide case, that doesn’t mean that charges will be filed. 

Police, Hutchinson said, only need probable cause to make an arrest. The burden of proof at the district attorney’s office, which files homicide charges, is higher. 

“They have to be able to prove it beyond a reasonable doubt,” he said. “Many times we will make an arrest for probable cause, but we can’t get to that level.”

What often happens, Hutchinson said, is that officers will bring a case to the DA’s office or discuss what evidence they have and then have a dialogue about whether more is needed to file charges. 

While that can bring some frustration, admits Hutchinson, it is better than arresting the wrong person. 

“My worst nightmare I would have in the world is to have the wrong person held accountable for a crime,” he said. 

Milwaukee County District Attorney Kent Lovern acknowledges that the work to hold someone accountable for murder can be burdensome on families seeking justice. 

“Obviously there is a significant gap between the evidence needed to make an arrest versus the evidence needed to successfully prosecute a case,” Lovern said. 

The reason for caution and continued dialogue with officers in hopes of building a strong case is because there’s no room for error. 

“We really have one opportunity with a particular suspect to bring forward charges, and we want to get it right. Not only for the person charged, but the victim’s family and the integrity of the system,” he said. 

Regardless, said Hargrove, the more murders that remain unsolved, the worse it is for everyone. 

“The more murders you clear, the more murderers you get off the street, the more the murder rate will go down,” he said. 

Trying to move on

As Hines reflects on the ripple effect her son’s murder has had on her family, she does the only thing she can to maintain hope. 

“I have to have the peace of God,” she said. “He has taken care of the situation. I still get angry but I have to let God take control.” 

Meanwhile, Wilson, who still talks to Javon’s friends regularly, visits his grave monthly, and she threw him a huge birthday bash in May.

She wonders whether it’s time to put away some of his photos. Among them are large poster boards filled with pictures that were on display during Javon’s funeral. 

“I have to admit it is kind of depressing,” she said. “But it makes me feel like he’s still here with me.” 

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For more information

Anyone with any information about murders is asked to contact Milwaukee police at (414) 935-7360. If you wish to remain anonymous, contact Crime Stoppers at (414) 224-TIPS (8477). 

Hargrove urges families of those whose murders have not been solved to request a formal review under the Homicide Victims’ Families’ Right Act. 

It allows for an individual to request federal agencies conduct a review of a homicide case investigation to determine whether it warrants a reinvestigation. 

‘Nobody’s ever going to be held accountable’: Families of unsolved murder victims in Milwaukee fight to maintain hope  is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 7 minutes

Click here to read highlights from the story

• Boosting corrections officers’ pay initially helped address chronic staffing shortages in Wisconsin prisons, but vacancies have been rising again in recent months. 

• Corrections officers say the trend is predictable as new officers, attracted by competitive starting wages, discover the demands of the work. Improving training, safety and workplace culture would help, they say. 

• Some Democratic lawmakers, prisoner rights advocates and even correctional officers argue that reducing the prison population would improve conditions for inmates and staff.

Responding to staffing shortages that imperiled guards and staff, Wisconsin lawmakers in 2023 significantly increased pay for corrections officers — hoping to retain and attract more workers to the grueling job. 

It helped, at least initially. But following significant progress, staffing vacancies are again growing in many Wisconsin prisons. The data support a common complaint from correctional officers and their supporters: The Department of Corrections and the Legislature must do more to retain officers in the long run. Improving training, safety and workplace culture would help, they say. 

Meanwhile, some Democratic lawmakers, prisoner rights advocates and correctional officers argue that reducing the prison population would improve conditions for inmates and staff by reducing overcrowding and easing tensions. 

The two-year budget Gov. Tony Evers signed last week included a small boost in funding for programs geared at limiting recidivism and additional funding to plan the closure of one of Wisconsin’s oldest prisons. But Republicans removed broader Evers proposals that focused on rehabilitating prisoners, and a plan to close Green Bay’s 127-year-old prison includes few details.

