I TESTIFIED AGAINST THE PRISON GUARDS WHO KILLED ROBERT BROOKS AND EVERYONE FAILED TO PROTECT ME FROM THE HELL THAT CAME NEXT
MICHAEL PEACOCK TELLS HIS STORY
Michael Peacock courtest of Michael Peacock. Photo credit: unknown.
Attica, New York Dec. 7, 2025
By Michael Peacock as told to JB Nicholas
I saw what they did to him.
I was a year into a five-year sentence for selling drugs when prison officials moved Robert Brooks into the "cube" next to mine at the Mohawk Correctional Facility—a medium-security state prison in upstate New York. Mohawk has dorms instead of cell-blocks. Each of us is assigned a bunk in a rectangle-shaped space with waist-high walls called "cubes."
Brooks unpacked his stuff and settled in. It looked to me like he just wanted to stay to himself. He unpacked some tobacco and placed it on top of his locker, but he needed rolling papers. I gave him one. He had a cold or a flu and was just getting over it. He threw up in his cube, on his bed, on the floor. Then he passed out on his bed.
A CO named "Mrs. A" ran the dorm. She looked like a witch: about five foot tall with blonde graying hair. If you saw her on the street and she told you she was a CO you wouldn't believe it. Way past her prime. She had gang members who helped her keep order in the dorm because, alone, Mrs. A could not.
A 6' 10" tall, 400-pound man led Mrs. A's gang. His name was Swift.
When Mrs. A saw Brooks threw up in his cube she didn't call for medical assistance. She motioned to Swift to come speak with her. After speaking with her, Swift put his gloves on, got two other guys he was always with and went over to Brooks' cube.
Swift told Brooks, "Didn't she tell you to clean it up?!" Then Swift started giving Brooks a count.
Brooks started moving, but not fast enough. One of the inmates hit him and the other guy toppled him. They gave Brooks a chance to clean his cube. Another inmate helped him.
Brooks started feeling sick again that evening. I advised him to stay in the bathroom and throw up there. I knew what was going to happen if he threw up again in his cube—they were already talking about it.
Brooks sat on his locker all night. When they turned the lights on at 6:30am he was sitting on top of his locker. He had thrown up again in his cube. Mrs. A was working again that day. This time, Mrs. A didn't have to give anybody orders what to do.
They went to Brooks' cube.
"Didn't Mrs. A tell you not to throw up again?!," Swift told him.
Brooks didn't fight back as they beat him.
After he was slammed to the floor he tried to get up. He was on his hands and knees crawling saying "Help me, please help me."
COs came and took Brooks away. I didn't see him again. A few days later, Mrs. A was working and she told us to look at the news.
They sent Brooks to Marcy (another medium-security prison close to Mohawk). COs at Marcy killed him. There was a body cam video of it. That was "the news" Mrs. A told us to look at.
It really hurt me, what happened to Brooks. I wanted his family to know what the fuck happened to him. So I told investigators what I saw. They kept asking me what I wanted. All I wanted was for his family and everyone else to know the truth. I never asked for anything in return.
OSI asked me why I'm doing this. (OSI are the initials for the Office of Special Investigations, the internal affairs bureau of the state agency that runs New York's prison system, the Department of Corrections and Community Supervision, or DOCCS.) On camera. On camera I told them this. I still see his face. The fear in his face. Somebody had to stand up for him. It was only right.
I'm also older now. I'm changed. I don't want to do crime anymore. I just want to do the right thing now. And it starts when I'm here. Its not about me anymore.
I expected some blow back, but I never imagined it would be this bad. Ever since he passed away, they kept moving me all over the state. I've been to five different prisons.
I testified at the Grand Jury in March 2025. After testifying at the Grand Jury, they moved me to Wallkill (a medium-security prison in the Hudson Valley). OSI transferred me there.
No cameras or nothing at Wallkill. This is where OSI sends me.
