by Hien Nguyen, LSPC Policy & Campaigns Manager
It’s not lost upon me how discombobulated our world currently feels. As someone who works in the weeds of policy, sometimes I wonder what the point is. Our people are suffering: immigrants are living in fear, people impacted by the criminal legal system are continuously cast out of society, people at the margins are being pushed into isolation, and our families are being ripped apart by state violence. Our government doesn’t see us and they’re not listening. Met with all this, life feels heavy.
Last year, Legal Services for Prisoners with Children co-sponsored AB 1424, The Climate Justice in Prisons and Emergency Response Act (Rodriguez). This bill would protect incarcerated people and prison workers from extreme weather by setting indoor temperature standards, improving emergency plans, and strengthening safety measures. Within the legislative process, this bill was stalled at the Assembly Appropriations Committee and turned into a two-year bill.
Early this year, our bill author dropped AB 1424 because the committee fiscal analysis came back unfavorable, just as California walks into another state budget deficit. Legislators are concerned that this bill would further run up California’s deficit. Luckily, we were able to find a new author in Asm. Gibson, and this bill now re-enters the California legislative cycle as AB 2499.
As we enter Women’s History Month, I want to share the person behind the bill, whose story is rooted in both heartbreak and purpose. Her name is Adrienne Boulware.
Adrienne was a mother, grandmother, friend, and fierce advocate. She was deeply loved by many and was set to walk out of prison in February 2025. But she never made it home. In July 2024, Adrienne died of extreme heat exhaustion inside Central California Women’s Facility. Her death was preventable. She was so close to freedom.
I didn’t know Adrienne personally. But so many friends and colleagues did—people who have shaped me, taught me, and stretched my understanding of love and justice. In the days after her passing, I sat with their grief and read their words in her honor. What I came to understand is that Adrienne was a force. She was a leader, a healer, someone deeply committed to transformation—and she was ready to come home.
My colleague Alissa Moore knew Adrienne. In fact, she championed this bill in honor of Adrienne’s impact on her own life. Alissa emphasizes that Adrienne “did not have to die— she was murdered by a system which values profit over life.” When I look at Alissa, I’m struck by her boldness, the ferocity she brings into policy development and advocacy, mostly her unwavering commitment to sharing the truth to empower and amplify the voice of thoes behind the enemy line. Alissa is smart as hell, and she’s tough.
When Alissa talks about Adrienne, that toughness softens into ease. I could tell they were close, and that she admired Adrienne. While incarcerated together in a subculture built on chaos and violence, Alissa describes Adrienne as a calm, collected person—a grounding force. Adrienne didn’t just inspire her; she motivated her. In a place that banks on instability, Adrienne helped Alissa feel centered, and in many ways, that support carried Alissa forward to her own freedom, and the journey that led her to LSPC and All of Us or None.
Her story didn’t end with the people who knew her. It reached me too. Adrienne lives on in the work I do every day, inspiring me in my work as she’s done with so many.
I think about the lineage of incarcerated women whose resilience and humanity have shaped my own advocacy. While I was never fortunate enough to meet Adrienne, I am grateful to live in her legacy. It’s been one of the greatest gifts of my life to work alongside formerly incarcerated survivors—women who have taught me discipline, shown me what transformation can look like, and helped me understand the depths of healing. Most of all, they have stretched me to nurture and grow my understanding of love.
These connections matter. They don’t just fuel our movement — they allow us all to step into our own wholeness.
I am constantly reminded that policy is a tool for systemic change, and that the true force behind any policy is people: our experiences, our stories, our memories, and in this case, our loved ones. Thank you to all of Adriene’s family for sharing her with us. That’s the point. It’s about us: the shared vision we hold for justice, healing, and how we choose to honor what we’ve lived through.
This bill came at the expense of Adrienne’s life. But it will not be in vain.
No incarcerated person should die a preventable death. More than that, no incarcerated person should have to survive in conditions that deny their humanity. Real transformation requires safe spaces—places where people can heal, grow, and reclaim their lives. Our collective hope is that this bill, in the form of AB 2499, will be a contribution to Adrienne’s legacy.
Even so, this bill’s demands should already be guaranteed. At its core, it calls on our state to do the most basic thing: put emergency protocols in place when an emergency occurs and provide standardized heating and cooling to keep incarcerated people safe.
So in honor of Adrienne, I write these reflections. As AB 2499 starts its new life, we know we need to fight harder than ever to ensure its passage. So I call upon you to share with us:
- Do you personally know someone who has died, suffered a serious illness, experienced significant medical complications, or suffered other harmful medical effects or worsening health conditions because of extreme weather, heat, or climate-related exposure in a California state prison?
- If you could talk to legislators about the living conditions inside prison and climate change, what would you say?
- If you could talk to legislators about what emergency protocols are like, what would you say?
If you or someone you know has been affected, we would like to hear from you directly as we advocate for Assembly Bill (AB) 2499.
Your experiences and your stories keep us grounded in the fight for justice. They shape the policies we push for and remind us why system change is not just an idea—it’s a necessity. But that’s the point: policy is one part of the ecosystem, just one strategy in this much larger movement. It’s where we show up and fight.
We honor the stories shared with us by continuing that fight.
AB 2499 is just one step. But no matter what, we’ll keep going. We keep organizing. We keep demanding more—in honor of Adrienne, and in honor of the countless others like her who deserve safety, dignity, and chances to heal. ✦
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