In the early hours of May 16, 2025, ten inmates escaped from the Orleans Parish Justice Center in what may be the most consequential failure since the facility came under federal oversight more than a decade ago. Among them was Derrick Groves, convicted in October 2024 of two counts of second-degree murder and two counts of attempted murder in a 2018 Mardi Gras Day shooting that left two dead and two others injured.
This wasn’t a coordinated riot or a violent takeover. Surveillance footage shows that the men removed a toilet-sink fixture, slipped through a hole in the wall, accessed an unsecured maintenance corridor, exited through a loading dock, and scaled a fence. The last of them disappeared into the night just after 1 a.m.
No one noticed until 8:30 a.m., when a routine headcount exposed the breach.
The public wasn’t notified until approximately 12:00 a.m.—more than ten hours after the time that the jail confirmed the escape happened.
“Why wasn’t there this big alarm rung when the media was informed, all the law enforcement agencies, outside law enforcement agencies like NOPD, state police, the public was notified?” asked City Council President Helena Moreno. “These things should have happened immediately as soon as they found out.”
In another interview, Moreno also questioned the jail’s surveillance capability:
“Did no one see this on the cameras? Is anyone watching the cameras? You would think this would be a huge—somehow the system would flag this like, ‘Hey, there’s a bunch of people now running out of the building.’”
District Attorney Jason Williams called the escape “a complete failure of the most basic responsibilities entrusted to a sheriff or jail administrator.”
Sheriff Susan Hutson publicly acknowledged “serious lapses in oversight” during a press conference on May 17. She also told reporters: “It’s almost impossible—not completely—but almost impossible for anybody to get out of this facility without help.”
As of May 19, six of the ten escapees remain at large. The FBI and ATF are offering a $20,000 reward per fugitive, and the manhunt continues.
In response, Hutson’s office has suspended three jail employees and opened an internal investigation. Meanwhile, Governor Jeff Landry has ordered an external audit of the jail and an investigation by the Louisiana Department of Corrections.
Twelve years into a federal consent decree meant to prevent exactly this kind of breakdown, the Orleans Parish Justice Center is once again in crisis. And the question now facing the city is no longer how the escape happened—it’s why this jail, after hundreds of millions in reforms, was still so easy to walk out of.
Origins of the Consent Decree
The Orleans Parish Prison has long been a focal point of concern due to its deplorable conditions and systemic failures. In 2009, the U.S. Department of Justice launched an investigation into the facility, uncovering numerous constitutional violations. The findings highlighted issues such as inadequate protection from harm, insufficient mental health care, and a lack of basic sanitation. Inmates were subjected to violence, denied access to necessary medical services, and placed in solitary confinement without supervision.
In response, the DOJ filed a lawsuit in 2012, leading to the negotiation of a sweeping federal consent decree. The agreement was a collaborative effort between the DOJ, the Orleans Parish Sheriff’s Office (then under Sheriff Marlin Gusman), and civil rights organizations including the Southern Poverty Law Center and the ACLU of Louisiana.
On June 6, 2013, U.S. District Judge Lance Africk approved the final consent judgment. In his ruling, he wrote:
“The Court finds that the proposed consent judgment is the only way to overcome the years of stagnation that have permitted OPP to remain an indelible stain on the community, and it will ensure that OPP inmates are treated in a manner that does not offend contemporary notions of human decency.”
The decree mandated systemic reforms: improved inmate supervision, segregation of vulnerable populations, access to mental health and medical care, suicide prevention protocols, and operational upgrades to staffing, sanitation, and nutrition. The court also appointed monitors to track progress and report directly to Judge Africk.
But even at its outset, implementation proved difficult. In 2016, under mounting criticism for failing to comply with the court’s mandates, Sheriff Gusman agreed to temporarily relinquish day-to-day control of the jail to a federally appointed compliance director.
Funding became a consistent point of conflict. The City of New Orleans and the Sheriff’s Office fought repeatedly over who should bear the costs of compliance. As pressure mounted from the court and civil rights attorneys, the basic functions of the jail—safety, health, accountability—remained elusive.
Even now, over a decade later, the consent decree remains in force, and the Orleans Parish jail remains under federal oversight. But many of the conditions that sparked the decree, including violence, poor supervision, and neglect, have never been fully resolved.
