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Solitary: Unbroken by Four Decades in Solitary Confinement
Solitary is the unforgettable life story of a man who served more than four decades in solitary confinement—in a 6-foot by 9-foot cell, 23 hours a day, in notorious Angola prison in Louisiana—all for a crime he did not commit.
That Albert Woodfox survived was, in itself, a feat of extraordinary endurance against the violence and deprivation he faced daily. That he was able to emerge whole from his odyssey within America’s prison and judicial systems is a triumph of the human spirit, and makes his book a clarion call to reform the inhumanity of solitary confinement in the U.S. and around the world.
That Albert Woodfox survived was, in itself, a feat of extraordinary endurance against the violence and deprivation he faced daily. That he was able to emerge whole from his odyssey within America’s prison and judicial systems is a triumph of the human spirit, and makes his book a clarion call to reform the inhumanity of solitary confinement in the U.S. and around the world.
433 pages, Hardcover
First published March 5, 2019
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May 20, 2019
Solitary by Albert Woodfox is a gruelling but rewarding work of non fiction.
In and out of jail as a young black man in the late 60s, Woodfox had a troubled start to manhood. A start he isn’t proud of. His fractured family was poor and life in urban Louisiana was hard. Racism was endemic and unquestioned.
When he finally ended up in the notorious Angola prison in 1969, on a very questionable charge of armed robbery, he was in for the long haul.
He received a 50 year sentence.
Albert Woodfox an angry but thoughtful man, had to deal with the nightmare reality of prison life. A world of solitary confinement, violent racist guards, powerful gangs, deprivation, bullying, rape and the sexual exploitation of young men and new inmates. A kafkaesque world of never ending darkness.
Woodfox states he gained strength from the teachings of the Black Panthers. The principles of this controversial group became part of his lifelong philosophy ie the struggle for freedom, dignity, education, equality and justice.
Whilst in prison, Woodfox and this small pressure group would help, advise and organise fellow prisoners ........... but were consequently seen by the prison authorities as trouble makers.
With this as a back drop, a little way into Woodfox’s sentence, an incident occurred that would blight the rest of his life.
Brent Miller, a guard was brutally murdered. Stabbed 32 times. Albert Woodfox and his close circle, who at the time were in another part of the building, were accused and eventually convicted of the crime. No real evidence was ever offered up and the prosecution witness statements were eventually discredited ie inmates were bribed, given privileges etc if they signed statements to say they had seen the crime committed.
Robert King (falsely accused of an earlier murder), Herman Wallace and Albert Woodfox, later known as the Angola 3, became close friends and became their own support network.
Decades plagued by frustration, deprivation and claustrophobia slowly drift by.
Most of the time Woodfox was locked up in solitary confinement with one hour per day in the yard (if he was lucky). As he says at the opening of this book, the cell became his university, as he read and studied in a bid to transcend his surroundings.
There were occasional glimmers of hope as appeals against his conviction and legal complaints about his treatment came and went.
A tortuous trail of indictments, hearings, statutes, rulings, trials both criminal and civil, dragged on and on.
The book is a gruelling read because it discusses in detail the minutiae of the legal wrangling but also because it distils the anger, disappointment and frustration of Woodfox’s years in captivity. Gradually however, the feelings of anger and despair are matched (never replaced) by feelings of hope.
Eventually the cause of the Angola 3 was taken up by those on the outside - large groups of activists, legal teams, celebrities, human rights groups etc. Petitions were signed and the story hit the media ......... court procedures were renewed and real progress was made, not least the ruling that holding prisoners in solitary confinement is classed as torture.
The fight by the Louisiana authorities to keep the Angola 3 in prison after all these years, as all evidence against them crumbled, was vindictive and bizarre. Robert King was released in 2001, Herman Wallace in 2015 (he dies a few days later of cancer) and Albert Woodfox finally got his freedom in 2016.
He is to this day an advocate of prison reform and at 72 spends his time campaigning against injustice.
After 42 years in solitary confinement he refused to be beaten or lose his humanity even though most of his life was taken from him.
Obviously, as an autobiography, we only see Woodfox’s reality but I found Solitary to be a sobering, uncomfortable and searching read.
Albert Woodfox is talking about his book at the 2019 Hay Literary festival and I’m looking forward to a moving and thought provoking event.