“Reducing the number of people we incarcerate in Wisconsin is critical, both because of the harm that mass incarceration does to individuals and communities, and because of the resulting stress from overburdening prison staff,” Rep. Ryan Clancy, D-Milwaukee, told Wisconsin Watch. “Packing more people into our prisons leads to worse services and worse outcomes when incarcerated folks are released back into the community.” 

Wisconsin Watch and The New York Times last year detailed how Wisconsin officials for nearly a decade failed to take significant steps to slow a hemorrhaging of corrections officers that slowed basic operations to a crawl. During that period prisoners escaped, staff overtime pay soared and lockdowns kept prisoners from exercise, fresh air and educational programming, leading some to routinely threaten suicide.  

At Waupun Correctional Institution, staffing vacancies peaked at 56% in February 2024, leaving more positions open than filled.

As aging staff members retired, the state struggled to replace them, particularly after Act 10, a sweeping 2011 state law that gutted most public workers’ ability to collectively bargain for more attractive conditions. Vacancy rates steadily climbed to 43% in the state’s maximum-security prisons and 35% across all adult institutions before pay raises took effect in October 2023.

Following two years of partisan infighting, the Republican-led Legislature approved a compensation package that increased starting pay for corrections officers from $20.29 to $33 an hour, with a $5 add-on for staff at maximum-security prisons and facilities with vacancy rates above 40% for six months straight. 

Within a year, vacancy rates plunged as low as 15% at maximum-security prisons and 11% across all adult prisons.

Rep. Mark Born, a Beaver Dam Republican who co-chairs the Legislature’s budget-writing Joint Finance Committee, credited legislative action with greatly reducing staffing shortages.  

“As I’ve talked to the prisons in my district, they’re happy to see that the recruit classes are much larger and the vacancies are about half of what they were prior to the action in the last budget,” he told Wisconsin Watch. 

Vacancies rise following initial progress

It’s true that vacancies are nowhere near their previous crisis levels. Those include rates in Waupun and Green Bay, where officials previously locked down prisoners during severe staffing shortages. Green Bay now has just over half the vacancy rate it had during the height of the crisis. Waupun has recovered even more dramatically. After plunging much of last year, its vacancy rate has hovered near 20% in recent months.

But vacancies are increasing across much of the prison system, corrections data show. As of July 1, rates reached 26% at maximum-security prisons and more than 17% overall. The department has lost more than 260 full-time equivalent officer and sergeant positions over the past nine months. 

The vacancy rate at Columbia Correctional Institution in Portage, which has the most gaping staffing shortage, reached 41% on July 1, up from a low of 11% a year ago. 

Push to close Green Bay prison

The new state budget appropriated $15 million “to develop preliminary plans and specifications” to realign the Department of Corrections and eventually close the Green Bay prison, whose vacancy rate has grown from a low of 9% last October to nearly 25%.

Republicans proposed closing the prison by 2029, but Evers used his veto power to remove that date, saying he objected to setting a closure date “while providing virtually no real, meaningful, or concrete plan to do so.” 

How a future prison closure would shape long-term population trends may hinge on what replaces the prison. Evers earlier this year proposed a $500 million overhaul to, among other provisions, close the Green Bay prison; renovate the Waupun prison — adding a “vocational village” to expand workforce training; and convert the scandal-plagued Lincoln Hills and Copper Lake youth prison into an adult facility.

Republicans rejected that more ambitious proposal in crafting the bill that became law. 

Closing the Green Bay prison without replacing its capacity might reduce the prison population — and ease staffing shortages, Clancy argues. With less space to put those convicted of crimes, judges might issue shorter sentences, he said. 

“Every time I’ve spoken with a criminal judge, I’ve asked if they are aware of the number of beds available when they sentence someone. They always are,” Clancy said. “And I ask if that knowledge impacts their sentencing decisions. It always does.”

