On the evening of October 1, 2025, right after supper at Federal Correctional Institution Memphis, a 300-pound inmate named Treon grabbed his frail, elderly cellmate by the neck. But this wasn’t just a sudden outburst of prison violence—it was a calculated attack by a convicted murderer who closed the cell door and covered the window to prevent witnesses from seeing what he was doing to the terrified 69-year-old physician trapped inside.
The victim was Dr. Shiva Akula, serving a 20-year sentence for healthcare fraud. As Treon McEllroth physically assaulted him in the enclosed cell, Dr. Akula feared he would die. That’s why he screamed for help, desperately hoping someone would hear him before it was too late.
What began as a dispute over Treon’s loud nighttime activities would become yet another chapter in a disturbing pattern of institutional failure that may ultimately cost Dr. Akula his life—not from violence, but from the Federal Bureau of Prisons’ systematic violation of his constitutional right to effective and meaningful access the courts.
The Terror Behind Closed Doors
The physical assault on Dr. Akula didn’t occur in a vacuum, and the details reveal a level of premeditation that makes the BOP’s failure to prevent it even more unconscionable. For over a month and a half, the elderly physician had been requesting a cell transfer from his unit team, specifically asking Correctional Counselor Alexander to move him away from Treon. The issue wasn’t just simple noise complaints—it was systematic sleep deprivation.
Treon’s harassment was methodical and relentless. He would keep the lights on in the cell all night long while talking loudly. He would play music very loud—music that Dr. Akula wouldn’t normally listen to and didn’t enjoy, adding psychological torture to the physical discomfort. For an elderly man already under the stress of a 20-year prison sentence and ongoing legal battles, this sleep deprivation was particularly cruel.
Dr. Akula had followed proper channels, making both informal verbal requests and formal written requests alongside another inmate named Geer, who faced similar issues with his own cellmate. The plan was straightforward—move Dr. Akula into Geer’s cell, solving both prisoners’ problems. But weeks passed with no action from Counselor Alexander.
Meanwhile, pressure was mounting from another direction. Treon wanted Dr. Akula moved so he could bring in his preferred cellmate, one of his “homeboys”. The situation became increasingly volatile when Treon’s homeboy appeared at Dr. Akula’s cell just before lockdown with his chair, demanding that Dr. Akula move to accommodate the unofficial transfer—a request Dr. Akula properly refused since it hadn’t been approved by Counselor Alexander.
By the last week of September, Treon was telling Dr. Akula he would be moving to cell 101. When Dr. Akula went to Alexander’s office seeking clarification, she dismissively told him “she wasn’t going to deal with me today.” Recognizing the danger, Dr. Akula sent an electronic request to Alexander asking for an immediate move, warning that “this [redacted] situation is creating threatening situation for me.” He forwarded the same request to Warden Harrison.
The response to Dr. Akula’s warning was institutional silence. One week later, Treon’s frustration boiled over into violence.
When the attack finally came, Treon made sure it would be as terrifying as possible. He closed the cell door and covered the cell door window, trapping Dr. Akula inside with a convicted murderer who had already told his victim about his past conviction. In that moment, Dr. Akula genuinely believed he might die in that cell. The fact that Treon had previously disclosed his murder conviction wasn’t idle conversation—it was a threat, and Dr. Akula understood it as such when he found himself being physically assaulted by a man who outweighed him by almost 200 pounds.
A System Designed to Fail the Vulnerable
When Dr. Akula screamed for help, other inmates responded, coming from the day room toward his cell. Treon began talking to someone—likely trying to normalize the situation as witnesses approached. Dr. Akula immediately reported the incident to the housing unit’s Correctional Officer and was directed to the Lieutenant’s office.
What happened next reveals the perverted priorities of the prison system. Lieutenant Medina—whom Dr. Akula notes is “known to abuse inmates”—asked if Dr. Akula was “checking in,” prison slang for requesting protective custody. When Dr. Akula explained he simply needed a different cell for his safety, Lieutenant Medina’s solution was to place him in the Special Housing Unit (SHU)—24-hour lockdown with just one hour of recreation four days a week.
Think about this: Dr. Akula was the victim of an assault by a convicted murderer. He had warned the administration multiple times about the escalating danger. He had requested a simple cell transfer that would have prevented the violence entirely. Instead of addressing the systemic failure that allowed the attack to occur, the BOP’s response was to punish the victim by placing him in solitary confinement.