In and out of jail as a young black man in the late 60s, Woodfox had a troubled start to manhood. A start he isn’t proud of. His fractured family was poor and life in urban Louisiana was hard. Racism was endemic and unquestioned.
When he finally ended up in the notorious Angola prison in 1969, on a very questionable charge of armed robbery, he was in for the long haul.
He received a 50 year sentence.
Albert Woodfox an angry but thoughtful man, had to deal with the nightmare reality of prison life. A world of solitary confinement, violent racist guards, powerful gangs, deprivation, bullying, rape and the sexual exploitation of young men and new inmates. A kafkaesque world of never ending darkness.
Woodfox states he gained strength from the teachings of the Black Panthers. The principles of this controversial group became part of his lifelong philosophy ie the struggle for freedom, dignity, education, equality and justice.
Whilst in prison, Woodfox and this small pressure group would help, advise and organise fellow prisoners ........... but were consequently seen by the prison authorities as trouble makers.
With this as a back drop, a little way into Woodfox’s sentence, an incident occurred that would blight the rest of his life.
Brent Miller, a guard was brutally murdered. Stabbed 32 times. Albert Woodfox and his close circle, who at the time were in another part of the building, were accused and eventually convicted of the crime. No real evidence was ever offered up and the prosecution witness statements were eventually discredited ie inmates were bribed, given privileges etc if they signed statements to say they had seen the crime committed.
Robert King (falsely accused of an earlier murder), Herman Wallace and Albert Woodfox, later known as the Angola 3, became close friends and became their own support network.
Decades plagued by frustration, deprivation and claustrophobia slowly drift by.
Most of the time Woodfox was locked up in solitary confinement with one hour per day in the yard (if he was lucky). As he says at the opening of this book, the cell became his university, as he read and studied in a bid to transcend his surroundings.
There were occasional glimmers of hope as appeals against his conviction and legal complaints about his treatment came and went.
A tortuous trail of indictments, hearings, statutes, rulings, trials both criminal and civil, dragged on and on.
The book is a gruelling read because it discusses in detail the minutiae of the legal wrangling but also because it distils the anger, disappointment and frustration of Woodfox’s years in captivity. Gradually however, the feelings of anger and despair are matched (never replaced) by feelings of hope.
Eventually the cause of the Angola 3 was taken up by those on the outside - large groups of activists, legal teams, celebrities, human rights groups etc. Petitions were signed and the story hit the media ......... court procedures were renewed and real progress was made, not least the ruling that holding prisoners in solitary confinement is classed as torture.
The fight by the Louisiana authorities to keep the Angola 3 in prison after all these years, as all evidence against them crumbled, was vindictive and bizarre. Robert King was released in 2001, Herman Wallace in 2015 (he dies a few days later of cancer) and Albert Woodfox finally got his freedom in 2016.
He is to this day an advocate of prison reform and at 72 spends his time campaigning against injustice.
After 42 years in solitary confinement he refused to be beaten or lose his humanity even though most of his life was taken from him.
Obviously, as an autobiography, we only see Woodfox’s reality but I found Solitary to be a sobering, uncomfortable and searching read.
Albert Woodfox is talking about his book at the 2019 Hay Literary festival and I’m looking forward to a moving and thought provoking event.
June 1, 2019
"I became living proof that we can survive the worst to change ourselves and our world, no matter where we are. Behind our resistance on the tiers, Herman, King, and I knew that only education would save us."
For more than 40 years, Albert Woodfox was kept in solitary confinement in a 9 X 6 foot cell 23 hours a day. 40 YEARS! I don't think I could handle that for a week, let alone decades. And yet he endured this torture, day after day, year after year, for a crime he didn't commit.
This book is Mr. Woodfox's story. With brutal honesty, Albert Woodfox shares his unimaginable life. He grew up in Louisiana during the Jim Crow era, raised by a mother who was sometimes forced into prostitution in order to feed her young children. His childhood was not easy and by his teenage years, he had dropped out of school and started a gang. Mr. Woodfox shares with us how he would often steal in order to provide for himself and his family, ending up in and out of prison at a young age. He decided to change his life around when he joined the Black Panthers, which was considered a terrorist organization for no better reason than that the whites in power felt threatened whenever black people came together and demanded equal rights. Because of his association with the Black Panthers, Mr. Woodfox was framed, along with another member, Herman Wallace, for the murder of a guard. Even though the murder took place in different part of the prison, and even though there was not a shred of evidence (indeed, the bloody finger print found at the scene of the murder belonged to neither man), these men were convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison. Purportedly because they were a danger to other inmates and guards, they were kept in solitary confinement, though again, there was no evidence that they were a harm to anyone.