But for now, corrections employees are supervising a rising number of prisoners. The state’s total prison population is up about 7% since the compensation boost took effect. Wisconsin now houses more than 23,400 prisoners in facilities built for about 17,700, with the state budget estimating that number to rise over the next two years.

The Department of Corrections did not respond to multiple requests for comment on staffing trends.

‘How much of your soul can you afford to lose?’

Multiple corrections officers called rising vacancies predictable as new officers, attracted by competitive starting wages, discovered the demands of the work.

“It doesn’t surprise me one bit,” said a former officer who recently left a job in Waupun. He requested anonymity to avoid jeopardizing future employment in law enforcement. “They put a Band-Aid on the problem. They lured people in, thinking they were going to make more money. But the reality is the job hasn’t changed.” 

Even before the raises, it was not uncommon for officers to make upwards of $100,000 as they banked overtime pay while being forced to cover for open shifts. That pay came at a steep cost to work-life balance, said Rich Asleson, a correctional officer between 1997 and 2022, most at the former Supermax facility in Boscobel.

“It’s not a matter of needing more money. It’s a matter of how much of your soul can you afford to lose?” Asleson said. 

Additionally, officers say they feel added risks — whether reprimands, lawsuits or even criminal charges — as news media increasingly scrutinize their actions. Multiple deaths of Waupun prisoners, for instance, resulted in rare criminal charges against the warden and eight other staff members. Officers say they get little support, with a larger focus on penalties and firings than reforming conditions.  

More predictable hours, improved training practices and restored union protections would make the work more attractive, officers said.

“It’s one thing to do a job where you’re getting paid and you’re miserable,” the former Waupun officer said. “But can you imagine doing a job and feeling like you’re not even backed up by Madison? There’s people that are getting into trouble because the powers that be are scared, too. (Leaders) think if they’re ever called to the carpet, they can point to all the people they terminated.”

The officer said veterans, fearing reprisals, are increasingly choosing posts that separate themselves from prisoners and riskier work. They are less willing to train incoming officers due to turnover — seeing that time as wasted if new officers won’t stay long, he added. 

The Department of Corrections should improve training and retention by pairing veteran officers with rookies on shifts to show them the ropes — designating training specialists, he said. 

Waupun mayor: Prison guards go unappreciated

Waupun Mayor Rohn Bishop blames news media for recruiting and retention challenges, saying coverage disproportionately scrutinizes officers without recognizing their difficult jobs. 

“I’m the mayor of a town with three prisons within its city limits. Any time an inmate dies all the TV trucks show up and reporters put microphones in my face,” Bishop said. “But when an officer gets killed or hurt for just doing their job, almost no media pay attention. And I think there’s a burnout because of that.”  

Compared to other front-line workers, correctional officers often go unseen and unthanked, Bishop said. 

“You see firefighters. You see nurses. You see cops. You see these other front-line workers. You don’t see correctional officers because they walk on the other side of the wall. And I just think we don’t appreciate them,” Bishop said. 

Improving conditions for prisoners would simultaneously benefit correctional officers by boosting morale across prisons. That includes expanding the Earned Release Program, which offers pathways for early release to eligible prisoners with substance abuse issues who complete treatment and training — with the potential to ease overcrowding.  Evers’ initial budget proposal included provisions that would have expanded eligibility for the Earned Release Program. The final budget included about $2 million to support programs to reduce recidivism and ease reentry.  

“There needs to be a reimagining of what corrections are,” said the former Waupun officer. “It would make it easier for the inmates and the officers.”

Asleson agreed. “You can’t keep people locked away forever,” he said. “I think it’s about hope on both sides of the fence. If nobody has hope, it shows.” 

Wisconsin Watch reporter Sreejita Patra contributed reporting.

‘Band-Aid on the problem’: Past raises haven’t fully solved Wisconsin prison staffing problems is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 11 minutes

This story was originally published by ProPublica. Co-published with APM Reports.

Photography by Sarahbeth Maney.