The Investigation Charade
The subsequent investigation by the Special Investigative Services (SIS) reveals how the BOP operates with systematic bad faith even when conducting purported investigations into serious incidents.
When SIS questioned Dr. Akula, they asked if he had touched Treon—essentially asking the elderly victim if he had somehow provoked his much larger cellmate. Dr. Akula’s response was both poignant and telling. He recounted a story from his childhood about a man who wasn’t a doctor but gave him painful shots. The experience was so traumatic that young Akula showed his hands to his grandmother and promised her that when he grew up, he would only use his hands for healing, not hurting.
This wasn’t just a touching anecdote—it was Dr. Akula’s way of explaining his fundamental character to investigators who seemed determined to find him somehow at fault for being assaulted. No, Dr. Akula told SIS, he never touched Treon.
But the investigation took an even more sinister turn when SIS claimed that the medical report showed no injuries. When Dr. Akula asked who had completed this medical report, SIS response was: “Oh, you never saw medical?”
The truth was devastating: Dr. Akula had never been examined by any medical personnel following the assault. There was no medical report because no medical examination had taken place. The only documentation of the incident was a photograph taken by Lieutenant Medina in the Lieutenant’s office—hardly a thorough medical evaluation of potential injuries from being grabbed by the neck by a 300-pound man.
This means SIS was operating from fabricated documentation. Either scenario reveals an investigative process designed not to uncover truth but to minimize institutional liability by casting doubt on the victim’s account.
An SIS team member told Dr. Akula he would “most likely be returned back to general population and Treon and I would be separated in two different units.” As of Dr. Akula’s October 14 email—nearly two weeks after the assault—nothing had happened. Dr. Akula remained in punitive isolation.
The Hidden Cost: Loss of Livelihood
One of the most devastating consequences of Dr. Akula’s victimization has been largely overlooked: he lost his Trulincs work detail assignment as a direct result of being assaulted and placed in the SHU. This isn’t just about lost income—though that matters enormously to a prisoner facing a hyperinflated restitution. It’s about how the BOP’s response to the assault has systematically stripped Dr. Akula of the few stabilizing elements available to long-term prisoners.
Work assignments in federal prison serve multiple purposes beyond the modest pay they provide. They offer structure, purpose, and a sense of contribution that can be crucial for maintaining mental health during long sentences. They also provide opportunities for positive interactions with staff and other inmates outside the adversarial context that dominates so much of prison life.
By placing Dr. Akula in the SHU following his victimization, the BOP didn’t just punish him with solitary confinement—they also stripped him of his work assignment, effectively penalizing him twice for being the victim of an assault they failed to prevent. This creates a perverse incentive structure where victims of prison violence face institutional consequences that may be worse than what happens to their attackers.
The Real Threat: Death by Bureaucracy
While the physical assault on Dr. Akula was serious, it pales in comparison to the institutional violence the Federal Bureau of Prisons has been inflicting on him for over a year. Since September 2024, prison staff at FCI Memphis have systematically denied Dr. Akula access to his own legal documents, effectively sabotaging his pending appeal before the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals (Case No. 24-30315).
The case involves healthcare fraud convictions where a biased judge imposed an absurd 20-year prison sentence and hyper-inflated restitution. Dr. Akula’s appeal deadline approaches while he sits unable to review the 13,204 pages of case records—including 5,079 pages of pleadings, 1,800 pages of hearing and trial transcripts, and approximately 6,100 pages of exhibits—that are critical to his defense.
The constitutional right to court access isn’t a technicality; it’s a fundamental protection established in landmark Supreme Court cases like Bounds v. Smith (1977) and reaffirmed in Lewis v. Casey (1996). The BOP’s own regulations in 28 C.F.R. § 543.10 state clearly: “The Bureau of Prisons affords an inmate reasonable access to legal materials and counsel, and reasonable opportunity to prepare legal documents.”
Yet for over a year, FCI Memphis staff have played an elaborate shell game, shuffling responsibility between departments while Dr. Akula’s appeal deadlines approach.
A Masterclass in Institutional Bad Faith
The timeline of the BOP’s court access violations reads like a manual on how to systematically deny constitutional rights while maintaining plausible deniability:
- September 16, 2024: Dr. Akula’s former attorney, following instructions from prison employee Lawrence Nelson, sends case documents on CDs marked “attorney client” and “privileged.” Nelson specifically told the attorney that 20,000 pages “could not be stored at FCI Memphis”—a demonstrably false claim for any modern correctional facility.
