‘I’m Doing This for My Friend’: Imprisoned Man Recounts Watching Guards Beat Messiah Nantwi to Death

Nantwi’s cellmate, the only incarcerated witness in the room as guards allegedly killed the 22-year-old, speaks out for the first time.

Chris Gelardi   ·   March 28, 2025
| Photo: hboening / Getty Images via Canva; Illustration: New York Focus

Messiah Nantwi’s cellmate had to wipe the blood off the floor of their room.

Officers at Midstate Correctional Facility, the state prison in Central New York where the two men were incarcerated, had stormed in and beat Nantwi until he was unconscious. The cellmate had watched: One of the guards pinned him against the wall as the blood splattered, then ordered him to clean it up, he said. Hours later, the then-sanitized cell became a crime scene; Nantwi was dead. It was a week before his 23rd birthday.

It was the second high-profile case of New York state prison guards allegedly killing an incarcerated person within three months. Since the fatal beating of 43-year-old Robert Brooks in December, caught on video at a facility across the street from Nantwi’s, the state’s prison system has descended into chaos. Last month, amid nationwide calls for reform and the indictment of guards allegedly involved in Brooks’s killing, most of the system’s corrections officers walked off the job, launching a wildcat strike that lasted three weeks.

To staff the prisons during the strike, Governor Kathy Hochul deployed New York National Guard troops. One of them, ostensibly overwhelmed in the unfamiliar environment, called in the emergency response team that was allegedly responsible for Nantwi’s death, according to witnesses. His killing became another flashpoint for a system where tensions remain high.

Incarcerated people housed in Nantwi’s dorm heard and witnessed some of the brutal beatdown from outside the cell. Nine overcame fear of retaliation by prison guards and spoke to The New York Times, which first reported the death. Yet the sole incarcerated witness in the room, Nantwi’s cellmate, didn’t get the chance to share what he saw. The afternoon of the alleged killing, authorities removed him from Midstate — to keep him out of vengeful guards’ crosshairs, he said they told him — temporarily cutting him off from phone service.

“I’m doing this for my friend.”

—Messiah Nantwi's cellmate

New York Focus tracked down the cellmate, who recounted the day’s events through phone calls, electronic messages, and a handwritten letter. He requested that his name and location be withheld until grand jury proceedings in Nantwi’s killing commence, fearful that officers at his current facility will prematurely learn of his role in the case and retaliate against him. Onondaga County District Attorney William Fitzpatrick, who was appointed special prosecutor in the case, has said that his office will likely present to a grand jury early next month. Fifteen prison staffers were placed on leave after the incident.

The cellmate’s accounts match the Times’s reporting and the testimony of another witness who spoke to New York Focus. They offer new insight into the gruesome event, the investigation into it, and what incarcerated people have long described as abuse with impunity in New York state prisons.

The cellmate wonders how the prison system will protect him after he testifies and his identity becomes publicly known.

“That’s just a chance I’m taking,” he said. “I’m doing this for my friend.”

Nantwi struggled with debilitating mental illness — post-traumatic stress from a 2021 police encounter in the Bronx that ended with cops shooting him 27 times, according to the New York Daily News. (Police said he shot at them first; Nantwi’s lawyer asserted otherwise.) After a six-month hospital stay, Nantwi became angry and paranoid, his family told the Daily News. He was suspicious of those around him and began speaking to himself. He cried in court, where he was negotiating a gun possession plea from the shootout that’d keep him out of jail.

Then, in April 2023, police arrested Nantwi for allegedly shooting and killing two people — a rival and a stranger, authorities said — over the course of as many days. Prosecutors withdrew the original plea offer, and Nantwi accepted a five-year prison sentence in the gun possession case. The murder cases were ongoing when Nantwi was killed.

| Photo: Odalv / Pexels | Illustration: Leor Stylar

The morning of March 1, Nantwi’s cellmate awoke from a nap to find Nantwi crying. He was off of his psychiatric medication, witnesses told the Times. The cellmate said prison staff hadn’t been giving him his normal medication, and he wouldn’t take what they gave him instead.

Nantwi was still emotional when he went to take a shower later that morning. Witnesses recalled hearing him crying in the shower area. They then heard him get into an argument with a National Guardsman: His shower had overlapped with “count,” the routine security census when officers tally residents as they stand near their cells or bunks.

“I didn’t know it was count,” the cellmate, still in their room, heard Nantwi say in a loud voice.

By all available accounts, the confrontation was uneventful. The cellmate said that Nantwi threw his hands up, then walked back to their cell.

“There was no threat, no act of violence,” Jordan McLin, who was bunked in the same dorm as Nantwi, told New York Focus the day after his death. “But the National Guard felt some type of way,” he said. “They were scared.”

One of the troops activated an alert that called in backup.

The cellmate said he heard keys jingling and shoes traipsing through the snow outside, then the door to their dorm opening. “What room is he in?” he heard a guard ask.

A guard and two officers with the prison’s SWAT-style Correctional Emergency Response Team, or CERT, entered their cell. “Who has the problem?” the guard said. Nantwi and his cellmate replied that there was no problem. A National Guard troop then entered the room and pointed to Nantwi, the cellmate recalled.