Reporting highlights

• A powerful doctor: Dr. Nancy Harper is a leading child abuse pediatrician based in Minnesota. She testifies in criminal trials across the Midwest, almost always for the prosecution.

• Casting doubt: Defense attorneys and judges have called Harper’s testimony into question. Two families have filed federal lawsuits against Harper.

• A new review: Prosecutors in Hennepin County said they are conducting a “final, thorough review” of one of Harper’s cases that will include an evaluation of the “medical conclusions.”

In court, Dr. Nancy Harper comes across as professional and authoritative. Often she begins her testimony by explaining her subspeciality: child abuse pediatrics, which focuses on the diagnosis and documentation of signs of child abuse. Her role, she often reminds judges and juries, is solely medical. Whether or not to remove a child from their home, terminate the parent’s rights or, in the most serious cases, charge a caregiver criminally is not up to her.

According to Harper’s testimony, she and her team at the Otto Bremer Trust Center for Safe and Healthy Children in Minneapolis handle about 700 cases of suspected abuse each year. She has testified that 10% to 20% of those wind up confirmed for physical abuse, although it is difficult to determine if these figures are accurate since child protection cases are not public.

When Harper, the center’s director, and her team diagnose abuse, parents and caregivers often struggle to challenge those opinions. By Harper’s own estimation, she’s never been wrong.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a case where I thought it was abusive head trauma and the other specialist didn’t,” Harper testified in 2023, in the case of a day care provider charged with the death of a child in her care.

The defense attorney in the case pressed her: “Have you ever incorrectly diagnosed a child with abusive head trauma?”

“Not currently to my recollection,” she answered.

But in a handful of cases, judges and juries have found day care providers and parents not guilty of crimes after Harper has testified that abuse occurred, though a verdict cannot necessarily be interpreted as a repudiation of Harper or any other expert witness’ determinations or credibility.

Additionally, two federal lawsuits filed recently accuse Harper of ignoring or even concealing alternative explanations for children’s injuries. And, more broadly, medical and legal experts are increasingly questioning a leading child abuse diagnosis, shaken baby syndrome, which is also known as abusive head trauma.

Harper did not respond to requests for comment. She has yet to respond to either lawsuit. In past court testimony, Harper has said that both shaken baby syndrome and abusive head trauma are considered scientifically valid diagnoses by the mainstream medical community. Any controversy, she has said, exists primarily in the legal world rather than the medical one.

Kathleen Pakes, a former prosecutor who now specializes in the forensics of child abuse cases for the Office of the Wisconsin State Public Defender, said Harper’s claim of never making an incorrect diagnosis strains credulity.

“There is no other specialty in medicine that has zero error rate. None,” she said.

Below are four cases in which Harper concluded there was abuse but courts or juries determined otherwise.

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On July 12, 2017, an 11-month-old boy named Gabriel Cooper collapsed in his high chair at the day care that Sylwia Pawlak-Reynolds operated in South Minneapolis. Paramedics took him to Hennepin County Medical Center, where he was declared brain dead a day later.

Harper reviewed Cooper’s medical records and wrote that “in the absence of a well-documented consistent severe accidental injury, non-accidental trauma or abusive head trauma remains the primary diagnostic consideration.” The child, she wrote, was essentially shaken to death. Before any criminal charges were filed, Pawlak-Reynolds boarded a plane for her native Poland to care for her ailing father, according to her attorney. In February 2018, prosecutors charged Pawlak-Reynolds with two counts of second-degree murder, citing Harper’s diagnosis.

According to her husband, Will Reynolds, they did not realize Pawlak-Reynolds was pregnant when she boarded her flight to Poland. She remained there to give birth to their third child, who is now 6, while Reynolds remained in Minnesota with their two older children, who are now 13 and 16. Reynolds said he and his wife have no confidence that she will get a fair trial, and that she fears she will lose custody of their youngest child if she reenters the country. The family has now been separated for eight years.