- March 2025: After months of delays, Dr. Akula briefly gains computer access through the education department to review his legal documents.
- March 11, 2025: Education staff member Martin suddenly revokes access, claiming “it was not Education’s responsibility to facilitate access to my legal documents and that ‘we don’t have time to watch you.’”
- March 12, 2025: Unit Manager Johnson threatens to mail Dr. Akula’s electronic case files back to his former attorney (who no longer represents him), explicitly stating this action is retaliation for Dr. Akula filing administrative remedies—a clear violation of 42 U.S.C. § 1997d.
- March 16, 2025: Dr. Akula files a BP-229 administrative remedy requesting immediate access to his legal documents.
What follows is a bureaucratic nightmare that would be comedic if the stakes weren’t so high. Correctional Counselor McDaniel refuses to process Dr. Akula’s administrative remedy. When Dr. Akula appeals to the regional level, it’s rejected for lack of an institutional response that was never provided. When he appeals to the central office, it’s rejected for lack of regional documents that were never generated.
Each level of the administrative remedy process demands documents that the previous level failed to provide, creating an impossible circular requirement designed to exhaust Dr. Akula’s legal options without ever addressing the substantive constitutional violation.
The Broader Pattern of Institutional Abuse
Dr. Akula’s case isn’t isolated—it’s emblematic of how the Federal Bureau of Prisons operates as a law unto itself, systematically violating the rights of prisoners while hiding behind procedural complexity. The same institution that failed to protect Dr. Akula from a predictable assault is the same institution that has spent over a year denying him access to his own legal documents.
Consider the cast of characters involved in these violations:
- Lawrence Nelson: The Supervisory Correctional Systems Specialist who first instructed that Dr. Akula’s documents be sent electronically, then created barriers to accessing them.
- Counselor McDaniel: Who refused to process Dr. Akula’s administrative remedy and created procedural obstacles.
- Unit Manager Johnson: Who explicitly threatened retaliation for filing administrative remedies.
- Warden C. Harrison: Who signed a denial response claiming “E-Discovery” classification issues—a nonsensical justification for denying an inmate access to his own case materials.
- Correctional Counselor Alexander: Who ignored Dr. Akula’s repeated requests for a cell transfer that could have prevented the October 1 assault.
- Lieutenant Medina: Who responded to Dr. Akula’s victimization by placing him in punitive isolation.
This isn’t a case of a few bad actors—it’s a systemic failure that reveals how the BOP operates with impunity, knowing that prisoners have few realistic options for holding the institution accountable.
Constitutional Rights Aren’t Privileges
The Supreme Court has made clear that the right to court access isn’t something prisoners earn through good behavior—it’s a constitutional guarantee that survives incarceration. In Lewis v. Casey, the Court established that prisoners must show “actual injury” from inadequate court access. Dr. Akula’s case meets this standard unequivocally: he cannot review his own case documents before critical appeal deadlines.
The BOP’s violation is particularly egregious because it involves a pending appeal. Under 28 C.F.R. § 543.11(i), “The Warden shall give special time allowance for research and preparation of documents to an inmate who demonstrates a requirement to meet an imminent court deadline.” Instead of compliance, Dr. Akula has faced over a year of obstruction.
The Ultimate Stakes
Dr. Akula is 69 years old, facing a 20-year sentence. At his age, this sentence may well be a life sentence. His pending appeal represents his primary hope for reducing that sentence or overturning his conviction entirely. By systematically denying him access to his legal materials, the BOP isn’t just violating his constitutional rights—it’s potentially condemning him to die in prison for want of the basic tools needed to mount an effective defense.
The violence Treon inflicted on Dr. Akula lasted moments and left no documented medical injuries (because no medical examination was conducted). The violence the Federal Bureau of Prisons continues to inflict through its denial of court access has been ongoing for over a year and threatens to continue until Dr. Akula’s appeal deadlines pass, making any meaningful legal challenge impossible.
The loss of his work detail assignment adds insult to injury, stripping away one of the few sources of purpose and structure available to him during his incarceration. Instead of working on his case, Dr. Akula was subjected to punishment for being the victim of an assault the BOP failed to prevent, while his constitutional rights to court access continue to be systematically violated.