Twelve Years of Warnings
When the Orleans Parish Sheriff’s Office agreed to the federal consent decree in 2013, the expectation was that meaningful reform would take place within a few years. But twelve years later, the jail remains in federal receivership, the conditions inside are still dangerous, and the promises of transformation have given way to a familiar cycle of report, reprimand, repeat.
Since the decree was approved, federally appointed monitors have issued dozens of reports detailing OPSO’s failure to meet basic constitutional standards. These reports cover everything from excessive use of force to inadequate mental health care, faulty staffing levels, and the failure to segregate violent inmates from vulnerable populations.
In a report filed in April 2025, just weeks before the jailbreak, monitors warned that the Justice Center was operating with a 28% vacancy rate among correctional staff—far exceeding the 20% threshold considered necessary for safety. They found that housing units were frequently left unsupervised, and that high-risk inmates were not properly segregated. The report called these conditions a “severe and ongoing threat to the safety of inmates and staff.”
That warning came nearly a year after a 2024 monitor report flagged “critical deficiencies in supervision, reporting, and accountability,” and cited an uptick in use-of-force incidents and delayed medical treatment. Similar concerns were raised in 2017, 2019, and 2021, each time with pointed criticism but little long-term change.
Leadership transitions haven’t resolved the problem. Under former Sheriff Marlin Gusman, the jail came under court control after years of stalled progress. In 2016, Gusman agreed to temporarily cede authority to a court-appointed compliance director—an extraordinary step that reflected just how far OPSO had drifted from its obligations.
When Susan Hutson was elected in 2022, she became the first woman to hold the office, campaigning as a reformer who would prioritize transparency and constitutional policing. But the monitors’ reports under her tenure have continued to show deep noncompliance, particularly around staffing, facility management, and mental health care.
At a May 2025 press conference following the escape, Hutson said, “This has been a systemic issue that’s been going on for a long time.” She reiterated that the problems were inherited but acknowledged, “We had serious lapses in oversight.”
The jail’s failure to comply with court mandates has become somewhat of the norm and unfortunately, not quite that revealing. And for every reform pledged on paper, there is another headline about a death in custody, another report of ignored mental health needs, another warning from federal monitors about conditions that place people at risk.
The consent decree was meant to be a blueprint for change. Instead, it’s become a chronicle of recurring collapse.
Phase III, Politics, and the Price of Reform
Of all the promises built into the federal consent decree, none has provoked more political controversy—or more delay—than the construction of Phase III.
Originally proposed as a separate mental and medical health facility within the Orleans Parish Justice Center complex, Phase III was intended to house inmates with serious mental illness and provide appropriate services to reduce solitary confinement, suicide risk, and excessive use of force. For years, federal monitors and Judge Lance Africk have emphasized that Phase III is not optional. He declared that it is a required component of constitutional care under the consent decree.
Yet more than a decade after the court’s order, the facility still doesn’t exist.
The plan to build Phase III was first introduced under Sheriff Marlin Gusman, but ran into fierce resistance from local advocates who feared it would expand the jail’s capacity under the guise of mental health reform. Civil rights groups like the Orleans Parish Prison Reform Coalition argued that investing in a mental health wing inside the jail was a “carceral solution” to a public health crisis that should be addressed through community services, not incarceration.
For years, Mayor LaToya Cantrell’s administration refused to allocate funding for the new building, siding with reformers who opposed its construction. City Council members also raised concerns about rising costs. Phase III was projected to cost more than $50 million, not including staffing or operations.
The Lens reported that, by 2023, the total projected cost had surged to approximately $109 million, prompting the Council to allocate an additional $22 million to close a funding gap. The city had already signed an $89 million construction contract with McDonnel Construction Services. Although FEMA is contributing $39 million, the remaining $70 million is being pulled from the city’s own capital funds—money that was originally earmarked for parks, libraries, and building maintenance. Several Council members expressed deep concern over the trade-offs involved, warning that they were being forced to defund critical public resources in order to comply with the federal mandate. Others questioned the long-term operating costs, including the expense of staffing and providing medical and mental health services, which had not been fully detailed by the Sheriff’s Office.