Early in the case, Pawlak-Reynolds’ attorneys obtained the same copy of Cooper’s hospital records that had been provided to Minneapolis police, which included the paramedics’ report. The document had been printed out at a significantly reduced scale, shrinking the text to the point that some fields were illegible. Two years later, they obtained a second copy, printed at normal size, which revealed a possible alternate explanation for the injuries: “Mom recalls (patient) did fall 2 days ago, striking the back of his head.”

“That was the sort of proverbial silver-bullet evidence that we’re always looking for in every case and usually never find,” said Brock Hunter, Pawlak-Reynolds’ lawyer.

Polish courts, including an appeals court, have denied extradition requests from the U.S. three times, and the country’s minister of justice has affirmed the rulings. The denials are particularly critical of Harper’s assessment. Polish forensic experts evaluated the case records and took note of a finding by a neurology expert hired by Pawlak-Reynolds, who wrote that Cooper carried a gene tied to a blood clotting disorder.

The ambulance report, the Polish judges wrote, “was concealed from the defense.”

“Then, after the fact was made public, it did not affect the actions of the American authorities in any way,” a Polish district court judge wrote in 2022.

The Hennepin County Medical Examiner’s Office certified Cooper’s manner of death as “undetermined” and the date and place of injury “unknown,” a tacit disagreement with Harper’s opinion that Cooper would have collapsed “shortly after infliction of the trauma.”

The Hennepin County Medical Examiner’s Office declined to comment.

Then in 2023, Hennepin County Attorney Mary Moriarty wrote to Pawlak-Reynolds’ attorneys after meeting with them: “We agree that to resolve the current impasse regarding Ms. Pawlak-Reynolds, the best course for all involved is to dismiss the pending charges without prejudice, and for her to return to the United States.”

But months later, Moriarty changed her mind.

In a statement to ProPublica, a spokesperson for the Hennepin County Attorney’s Office wrote that the office is completing a “final, thorough review” of the case that will include an evaluation of “concerns regarding the medical conclusions and the overall strength of the case.”

Gabriel’s parents, Joseph and Samantha Cooper, did not respond to requests for comment. In a television interview in June, they denied that Cooper struck the back of his head two days before his collapse. They said that they want justice for their son.

Pawlak-Reynolds declined to comment through her attorney. In late February, her husband filed a federal lawsuit against Harper that claims she “knowingly and intentionally falsified, modified and erased exculpatory information” from her evaluation of Cooper, and she diagnosed abusive head trauma to “promote her own personal, academic, reputational and financial needs.”

Harper has yet to respond to the lawsuit. A spokesperson for Hennepin Healthcare, which operates Hennepin County Medical Center, declined to comment on the case or the lawsuit.

“There is no oversight,” Reynolds said. “It’s the thing they’re most resistant against and the thing that is most necessary to stop this legacy of brutality, that results in kids being taken away from innocent caregivers and innocent caregivers going to prison.”

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In August 2017, Kathryn Campbell called 911 after a 4-month-old girl at her day care seemed lethargic and was “breathing wrong.” First responders did not take the baby to the hospital, but her mother eventually did. At the hospital, MRI scans showed fluid in the baby’s brain and doctors noted small bruises.

Dr. Barbara Knox, a child abuse pediatrician then with the University of Wisconsin, told police it was “obvious child abuse.” The Dane County district attorney charged Campbell with physical abuse of a child. Campbell pleaded not guilty.

But before the 2021 trial, Knox left the University of Wisconsin after she was placed on leave for “unprofessional acts that may constitute retaliation” and intimidation of her own staff. A Wisconsin Watch investigation cast doubt on Knox’s judgment in several cases of alleged abuse.

Knox did not respond to the Wisconsin Watch series or to ProPublica’s requests for comment. After two families in Alaska sued her in 2022, alleging she had wrongly concluded their children had been abused, Knox wrote in an affidavit that she has no control over whether police and child protection services workers take children away from parents, that she did not “conspire” with police or anyone else on custody issues, and that she did not personally evaluate one of the children. The lawsuit was dismissed in 2024 after the families agreed to drop the matter.