OSI told me to lie if anybody asks why I was sent there. A couple weeks after I got there, about five of the biggest COs in the jail come on the floor and started yelling for me. They took me to a room in the basement. There's a chair in the middle of the room. A sergeant and lieutenant were also there.
The sergeant told me he called around and found out why I was there. The lieutenant said some inmates deserve to have what happened to Robert Brooks happen to them. They wanted to know what I testified against at the Grand Jury. I started to get scared. I told them I'd been on the phone with my mom and asked them to let me go back upstairs and finish the call with my mom before the phones shut off for the night.
They let me go.
Years before I got myself sent to prison, my aorta got torn in a car accident. I have to take blood thinners for the rest of my life. At Wallkill, they stopped giving me my meds. I asked the CO working my dorm, Matthew L. Gallart, to call the nurse so I could get my meds. CO Gallart refused. I asked him to call the sergeant. He told me to "get the fuck away" from him.
When I didn't, he just started spraying me with Pepperspray. He grabbed me in a bear hug and slammed me face-first into the ground. I woke up about three hours later. May 22, around midnight, this happened. Two of my teeth were broken, my hand was swollen up and I have a permanent knot on my head. I found out later that a finger is broken.
It's still broken. They have to break it again to fix it.
That night, they didn't take me to medical or an outside hospital. They transferred me to Shawangunk (a maximum-security prison across the road from Wallkill). I was in a cell for a week before they took me to the infirmary. They never deconned the Pepper spray off me or anything.
All they did was give me a bullshit ticket. The only ticket I got before that was for smoking a cigarette.
They accused me of Tier III assault on staff (in the state prison system’s three-tier disciplinary board, the most serious kind of disciplinary charges are called Tier IIIs). They found me guilty and sentenced me to eight months in the Special Housing Unit with recommended 90 days' loss of good time. Then they sent me Upstate, a maximum-security disciplinary prison near the Canadian border.
I was at Upstate for about two to three months. I appealed. Albany affirmed the assault charge, but gave me a time cut to 90 days. By that time, I already had 110 days in the Box.
Before they gave me the bogus assault charge, I was approved for CASAT. (CASAT is a residential six month drug treatment program that earns prisoners who successfully complete it work release.) After the assault on staff charge, they revoked my CASAT approval. I should have been home by now, on work release.
After I got the time-cut from Albany, they moved me from Upstate to Clinton. Fitzpatrick, the prosecutor in the Brooks case, visited me at Clinton. It was shocking.
"We'll move you down for court," he told me. "You're gonna be moved to a better facility, closer to home."
"Don't worry, everything is gonna be good," Fitzpatrick said. "I'm going to advocate for you."
The trial started in October. They transferred me to Auburn (a maximum-security prison near Utica, where the trial was held.) They fucked that up too. I was in handcuffs almost three days straight. From 6:30am to 7:00pm. I didn't testify until the last day.
Even when I testified, they kept the handcuffs on. Fitzpatrick could have told them to take the handcuffs off, or ask the judge to order them to uncuff me. All he did was tell 'em "If you're comfortable, if it's all right with you, to take the cuffs off."
The first day they had COs take me from Auburn to the courthouse. These officers when we got back to the jail they started telling all the other officers at Auburn.
The next day, they had OSI pick me up.
After testifying, they sent me to Attica. I'm in the worst jail in the state. I'm a non-violent drug offender with a five year sentence. If they didn't take my CASAT, I mighta woulda been home already. Instead, my next-door neighbor has 200 years-to-life. The next guy has 80-to-life. I'm eight hours away from my wife. They don't let me add numbers to my phone list.
I go to the merit board in two years, but I can't take the programs I need to make it. I don't go anywhere. I don't do anything.
When they found who I was at Attica, they put me in a cell at the front of the tier. No one had been in that cell for two years. For two years it was empty.
I don't know what's going to happen next. At this point, I'll be glad to wake up.
Still, I want to finish what I started. If they need me to go to court, I will. Just not handcuffed for three days, like last time.
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