That standoff led to multiple federal hearings, during which Judge Africk criticized the city’s refusal to comply with court-ordered mandates. In a 2021 ruling, Africk wrote:
“The City of New Orleans is in contempt of court. The refusal to fund Phase III does not relieve the City of its obligation to provide constitutional care to persons held at OJC.”
Eventually, the city relented. In 2022, under legal pressure, the City Council voted to fund the design phase of the facility. But construction has been slow-moving. And despite repeated court orders, procurement issues, engineering delays, and political infighting have pushed the timeline into 2026 and beyond.
Meanwhile, the need for a secure mental health facility remains urgent. A 2023 report by jail monitors cited a lack of therapeutic beds, inadequate suicide prevention protocols, and staff unequipped to manage psychosis or trauma. The report concluded that “the failure to complete Phase III continues to expose the city to legal and human rights liability.”
Sheriff Susan Hutson has expressed support for the facility, but has also called for “reimagining” the approach. Hutson made the point to the Council in 2023 that we don’t want a mental health wing that replicates incarceration, but rather a treatment space that aligns with constitutional care and trauma-informed models.
Still, the construction delays raise an uncomfortable question: If neither city leaders nor the Sheriff’s Office can deliver what the court has demanded for more than a decade, is the consent decree even enforceable?
And if not, who—if anyone—is accountable?
Beyond Oversight: Can the Consent Decree Still Work?
The federal consent decree over Orleans Parish jail operations was supposed to be a temporary intervention , or rather, a roadmap, and a bridge to reform.
Twelve years later, it looks more like a warning label.
Despite millions spent, dozens of court hearings, countless monitor reports, and the appointment of a compliance director, the jail remains in crisis. The May 2025 jailbreak—after over a decade of oversight—wasn’t a fluke. It was a symptom, and a sign that constitutional care at the Orleans Parish Justice Center is still out of reach.
So what happened?
Part of the answer lies in scope. The consent decree was never designed to fix the city’s fractured mental health infrastructure, the state’s mass incarceration crisis, or the deep racial inequities that define punishment in Louisiana. It was focused on minimum constitutional standards inside one jail. But even those limited reforms have proven too politically fraught, too expensive, or too delayed to implement effectively.
Part of the failure lies in enforcement. While federal courts can issue mandates, they can’t always compel local cooperation, especially when city officials and sheriffs disagree. The stalemate over Phase III exposed just how fragile consent decrees can be when local politics override legal obligation.
And part of the problem is public fatigue. For years, media coverage of the jail has come in waves: deaths in custody, suicides, staff shortages, legal battles, lawsuits. Then there’s silence with little sustained attention, and even less accountability.
Judge Lance Africk has made clear that the consent decree remains in place until the jail reaches compliance. In a 2021 court ruling, he wrote:
“This Court has been more than patient. But patience is not the same as inaction.”
That patience may be wearing thin.
The 2026 sheriff’s race will be the next major test. Sheriff Susan Hutson faces three declared challengers—Edwin M. Shorty Jr., Michelle Woodfork, and Judge Julian Parker—all of whom have cited the jail’s failures as central to their campaigns. If voters demand change, they may get a new face in office—but not necessarily a new outcome.
The political pressure extends beyond local elections. On May 19, 2025, State Representative Aimee Adatto Freeman issued a public statement calling the escape “an alarming failure of leadership” and urging Sheriff Hutson to resign. Freeman accused the Sheriff of deflecting blame and noted that the office held $14 million in reserve. She stated that if Hutson had needed additional resources for security, she “could have simply asked.” Freeman ended her letter: “Leadership matters, and right now, the people of New Orleans deserve better. Sheriff Hutson should resign.”
Because what’s broken here isn’t just one administration or one facility. It’s a system that’s been allowed to operate outside of accountability for decades. The consent decree was supposed to fix that. Instead, it has exposed just how hard it is to fix at all.
And so the question remains, not just for OPSO, but for the city, the state, and the federal government watching from the bench:
How long can New Orleans afford to keep promising reform while the doors stay open?
Editor’s note: An earlier version of this story stated the public was not notified until 6:30pm. However, the public was notified at approximately 11:00am, which is still approximately 10 hours after the escape happened, consistent with initial reporting.