It is absolutely horrendous the things Mr. Woodfox endured in prison. Angola, where he spent much of his time, was a prison notorious for its physical violence and rape. They were "prohibited from participating in educational, vocational, or other programs or from doing any hobby crafts, like leatherwork, beading, or painting". They did have some reading material and a television to watch, but still! The utter boredom of those days must have alone been enough to drive someone insane. He was allowed out of his cell for only an hour a day, and at another prison it was only for 15 minutes a day to shower. The rest of his time, he was confined to a space of 9 by 6 feet (2.7 by 1.8 meters). The atrocities he both endured and saw heaped upon others is the stuff of nightmares. There is a lot of repetition in this book.... but of course there would be, because his days were repetitive, day after day after day of the same thing. It becomes a bit tedious at times, but in a way, that just highlights the boredom Mr Woodfox endured for years.
Albert Woodfox shares how it felt to spend his time behind closed doors, the feeling of claustrophobia that often came over him, the fear. I think most of us would be overcome with defeat and/or rage at the injustice, and yet Mr. Woodfox remained incredibly strong and didn't let himself become bitter.
His conviction was eventually overturned, and it is evident that racism was behind the conviction. There was not a shred of truth or evidence, and the inmates who testified against Albert were paid to do so and given special privileges within prison. Their accounts of the murder all differed and they often contradicted themselves. And yet an all-white jury chose to believe them and sentence Mr. Woodfox and his fellow Black Panthers member to life in prison. Again, without a shred of evidence.
Mr. Woodfox writes persuasively about the systematic racism that is to blame for locking up untold numbers of black men. In New Orleans in 2012, the Times-Picayune reported that 1 in 14 black men were behind bars, compared to 1 in 86 of the general population. 1 in 86 is still an egregious number of people, and yet it is the black population who suffers the most. Clearly something needs to be done about the atrocity of American prisons and the number of people spending their lives behind bars. America houses more prisoners than any other country in the world. That is due to both racism and to the profit being made off of prisoners. This is deplorable and unconscionable and barbaric. Prisons exist not to rehabilitate people, but to punish people whether or not they are guilty of a crime. They exist not to keep the general population safe from criminals, but to continue slavery. Our entire justice system is long overdue for a re-haul, and we need to start by ending for-profit prisons. As long as there is money to be made by incarcerating people, money will speak loudest. As long as there is a profit in locking people up, the black community in particular but also Latinx and poor whites will find themselves unfairly behind bars. We need reform, and we need it now. As Mr. Woodfox states, "We need to admit to, confront, and change the racism in the American justice system that decides who is stopped by police, who is arrested, who is searched, who is charged, who is prosecuted, and who isn’t, as well as look at who receives longer sentences and why and demand a fair and equal system."
Thankfully Albert Woodfox is now a free man, but nothing can give him back all the decades he was locked away and tortured. Nothing can restore his health or the years stolen from him. I thank him for sharing his story; it could not have been easy for him to relive those years in order to write this book. His honesty and openness make this a compelling read. I highly recommend it.
April 25, 2019
Some books are written by authors who yearn for the title, the mantle and all the goodies that go with the title of Author. Some tomes are acts of persuasion, beckoning conversion from one point of view to another. Some volumes are slick and polished marketing or branding materials for products or lifestyles or team-building manuals. And then there are some books that simply spill out; spill out from the lives of humans who are desperate to tell their tale. This is one of those.
It's uncomfortable - at least it was to me. This is not a topic I think much about - on purpose. Parts of his story are like all of our collective beginnings - but then it takes these terrible swerves into consequential mazes. It goes on and on and on. . .but the mere mass of the many repeated choices that led to the same place . . . .made me tired, and I'll admit I skimmed over some of that - it was the same story - but it was a slow skim because I didn't want to miss key landmarks where learning was gained and committments made and changes attempted. Then the horror of getting stuck in a place where the bad guys are in charge and there is no recourse, no one to listen and accept uncomfortable truths.