Knox moved on to a job at the University of Florida. According to a spokesperson for the university, Knox resigned as a pediatrician with the Child Protective Team in late June, effective Aug. 15. He declined to comment on the circumstances.

At Campbell’s trial, Knox’s name was never mentioned. Instead, Harper stepped in as an expert witness. When Campbell heard Knox had been replaced, she was initially hopeful.

“I’m like, oh, great, new eyes,” Campbell said. “They’re going to look at it and go, ‘This is nuts, I don’t agree with this.’ And I definitely was wrong.”

Harper’s assessment affirmed Knox’s diagnosis of abuse. She told the jury that the bruises were likely caused by squeezing by an adult’s hand. A medical expert hired by Campbell’s defense argued that the child’s bleeding could not be precisely dated and that a preexisting medical condition could have caused it.

After just two hours of deliberation, the jury returned a not guilty verdict. Campbell said she is grateful to have the case concluded, though she said she is still haunted by the accusations against her.

“That was the hardest thing too, going home after this case was done, and being like, ‘Am I allowed to be alone with my children now?’” she said. “It’s all because of the quote-unquote experts not doing their due diligence and looking further into underlying issues that these kids could have.”

In a statement to ProPublica, Dane County District Attorney Ismael Ozanne expressed confidence in both Harper and Knox, saying “their testimony had been consistent with many different medical professionals and experts in their own areas of practice.”

“It is important to note that a not guilty verdict by lay jurors hardly invalidates the widespread acceptance of abusive head trauma as a diagnosis in the medical community nor would it cause us to have concerns about Dr. Harper’s qualifications or knowledge in the field,” he added. “Jurors are not bound to accept any expert testimony as accurate.”

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In the winter of 2022, a 4-month-old boy began breathing abnormally at his day care in Mineral Point, Wisconsin. His parents took him to a hospital, where he died days later. A police investigation determined that his day care provider, Joanna Ford, left him and several other children alone in her home for over an hour while she went to a tattoo and piercing parlor.

Prosecutors used Harper as an expert witness in the case. After evaluating the child’s medical records, she concluded that his injuries were “clinically diagnostic of abusive head trauma,” or, put another way, Ford shook the baby violently. She was charged with first-degree reckless homicide. Ford pleaded not guilty.

Ford’s defense lawyers successfully petitioned the judge in the case for a hearing to determine whether Harper’s expert witness testimony would be scientifically valid and admissible at trial. In response to questions, Harper explained why the child’s symptoms — brain swelling, blood under his skull, damage to his eyes — pointed to abuse, and why, despite the controversy surrounding it, the diagnosis of abusive head trauma was scientifically sound. She also explained that, because the baby was not walking or crawling, the fact that none of his caregivers could explain his injuries indicated abuse.

“People should know what happened,” she testified.

On cross examination by Ford’s lawyers, Harper said she couldn’t say for certain what time the abuse would have occurred, exactly how Ford had injured the baby and that there are no “great biomechanical models” for shaken baby syndrome.

A little over a month later, Judge Lisa McDougal delivered a highly critical ruling that barred Harper from telling the jury that the child died as the result of “abusive head trauma, non-accidental injury, child abuse or murder.” She also took issue with the idea that a lack of explanation for injuries is indicative of abuse, calling it a “leap in logic.”

“Offering a conclusive opinion as to how an injury may have occurred crosses a line and does not fit within the dictionary definition of what diagnosis is,” McDougal said. The judge also said that Harper views herself as an advocate, and that that casts doubt on her “fidelity to the scientific validation of abusive head trauma diagnoses, especially when it is a close call.”

The murder charge was dismissed. For leaving the children alone, Ford pleaded guilty to the lesser charge of neglect of a child where the consequence is death. She is serving a 10-year prison sentence. Ford, through her attorney, declined a request for an interview. The Iowa County district attorney also declined to comment.

