Solitary: Unbroken by Four Decades in Solitary Confinement

by Albert Woodfox

He noted the hardship of my continued solitary confinement even after I’d “demonstrated an ability to live peacefully with others,” writing, “Mr. Woodfox has remained in the extraordinary conditions of solitary confinement for approximately forty years now, and yet today there is no valid conviction holding him in prison, let alone solitary confinement. Last year a unanimous panel of the Fifth Circuit observed: ‘[C]onsidering the duration of the solitary confinement, the severity of the restrictions, and their effectively indefinite nature, it is clear that Woodfox’s continued detention in CCR constitutes an “atypical and significant hardship on the inmate in relation to the ordinary incidents of prison life” according to any possible baseline we consider.’” In conclusion, Brady wrote, “The only just remedy is an unconditional writ of habeas corpus barring retrial … and releasing Mr. Woodfox from custody immediately.” The state immediately appealed Judge Brady’s decision to the Fifth Circuit.

In another blow to fairness, the courts found that I would have a nonunanimous jury, meaning that only 10 jurors had to agree on a verdict instead of 12. Louisiana and Oregon are the only two states in America where defendants can be convicted by fewer than 12 jurors, a system created to marginalize the votes of black jurors when courts were first required by law to allow blacks on juries. Since it is easier to get a conviction with a nonunanimous jury, the system was also established in Louisiana to help fill its prisons when it relied on convict labor to replace slave labor during Reconstruction. For

If I made a deal I’d have freedom. But I’d never get justice. My lawyers reminded me if I lost at trial I wouldn’t get justice or freedom. I was almost 69 years old. It had taken 18 years in court to get to this point, a new trial. In his ruling, even Judge Brady asked if I had another 18 years in me if I was convicted at trial again. I kept thinking of Michael. He had never asked me for anything, but now he was asking me to take the plea deal. I thought of my mom, who had wanted so badly to see me walk out of prison. I thought of my daughter, who I wanted to know. I had spent my life teaching men to take a stand for what’s right. Would I be letting them down? I had lived my life as an example to everyone around me. I paced and slept and read that week. I’d always prided myself on facing difficult decisions head-on. I made a decision. I called my lawyers and told them I would make a deal for freedom. By

In my mind, heart, soul, and spirit I always felt free, so my attitudes and thoughts didn’t change much after I was released. But to be in my physical body in the physical world again was like being newly born. I had to learn to use my hands in new ways—for seat belts, for cell phones, to close doors behind me, to push buttons in an elevator, to drive. I had to relearn how to walk down stairs, how to walk without leg irons, how to sit without being shackled. It took about a year for my body to relax from the positions I had gotten used to holding while being restrained. I allowed myself to eat when I was hungry. Gradually, over two years, I let go of the grip I held against feeling pleasure, and of the unconscious fear that I would lose everything I loved.

Money is made off prisoners’ backs. Prisoners are forced to shop in prison stores. They (or their families) are forced to pay astronomical fees to outside companies to make phone calls, and in some cases, forced to visit through video services, which also cost the prisoner money.

Curious how much phone calls and video calls cost

those of you who have spent years struggling for human rights and social justice: Don’t give up. Look at me and see how the strength and determination of the human spirit defy all evil. For 44 years I defied the state of Louisiana and the Department of Corrections. Their main objective was to break my spirit. They did not break me. I have witnessed the horrors of man’s cruelty to man. I did not lose my humanity. I bear the scars of beatings, loneliness, isolation, and persecution. I am also marked by every kindness.