Who is “Jay” — and why the Jay Act exists

Jose “Jay” Rodriguez is my brother.

Before anything else—before the system, before the sentence, before the labels—he is family. He is someone who laughs, who guides others, who has mentored the people around him even while living in one of the most unforgiving environments imaginable.

For more than a decade, Jay has been incarcerated. And for years, I have watched from the outside as he has tried to survive not just confinement—but neglect.

He has asked for help.
He has followed the rules.
He has filed grievances.
He has been approved for care.

And still… he waits.

Today, Jay is battling squamous cell carcinoma—a cancer that began on his eyelid. What should have been addressed early, what should have been treated with urgency, was instead met with delay, inaction, and medical indifference.

Now, that cancer has progressed—attaching to his eyeball and possibly spreading to his neck.

This is what neglect looks like.
This is what delay costs.

There is a particular kind of pain that comes with knowing someone you love is suffering—and you cannot reach them. That their health is declining while requests go unanswered. That decisions about their care are delayed, ignored, or lost in a system that moves without urgency for the people inside it.

You start to realize something devastating:
This is not an exception. This is happening to people every single day.

And yet—even now, in the middle of his own fight—Jay continues to show up for others.

While battling cancer, he has continued to advocate, to guide, and to uplift the people around him. He has earned accomplishments, built respect, and used his voice to support others who feel forgotten. In a place designed to break people, he has chosen to build.

The Jay Act Advocacy & Legal Reform Initiative was born out of that realization—and out of refusal.

Refusal to accept that incarceration should mean neglect.
Refusal to stay silent while lives are treated as disposable.
Refusal to let my brother’s suffering—and the suffering of so many others—go unseen.

This is bigger than Jay. But it starts with him.

The Jay Act is a demand for humanity inside a system that too often forgets it. It is a call for timely, adequate medical care. For accountability when institutions fail. For transparency where there has been silence.

Most of all, it is a promise:

That we will not look away.
That we will not stop pushing.
That we will fight—for Jay, and for every person whose voice has been ignored behind prison walls.

Because no one deserves to suffer in silence.
And no system should be allowed to operate without answering for that suffering.