Sangamon Sun

A former Logan Correctional Center inmate is speaking out about the dangerous conditions she experienced at the state's lone prison for women, where biological males who identify as female are permitted to serve their time. 

Lindsay Anderson, 36, said the facility’s transgender inmate policies changed greatly during the four and a half years that she served from 2020-2025, resulting in an environment that caused her and other women to live in constant fear while housed alongside men, some with violent convictions. 

“I saw a lot,” Anderson told the Sangamon Sun. “What we saw was basically taxpayer money—because that's who pays for us to be incarcerated—paying for hormone treatment for trans women and trans men to undergo their treatments, as well as electrolysis for the trans women for their pre-surgery. And then there were a few trans women (biological men) too that I know for sure got the surgery while I was there.”

The state of Illinois is responsible for the care it provides to incarcerated people. According to Congress.gov., the Illinois Department of Corrections (IDOC) pays private health care provider Wexford Health Sources $800 million per year for healthcare services. 

Logan Correctional Center has come into the spotlight following revelations that the Illinois Department of Corrections (IDOC) continues to house biological males identifying as female with female inmates—despite documented sexual assault cases, including those involving notorious inmate Janiah Monroe, previously known as Andre Patterson. 

Monroe was accused of raping multiple women while incarcerated at Logan.

A plan to transfer Monroe back to a male facility was blocked following political pressure, reportedly from Gov. JB Pritzker’s office, and later upheld by a federal judge.

“She reported it, and they said the case was unfounded,” she said. “I feel like that person is very protected. Why can’t they be transferred? That was a huge thing to us.”

Anderson recalled living across the hall from Monroe who was in the mental health unit with female inmates. 

“They were locked in 23-and-1,” she said. “Bathrooms were in the rooms. To me, that was not something that should have been done.”

Anderson said she lived on a unit alongside both trans women and trans men. 

According to her, trans inmates were initially housed in a central wing, but transitioned to general housing after undergoing surgery. 

“So they live on the center wing because the center wing was considered the trans population,” she said. “And then I lived on this south wing. But once they got their surgery, they were able to move and live on this same wing and shower and use the same bathroom as us females.” 

The result, Anderson said, was the erosion of a sense of safety for many women. 

“A lot of women were assaulted,” she said. “When they said they were assaulted, they would be punished, or it would be found ‘unfounded,’ which would make the assaults get worse.”

She emphasized that women inside the prison tried to speak up. 

“We tried to contact organizations to figure out our rights, or a woman’s right to safety and they said that we didn't have any rights really—that the trans population had more rights than we did,” Anderson said. “So, a lot of women went on hunger strikes to protest.”

A confidential source previously told the Sangamon Sun that Logan currently houses 92 transgender or gender non-conforming inmates. Of these, 13 are male-to-female, 62 female-to-male, 19 non-binary and five of unknown gender identity.

Anderson said while she did not know the exact figures, those numbers seemed correct to her. 

She described a growing concern among inmates about the type of individuals being placed in the facility—many of whom, she said, were incarcerated for violent crimes.

“These men that are coming in don't have petty cases they have some severe cases that are coming in that are scary for a lot of these women,” Anderson said. 

She emphasized the serious nature of some inmates’ criminal histories, highlighting offenses that heightened fears inside the prison walls.

“There's murderers, there are some sex offenders that are there,” she said.  

For Anderson, the threat wasn’t just theoretical—she said she lived in constant fear due to the physical disparities between inmates.

“Even if they get the bottom surgery done, they still are stronger than us,” she said. “And if a physical fight were to break out, it could do serious harm. And so, I was always afraid of my safety.” 

Anderson expressed frustration over the lack of attention to the safety and rights of female inmates. 

“It's almost like our rights don't matter and our safety doesn't matter because no one takes them into regard,” Anderson said.

“Women fought so hard for their rights throughout the years, and I feel that this just kind of diminishes and demeans the fact of what womanhood is,” she said. “We go through so much and have to fight so hard for rights, and this just is like (saying), ‘no, it's really easy to be a woman. We're going to show you how.’” 

She reiterated her belief that housing policies regarding transgender inmates have far-reaching consequences for the identity and dignity of women, saying that it "undermines womanhood.” 

A taxpayer herself, Anderson voiced strong opposition to the state’s funding of gender transition procedures in prison. 

“I think that it's ridiculous,” Anderson said. “I work now, I have a house, I pay my taxes now and I feel like my taxes should not be going to people's surgeries and their hormone treatments.”

According to the Gender Confirmation Center—a San Francisco-based sex change surgical practice—the cost of a complete gender transition, involving five to six surgeries, ranges from $168,500 to $340,000.

Anderson expressed frustration over how state funds are allocated within the prison system.

“I would rather have my money going to someone, like getting reentry support or getting the mental health support that they need while they're incarcerated to better themselves when they get out—not get a sex change,” she said. 

Anderson further described the dire conditions at Logan, while costly sex changes are provided to trans inmates.  

“There's mold all around the walls, the roofs cave in, the bathrooms tend to back up and seep sewage,” she said. “They're running on one boiler – I mean they were when I left, so I'm sure they still are. So you have to choose between hot water or heat. And then there's no air (conditioning). So in the summers, it's hot and then if you live in the X house, which is like intake and segregation, they don't have any windows really. So they are basically sweating to death.”

The conditions Anderson described have long been documented. 

A 2020 report by the John Howard Association described similar conditions, calling the facility unsanitary and dangerously understaffed. 

A Department of Justice-funded report in 2016 labeled Logan “untenable” following the rushed 2013 consolidation of two major women’s prisons.

Logan Correctional Center has been slated for closure, yet no date has been set.

Anderson, a former teacher at Carpentersville Middle School and a coach at Dundee-Crown High School was convicted in 2020 for engaging in sex acts with two teenage boys. The abuse occurred between July 2013 and May 2015, when she was in her early to mid-20s.

Anderson said she chose to use her time behind bars as an opportunity for growth, rather than despair.

“When I was incarcerated, I did that as a learning point,” she said. “So I wasn't going to let myself just sit and waste away."

Despite her past and the challenges of reintegration, Anderson remains hopeful about the future.

“I feel like even though I have this on my background and have to deal with it, I have a positive outlook on life and a positive trajectory now,” she said.

Anderson now works full-time, is married with children and is pursuing a master’s in restorative justice ministry.

“I really want to advocate for (female inmates),” Anderson said. “I know what they're going through, the living situation, everything. And I think that it needs to be advocated.”