A System Without Accountability
What makes Dr. Akula’s case particularly disturbing is how it exposes the illusion of prisoner rights in the federal system. On paper, prisoners have constitutional protections. In practice, those protections are meaningless when the institution responsible for ensuring them operates with deliberate indifference to constitutional requirements.
The administrative remedy process that is supposed to provide internal accountability has been weaponized against Dr. Akula, turned into a maze of circular requirements designed to exhaust his legal options without ever addressing his substantive claims. When the process itself becomes a tool of constitutional violation, prisoners are left with no meaningful recourse.
The BOP’s actions in Dr. Akula’s case represent something more sinister than mere incompetence—they demonstrate systematic bad faith designed to deny him his constitutional rights while maintaining the appearance of due process.
Time Running Out
As this article is being written, Dr. Akula has just returned from the SHU at FCI Memphis, where he was isolated not for any disciplinary infraction but because he was the victim of an assault that prison officials failed to prevent despite clear warnings. Meanwhile, his legal documents remain inaccessible, his appeal deadlines approach, prison officials continue their year-long pattern of obstruction, and he has lost his work assignment as a collateral consequence of being victimized.
The elderly physician’s request from his October 14 email is heartbreaking in its simplicity: he asks supporters “not to worry” and reports he’s “staying calm and doing meditation everyday which is helping.” He inquires about the status of his direct appeal and expresses his desire to “proceed with denial of court access lawsuit.”
Dr. Akula shouldn’t have to be calm in the face of such systematic abuse. He shouldn’t have to meditate his way through constitutional violations. He shouldn’t have to sue for the basic right to access his own legal documents. He shouldn’t have to sit in punitive isolation after being assaulted by a convicted murderer whose violence the BOP failed to prevent despite explicit warnings.
But unless the Federal Bureau of Prisons is forced to comply with its constitutional obligations, Dr. Shiva Akula may indeed never leave prison alive—not because of any crime he committed, but because a federal agency operates as if the Constitution doesn’t apply within prison walls.
The assault by his cellmate Treon left physical bruises that will heal and created a trauma that can be addressed. The assault by the Federal Bureau of Prisons on Dr. Akula’s constitutional rights threatens to be fatal. In a nation that claims to value the rule of law, this should be intolerable.
Yet it continues, one bureaucratic obstruction at a time, while an elderly man sits in prison wondering if he’ll ever get the chance to defend himself in court—the most basic right in any system that claims to deliver justice.
The question isn’t whether Dr. Akula will survive the physical violence of prison life. The question is whether he’ll survive the institutional violence of a system designed to deny him his constitutional rights while maintaining the pretense of due process. Time is running out, and the Federal Bureau of Prisons shows no sign of ending its year-long campaign to ensure Dr. Akula dies behind bars without ever having had meaningful access to the courts.
To learn more about Dr. Akula’s case, check out his petition on Change.org.
Sources
This article is based on Dr. Akula’s October 14, 2025 email and extensive documentation of BOP constitutional violations spanning from September 2024 through July 2025.
Article Files:
1. Dr. Akula’s October 14, 2025 email describing the assault
2. Court Access Memorandum
3. Case details (13,204 pages, Fifth Circuit Appeal No. 24-30315)
4. Administrative Remedy Documentation (Remedy ID: 1234990)
5. Attorney correspondence from Palmer Perlstein (September 16, 2024)
6. Dr. Akula’s communication with attorney Mark Plaisance
Legal Framework Sources:
7. Bounds v. Smith, 430 U.S. 817 (1977)
8. Lewis v. Casey, 518 U.S. 343 (1996)
9. 28 C.F.R. § 543.10 (BOP legal materials access)
10. 28 C.F.R. § 543.11 (legal research and document preparation)
11. 28 C.F.R. § 543.11(i) (special time allowance for court deadlines)
12. 28 C.F.R. § 540.18(a) (legal mail protections)
13. 42 U.S.C. § 1997d (prohibition on retaliation for filing remedies)
Key Personnel Identified:
14. Lawrence Nelson (Supervisory Correctional Systems Specialist)
15. Counselor McDaniel (refused to process administrative remedy)
16. Unit Manager Johnson (Mr. Johnson has retired and should not be confused with Unit Manager Jamaal Johnson who still works at FCI Memphis)
17. Warden C. Harrison (signed denial responses)
Legal Representatives:
18. Mark David Plaisance (current appellate attorney)
19. Niles Illich (former attorney from Palmer Perlstein)