One CERT officer approached the cellmate in the back of the room, punched him in the ribs, and told him to shut up, he said. The officer shoved his head against the wall at an angle that allowed him to see other CERT officers enter the room and approach Nantwi.

Roughly seven officers took part in the beatdown, the cellmate and McLin said. (Witnesses outside the room recalled seeing seven to 15 officers responding to the call for backup.) The cellmate remembers seeing them push Nantwi onto his bed and kick and punch his head and body. Some took out their batons and beat him. Others stomped on his head, back, and legs.

At one point, officers picked Nantwi up and slammed him to the ground. The cellmate recalled hearing a “wet splat sound.” They knocked him out twice, the cellmate recalled, returning him to consciousness with more punches and kicks.

Illustration by Matt Williams

One officer kicked Nantwi in the face with a two-step running start, “like he was making a punt in a football game,” the cellmate said. One tried to choke him, the cellmate recalled, but pulled his hand back and said something about Nantwi biting him.

The CERT officers did not wear body cameras, the cellmate said, even though a prison agency policy, promulgated in response to the December killing of Brooks, requires officers to wear body cameras and activate them while interacting with incarcerated people. The only one visibly wearing a body camera was the guard who entered the cell first, the cellmate recalled. Before the beating started, he turned his back to the cell and stood in the doorway, the cellmate, McLin, and other witnesses reported.

Nantwi pleaded with the officers as they allegedly killed him. “I didn’t do nothing,” he said repeatedly, according to the cellmate. “Stop, you’re really hurting me,” he then said. Guards told him to “stop resisting,” even though he wasn’t fighting back, witnesses recalled.

Nantwi’s cries soon became incomprehensible, the cellmate said. Then, he went silent.

The officers continued beating him. Witnesses said it went on for several minutes.

Officers then handcuffed the unconscious Nantwi. He didn’t move. They dragged him out of the room and into the dorm gallery, where dozens of incarcerated people had been watching and listening.

After prisoners mopped up Nantwi’s blood and cleaned the cell, staff with the prison agency’s internal investigations office arrived, soon followed by New York State Police officers, the cellmate said. The officers and investigators took witness statements, then told the cellmate to pack his things. They told him his safety was at risk, he recalled.

The cellmate spent the next several days transferring between prisons. Authorities told him the movement was for his protection, but it made it difficult for him to communicate with the outside world: To call new people, prisoners must add them to a list for facility administration to approve, which can take hours or days. He said he jotted down the day’s events as soon as he had the opportunity, while the horrors were still fresh in his mind.

Incarcerated people have long complained about abuse by New York state prison guards. A culture of impunity offers ample opportunity for violence with no consequences, they say. Anecdotes of officer “beat-up squads” killing or mangling incarcerated people go back years. Nantwi’s beating wasn’t an aberration, the witnesses claim — it was only one instance that, like Brooks’s killing, guards took too far and couldn’t get away with.

One officer kicked Nantwi in the face with a two-step running start, “like he was making a punt in a football game.”

—Messiah Nantwi's cellmate

“We don’t want this to keep happening,” said McLin, who’s five months into his second stint in New York state prisons. “This shit has been happening for too long.”

In a lengthy statement, the head of the Department of Corrections and Community Supervision, Daniel Martuscello, expressed outrage at Nantwi’s killing.

“Several months ago, I vowed that I would not allow violence to become normalized in our facilities,” he said. “My commitment to this goal has never wavered. It’s on us to create a culture that isn’t based in violence and respects the lives of everyone in our care.”

“This cannot continue and I will not allow these horrible acts to define us,” Martuscello said. “It is time for this to end.”

As for the cellmate, the beatdown has stuck with him, he said.

“Messy,” as he called him, was a friend, and seeing him killed has left him with lasting trauma. Atop a letter he sent to New York Focus, the cellmate apologized for his sloppy handwriting. “My hand has been shakey since the incident,” he wrote.

On a phone call, he said he’d barely slept. “I’m reliving it over and over again,” he said. “I’m seeing it again and again and again. It’s not going away.”

BEFORE YOU GO, consider: If not for the article you just read, would the information in it be public?

Or would it remain hidden — buried within the confines of New York’s sprawling criminal-legal apparatus?

I started working at New York Focus in 2022, not long after the outlet launched. Since that time, our reporters and editors have been vigorously scrutinizing every facet of the Empire State’s criminal justice institutions, investigating power players and the impact of policy on state prisons, county jails, and local police and courts — always with an eye toward what it means for people involved in the system.

That system works hard to make those people invisible, and it shields those at the top from scrutiny. And without rigorous, resource-intensive journalism, it would all operate with significantly more impunity.

Only a handful of journalists do this type of work in New York. In the last decades, the number of local news outlets in the state has nearly halved, making our coverage all the more critical. Our criminal justice reporting has been cited in lawsuits, spurred legislation, and led to the rescission of statewide policies. With your help, we can continue to do this work, and go even deeper: We have endless ideas for more ambitious projects and harder hitting investigations. But we need your help.

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Here’s to a more just, more transparent New York.

Chris Gelardi
Criminal Justice Investigative Reporter
Chris Gelardi is a reporter for New York Focus investigating the state’s criminal-legal system. His work has appeared in more than a dozen other outlets, most frequently The Nation, The Intercept, and The Appeal. He is a past recipient of awards from Columbia… more
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