Johnathan Namauleg often began his prison letters to his mother with a 12-word greeting: "Miss you guys so much how u been long time no see." Photos by Carolyn Drake / Magnum Photos
A probation officer interviewed jail staff for her pre-sentencing report, which offers some clues. She wrote that Johnathan was diagnosed with borderline intellectual functioning, a cognitive disability that can make it hard to adapt to new environments, such as jail. Johnathan's teacher in the jail and an education specialist said they were both "very concerned" about him; the education specialist estimated that Johnathan, who had never been formally tested, had at most an IQ of 70. They recommended that he enter a supportive-housing facility for adults with intellectual and developmental disabilities.Other jail staff told the officer that Johnathan was an "easy target" due to his "limited cognitive functioning and emotional immaturity." She noted that "inmates may have harassed and coerced him, taken his commissary, etc." He was placed on suicide watch four times. Later, he told guards at the facility that he only said he wanted to cut himself because he was afraid of his cellmates and wished to be housed alone. He certainly left jail spooked. When the officer approached Johnathan to hand him a paper to sign, she wrote that "he jumped away as if he were startled or thought he was going to be hit or hurt.""When we talked on the phone from Arizona, the first thing Johnathan always said was that he looked forward to meeting his sister," Arlene says. Maisa was born 15 days after Johnathan died.
From left to right, members of Johnathan's surviving family: Leonard, Maisa, Arlene (Johnathan's mother), and Matua
Letters Johnathan sent to his mother from Saguaro Correctional Center and the Halawa Correctional Facility in Oahu
Jason McCormick was shipped to Saguaro five months earlier, on January 30, 2015. In early February, during his initial mental health evaluation, he told CCA staff that he was in prison for murder and had other "homicide related attempts" in the past, an apparent reference to his trying to strangle former cellmate George Rowan while in Hawaii. In March, he was removed from his cell, which he shared with another person, and brought to the medical unit after telling a shift supervisor that he felt overstimulated, claustrophobic, and homicidal.On the afternoon of July 10, after again being placed with a cellmate, he told CCA staff that he would "hurt others if he was housed with anyone." He was shackled and transferred to a single cell for monitoring. Once the guard unlocked his restraints, McCormick began to slam his head into the cell door. After four warnings to stop, he retreated to the back of the cell, where he continued to bang his head on the wall. He stopped only when hit with pepper spray. Like Johnathan, he received 60 days of disciplinary segregation for failing to follow rules, and another 30 days for threatening to harm another person.As McCormick's behavior grew more erratic, he stopped taking his medication, according to Patty Sells, the prison's health-services administrator. His medical records are confidential, so it's unknown what medication—or combination of medications—he was on. But at earlier periods, according to his prison file, he had taken a variety of antipsychotics, including Seroquel, Abilify, and Risperdal, along with lithium and Depakote for bipolar disorder.He started to decorate his letters home with crosses. On November 30, he wrote Arlene, "Guess what I just got baptize from Jesus Christ. I now a Christian."
Johnathan wore this tie to his high school graduation, as well as this shell necklace. They now hang in Arlene's home, part of a shrine to her son.
A photo collage Arlene made to commemorate the anniversary of her son's death
On a cool morning in October, Arlene sits in front of the television, folding and packing clothes for her upcoming trip. Her daughter, Maisa, now 14 months old, wobbles around the living room. "She started to walk three weeks ago, and she already thinks she's an expert," Arlene says. On cue, her daughter takes a tumble, then giggles with her face planted in the rug.The sky is gray, and the forecast calls for rain. Tomorrow morning, Arlene and her daughter will begin the three-flight, 14-hour journey to Saipan, arriving in time for All Saint's Day on November 1. She hasn't been to the island in six years; this will be her first visit to Johnathan's grave in Saipan's Catholic cemetery. Her oldest son, Vincent, had flown to Saipan with Johnathan's remains earlier in the year, but Arlene hadn't felt ready to make the trip.Arlene has spent the past six months slowly putting her life back together. After taking some months to be home with Maisa and process her grief, she realized that she needed to get out of the house or she would spiral into a deeper depression. In April, she was hired as a part-time cashier at Rite Aid, then rapidly promoted to shift supervisor. She has made new friends among her co-workers. "I'm trying to stay busy," she says.At a yard sale last summer, she picked up a large picture frame, which she used to make a photo collage of her son to commemorate the anniversary of his death. In the center is a blown-up photograph of Johnathan on graduation day in Maui. He is giving a hang-loose sign with one hand and holding his certificate in the other. It is how Arlene prefers to remember her son: at peace and optimistic about the future.In Pinal County, Arizona, McCormick has been charged with first-degree murder for Johnathan's death. He remains in the custody of CCA at Saguaro. The prosecutor recently asked if Arlene would testify in support of the death penalty for the man who murdered her son. Arlene declined. "I don't want to punish him any more," she says. "He's sick. He needs help."Arlene is less forgiving of the company now known as CoreCivic. She has retained an attorney, who recently filed a wrongful-death lawsuit against CCA in Arizona's Superior Court. The complaint charges the company with gross negligence, recklessness, and deliberate indifference to Johnathan's safety. CCA typically settles such suits out of court, and made an immediate offer. Arlene rejected it just as quickly. She wants to know what exactly happened to her son."I know that Johnathan's up there, watching me," she says. "I'm sort of the quiet and shy type. But I'm gonna show him that I'm not gonna let this go."This article was reported in partnership with the Investigative Fund at the Nation Institute.Arlene has spent the past six months slowly putting her life back together. "I'm trying to stay busy," she says.