This book should be required reading for everyone who has to work within or with the prison system - the keepers and the kept. Laws need to be changed, and hearts and minds need to turn away from the carefully taught bigotries and prejudices we've all been taught are simply preferences. The story is complicated, looping back on itself, and reading it made me itchy like with a rash. Not only was I stunned at the story, I was appalled at my own Ignorance sitting there, almost a tangible presence, reading alongside me like a whole, astonished, head-shaking person. Denial wanted a seat, too, but we kept pushing her out - too much Truth filled the room. We had no idea. Heard about things like this but. . .hells bells.
Not the best book, not the best author. But seriously one of the most important messages and tales to which we all need to pay attention. Miscarriage of justice is one thing, but the stubborn corruptions wrapped up in pious virtues need to be recognized, called out and rendered impotent.
Brother Woodfox, Write On!
It's uncomfortable - at least it was to me. This is not a topic I think much about - on purpose. Parts of his story are like all of our collective beginnings - but then it takes these terrible swerves into consequential mazes. It goes on and on and on. . .but the mere mass of the many repeated choices that led to the same place . . . .made me tired, and I'll admit I skimmed over some of that - it was the same story - but it was a slow skim because I didn't want to miss key landmarks where learning was gained and committments made and changes attempted. Then the horror of getting stuck in a place where the bad guys are in charge and there is no recourse, no one to listen and accept uncomfortable truths.
This book should be required reading for everyone who has to work within or with the prison system - the keepers and the kept. Laws need to be changed, and hearts and minds need to turn away from the carefully taught bigotries and prejudices we've all been taught are simply preferences. The story is complicated, looping back on itself, and reading it made me itchy like with a rash. Not only was I stunned at the story, I was appalled at my own Ignorance sitting there, almost a tangible presence, reading alongside me like a whole, astonished, head-shaking person. Denial wanted a seat, too, but we kept pushing her out - too much Truth filled the room. We had no idea. Heard about things like this but. . .hells bells.
Not the best book, not the best author. But seriously one of the most important messages and tales to which we all need to pay attention. Miscarriage of justice is one thing, but the stubborn corruptions wrapped up in pious virtues need to be recognized, called out and rendered impotent.
Brother Woodfox, Write On!
April 30, 2019
Our prison system is cruel and inhumane. This book is one of the best prison memoirs I've ever read (exempting Mandela and Assata). Woodfox's book is not just about his experiences, but it is about the system in general and how it tried to diminish his dignity. He reclaimed it by joining the Black Panthers and organizing his prison to fight rape and other degrading things that the guards allowed. This book made me really depressed that we do this to other humans.
November 5, 2022
This is easily one of the best prison memoirs I’ve ever read. This story is just infuriating. The writing is super strong and the conviction with which Woodfox tells his story is hard to comprehend given all he went through.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 4, 2020
As an expose of America's corrupt and cruel criminal justice system, this is a hugely important story to tell. Woodfox was in prison for a crime he admits committing, but while in prison is then convicted of a murder he clearly did not commit. He spent the next 40 years in solitary confinement while the State of Louisiana did everything it could (both legal and illegal) to keep him there and hide their corruption.
As a book, however, it gets very repetitive. The lists of people who sat on various committees, the rehashing of the legal maneuvering again and again, don't make Woodfox's story any more compelling. A more streamlined narrative would have sustained the emotional gut-punch that his story should be for every person in America.
It's an absolutely essential story to tell about the cruel and inhumane practice of extended solitary confinement, not to mention the corruption, systemic racism, and hypocrisy of the American criminal justice system.
As a book, however, it gets very repetitive. The lists of people who sat on various committees, the rehashing of the legal maneuvering again and again, don't make Woodfox's story any more compelling. A more streamlined narrative would have sustained the emotional gut-punch that his story should be for every person in America.
It's an absolutely essential story to tell about the cruel and inhumane practice of extended solitary confinement, not to mention the corruption, systemic racism, and hypocrisy of the American criminal justice system.
October 16, 2018
Yikes what an indictment of the US legal and prison system. This is a book on many of the things wrong with the Land of the Brave. It is not much of an endorsement.