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On Feb. 4, 2022, Paul and Sarah Marshall hosted a dinner for her parents and a family friend at their home in Hudson, Wisconsin. Afterward, their 7-week-old son, Fox, became fussy. Paul Marshall carried him into the mother-in-law unit on the lower level of the house, which was cool and dark, to try to calm him. He emerged minutes later in a panic, yelling that the baby spit up and stopped breathing.

Paramedics rushed Fox to Children’s Minnesota, a hospital about 25 minutes across the state border in St. Paul. Doctors ran tests, and a scan showed Fox had a skull fracture with fluid pooling on both sides of his brain. He died days later.

Harper examined Fox, as well as his twin sister, Liana, and found “skull fractures, likely rib fractures, metaphyseal fractures.”

“This constellation of findings in a nonambulatory infant is clinically diagnostic of inflicted injury or child physical abuse likely occurring on more than one occasion,” she wrote.

But the Marshalls said that wasn’t true. They told Harper that Sarah Marshall had experienced a difficult pregnancy with gestational diabetes and severe anemia, and that Liana had a vacuum-assisted delivery. Both twins had been to their regular pediatrician over health concerns. While Liana’s health improved, Fox’s had not.

A spokesperson for Children’s Minnesota declined to comment on the case.

Because he was the last person alone with Fox before he stopped breathing, Paul Marshall was charged with first-degree reckless homicide. He was also charged with physical abuse of a child for hurting Liana. Sarah Marshall said there was no evidence that her soft-spoken husband had hurt their children.

“The state wanted to cast me as a naive idiot,” she said. “I chose not to believe it because of the logic and facts in my face. I had no reason to believe the accusation.”

At Paul Marshall’s 2023 trial, his defense lawyer, Aaron Nelson, cross-examined the other doctors who treated or evaluated Fox and Liana, and was able to highlight points of medical disagreement. A doctor who tested Liana for genetic disorders said she could not rule out rickets as a possible cause of her bone fractures. A neuropathologist did not agree with Harper that Fox had a trauma-induced blood clotting disorder. By Harper’s own admission on cross-examination, determining the age of the skull fractures in children Fox and Liana’s age was difficult. Nelson called six of his own medical experts to suggest that the difficult birth or a vitamin deficiency could explain the twins’ injuries.

“How many people have to be wrong for Dr. Harper to be right?” Nelson said in closing arguments.

After an 11-day trial, the jury found Marshall not guilty.

In a statement to ProPublica, St. Croix County District Attorney Karl Anderson pointed out that Harper was not the only treating physician who was concerned that Fox and Liana had been abused.

“A not guilty verdict does not mean that the jury concluded that the children were not abused,” Anderson said. “Rather, it means that they did not conclude that the state proved that Paul Marshall caused the death, beyond a reasonable doubt.”

Six weeks after the trial, the family moved three hours away into a century-old farmhouse that is far from the community that they felt wrongfully villainized by.

One of the cruelest impacts of the abuse diagnosis, they said, came after it was clear that Fox would die and the hospital staff began making preparations for his organs to be donated. Sarah Marshall said she had hoped to someday hear her son’s heart beating in another child’s chest. Instead, a court order put a halt to the procedure.

“They were already treating him as evidence,” she said.

The experience of going from a grieving parent to an accused murderer, her husband said, has given the couple post-traumatic stress. Paul Marshall said he is grateful to be with his wife and children, but what he calls a “broken system” has left them unsure whether or not to have another baby or even be left alone with one of their daughters.

“You get pregnant. You go to all of your appointments. You voice all of your concerns. You do everything you’re supposed to do as a parent and your child still dies. And the state tells you it’s your fault,” Sarah Marshall said. “I don’t understand why I live in a world like that.”

Mariam Elba contributed research.

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This doctor specializes in diagnosing child abuse. Some of her conclusions have been called into question. is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.