I can still remember my brother, Franklyn Dominguez, running through Central Park. At just 13 years old, he was already something of a track prodigy — winning citywide races, racking up medals, even getting covered in Spanish news outlets like Telemundo and Univision.
More than two decades later, that same boy is gone.
On Feb. 26, 2025, during an illegal strike by corrections officers in New York state, Franklyn died in state custody at Sing Sing Correctional Facility. He was 35 years old. To date, we have no official explanation, no incident report, no official cause of death, no letter from the state. What little information we have has come through our attorney’s investigation.
It is a cruel waiting game.
Franklyn was a complicated young man. We survived a violent household in East Harlem together. Although he struggled with mental health and substance use — challenges that led to his incarceration — he was more than what he endured. He deserved care and rehabilitation.
Instead, he faced brutality over five and a half years in prison. Near the end of his life — and potentially as retaliation for his attack on a guard years prior — he was often beaten, stripped of communication privileges, denied food, and subjected to prolonged solitary confinement.
The prison system did not see him as a person, and continues to deny his humanity. We submitted an inquiry to the New York State Department of Corrections and Community Supervision, but have only received confirmation that our correspondence was “forwarded to the Office of Special Investigation for the appropriate action.”
Franklyn died during a statewide corrections staff protest against the Humane Alternatives to Long-Term Solitary Confinement Act, a new law designed to limit the use of long-term solitary confinement. When thousands of officers walked off the job, violating a key law that forbids them from striking, countless incarcerated people were left behind without adequate health care, supervision or even basic safety protocols. At least six other people in addition to Franklyn died during the strike, The New York Times reported.
According to information collected by our lawyer, Franklyn was found huddled over the toilet in his cell. At the time of his death, he had tested positive for COVID, and had two powerful antipsychotic medications in his system. I want more information about these drugs. Who was administering them, and at what dosages? If he was COVID-positive, was he exhibiting symptoms? Did he have access to any care? Did the drugs affect his cardiovascular system? Was there any attempt to monitor his condition as his health deteriorated?
What is perhaps most galling is that the state refuses to properly account for what happened under its watch. DOCCS has offered no transparency about the conditions during the strike, or what, if any, emergency measures were in place other than the activation of the National Guard. To date, there’s been no public investigation, no independent oversight and no assurance that it won’t happen again.
The families of those who died deserve the truth. The public has a right to know what happens inside its prisons. We need full transparency and real accountability. And we need to affirm that life does not lose its value the moment someone enters a prison.
Franklyn was my kid brother — a spirited, mischievous young man who could always make people laugh. He wanted to go to college and pursue running professionally; his many certificates, medals and awards are a bittersweet testimony of Franklyn’s potential and the man he could have been. To be his sister was to know both the pain he carried and the vibrant spirit that refused to be extinguished.
It has been over 80 days since Franklyn’s death, and the grief feels like it’s swallowing us whole. During sleepless nights, my family and I replay his last days over and over. My mother cries until there’s nothing left, and then cries again the next day. My sister and I refresh our email inboxes constantly, trapped in a waiting game as our Freedom of Information Act requests inch through red tape, desperate for any fragment of truth about what happened to Franklyn.
Franklyn was not sentenced to die. He had been scheduled to appear before a parole board this summer, with plans for a conditional release to a halfway house by the fall. He eagerly anticipated returning home, embracing a second chance, and showing up for his four children. His life still held promise and purpose. And the state of New York cannot be allowed to treat his death, and others, as collateral damage.
Some days, we carry guilt for being on the outside, safe, while he was trapped inside, in danger. Some days, the sadness is so heavy it’s hard to breathe. Other days, the anger is so fierce it feels like it could burn everything down. Losing Franklyn has left a hole in our family we don’t know how to fill — and the worst part is not knowing if we ever will.
Editor’s note: In an email to a Prison Journalism Project editor, a DOCCS spokesperson said that the New York State Police and the state Office of the Attorney General, in addition to the DOCCS Office of Special Investigations, “responded to Sing Sing to investigate” Franklyn Dominguez’s death. “DOCCS cannot comment on pending investigations,” the spokesperson said. They added that it is up to “coroners and medical examiners to determine if results will be released and to whom.”
In response to questions about Dominguez’s medical care and medication management, the spokesperson declined to comment, citing a medical privacy law.
“During the strike, the Department focused on keeping everyone inside the correctional facilities safe and secure and providing essential services including, but not limited to, meals, showers, telephones, commissary, package delivery, and medical and mental health care, including medication,” the spokesperson said.