Woodfox's experiences in the aptly named prison Angola, Louisiana. It read like a war zone, ruled by despots with all the accompanying violence, rape, racism, corruptness and hopelessness. But Woodfox finds hope and strength in his adoption of Black Panther ideals of unity, helping others, strength in the face adversity.
He spends almost 40 years in solitary confinement after being framed for the murder of a prison guard. The last part of the book, which is a bit detailed, covers the efforts to gain his (and his co-accused Herman Wallace) freedom. What a journey, what a wall of resistance, what drives the people who kept stone-walling?
Woodfox's experiences in the aptly named prison Angola, Louisiana. It read like a war zone, ruled by despots with all the accompanying violence, rape, racism, corruptness and hopelessness. But Woodfox finds hope and strength in his adoption of Black Panther ideals of unity, helping others, strength in the face adversity.
He spends almost 40 years in solitary confinement after being framed for the murder of a prison guard. The last part of the book, which is a bit detailed, covers the efforts to gain his (and his co-accused Herman Wallace) freedom. What a journey, what a wall of resistance, what drives the people who kept stone-walling?
January 31, 2024
Almost has to be read to be believed.
February 2, 2022
Solitary
I bought this book on the recommendation of my daughter. I can only describe my response to this book as one where I burned with cold fury throughout. Reading books like this might not be good for my blood pressure, but the price I pay to know this story is a small one compared to the price Mr. Woodfox and the other Angola 3 paid as political prisoners in that so-called bastion of democracy - the United States. Imagine, around the time I was reading this book about the torture of these three men I was reading an article about the U.S. withdrawing 130 million dollars in aid to Egypt over human rights abuses. The profundity of the hypocrisy of the United States is unbounded. I recommend everyone read this book.
To prepare for writing this review I spent some time and measured out an area in my house with the dimensions 6 feet by 9 feet. I needed to get an idea, a picture in my mind, of what was allotted to these men for over 4 decades. I tried to imagine that space with a bed, a commode and a sink. Then I tried to imagine spending a day in that space. I suggest you try it. Of course there was no way I could really imagine it. Even if I confined myself to that rectangle for one day and brought in a pail for waste, and took all my meals there, I wouldn’t even be able to imagine what Mr. Woodfox and the other Angola 3 went through.
Before reading this book I had already read a number of others involving human rights violations and immoral conduct of people in the U.S. legal system. As Mr. Woodfox explains, “The FBI spent millions of dollars to infiltrate the Black Panther Party, create divisiveness and mistrust among its members, murder and incarcerate its leaders, hamper fund-raising for community programs and lawyers, and leak false information to the press and law enforcement authorities, all to destroy the party. . . .to charge them with crimes they didn’t commit and to keep Panthers in jail, separating them from the party and disrupting chains of leadership and communication within the organization.” (88)
Throughout the telling of this story three things stood out to me. One, the stark reality of life as a political prisoner in the United States. Two, that while going through life day to day we can be completely unaware of the inhumanity being visited upon our fellow human beings by the criminal legal system. Three, the representation of the worst humanity has to offer juxtaposed against the best humanity has to offer.
At the beginning of his journey Mr. Woodfox describes many of his criminal exploits that landed him in trouble. But anyone who believed that the policing system in New Orleans, Louisiana in the 1960s represented fairness and impartiality is not just naive, they are willing to turn a blind eye to the institutionalized racism in America at that time - particularly in the South. He explains that in his youth, “We couldn’t have articulated racism if we tried. We didn’t understand the depths of it, the sophistication of it. We only absorbed the misery of it.” (p 20). While describing a number of racist practices of law enforcement - from the police, to prosecutors to judges - Mr. Woodfox makes it clear that the system was stacked against Black men. Eventually, while incarcerated in New York City, he met members of the Black Panthers, learned their ten point program, and adopted a disciplined life - too late to keep him out of prison.
It was while in prison that he really began to have an impact on his fellow inmates. That was when trouble really began for Mr. Woodfox - because he was able to organize and teach the principles of the Black Panthers and begin to change his environment to one where everyone presented a unified front to stop rape, drug abuse and inhumane treatment by the guards. This became a problem for the prison mafia - headed by the warden. Mr. Woodfox was framed for a murder he did not commit - and this was the beginning of his 40 years of solitary confinement - a punishment defined as torture by the United Nations.
This is his story, but he was not the only one framed for a crime he did not commit (see Geronimo Pratt). So much of his case tells exactly how he was subjected to repeated and gross injustices in the “investigation” and trial of this case. The extent of prosecutorial misconduct - repeatedly over the entire 40 years of his struggle - is grotesque. The fact that no one ever paid the price for that misconduct is another common feature of the criminal legal system. In addition, the extent of the FBI and the other policing organizations' ability and determination to imprison Black Panthers on false charges, or outright assassinate them, makes it clear that these men were indeed political prisoners.
To quote one of my favorite authors: “. . . . we must make it impossible for those in power to pretend that they do not know the costs and consequences of what they do.” (Arundathi Roy in My Seditious Heart). There are a number of consequences of holding political prisoners. While the list is long, two of those are: 1) the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution is shown to be inapplicable to anyone who disagrees with gross violations of human rights and 2) the United States government has demonstrated that it is unashamedly hypocritical. But those in power do know the human costs, the political costs and the costs in their own reputation by torturing its own citizens. Mr. Woodfox’s case is just one example of many. If you allow the government to act as though there are “throw away people” among its citizenry you allow it to start down the road to fascism. Reading this book will show you just how far along the U.S. is on that road.
As I was reading the account of the Angola Three I was conscious of the dates throughout because I kept thinking how oblivious I was about what was happening. While I was going to high school, Albert Woodfox was in solitary confinement. While I was going to college he was in solitary confinement. When I joined the Peace Corps, got married, raised children and my children went to college - he was in solitary confinement. It is not just that he was in prison all that time - solitary confinement was worse. What happened to him is far worse than injustice.
If that wasn’t disturbing enough there was one point during his incarceration that he was subjected to illegal strip searches and body cavity searches, repeatedly throughout the day - sometimes several times a day. During this period, every time he left his cell, he was strip and cavity searched even though he was on complete lock down. When he filed a lawsuit to stop the illegal searches he was victimized even further. In fact, every time he stood up for the rights of inmates, whether through a petition of grievances or through a lawsuit, he and the others who joined him were victimized. Imagine the character required to know that filing a suit will result in even worse circumstances than one is enduring - but for the sake of justice you file it anyway. And then, the people in charge of the prison (a link in the so-called “justice” system) - who knew they were breaking the law - punish you for seeking justice. During the day to day course of my life this was happening to my fellow human beings in the United States. I was oblivious.
What no person should have to endure Albert Woodfox endured. He has the dubious distinction of holding the record for solitary confinement in the U.S. - almost 44 years. Yet through it all he never lost his fighting spirit, he built friendships, he advocated for others, he continued to seek justice. He continued to seek justice long after it was clear that the system which tried and convicted him for a crime he did not commit had no concept whatsoever of the meaning of justice. Upon his release he did not relax. He continued his advocacy for the abolition of solitary confinement. He met with and thanked, personally, many people who advocated for his freedom - including the widow of the man he was wrongfully convicted of murdering in 1972. He truly aimed to be the best possible person in the face of the most egregious of systemic torture. While in solitary confinement each prisoner would come up for a periodic review. If you passed the review you were released. Over decades Mr. Woodfox witnessed many others come into the solitary confinement unit and be released. When he would go to the review board he was asked no questions, his records were not examined or considered and at times his denial of release was signed even before he appeared before the board. He stopped going so he could use his time for better things (like advocacy for other inmates) because it became clear the prison officials had no intention of ending his confinement for 23 hours a day (and sometimes more). Imagine, after all of that he could still look at his time in solitary and say, “Every day you start over. You look for the humanity in each individual.” (215) He concludes his story by saying, “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.” (485)
Contrast Mr. Woodfox with the worst representatives of humanity. For example, he explained, “I was arrested for one charge—armed robbery—but when the police arrested me they charged me with every unsolved robbery, theft, and rape charge they had. We called that cleaning the books. It was a common practice by the police then and is now. Everybody knew about it. To the police it didn’t matter if the DA was able to prosecute the charge or not. The police just wanted to wipe their books clean. The DA’s office didn’t mind; they could use the additional charges to intimidate guys and pressure them to take plea deals instead of going to trial. Innocent men took plea deals all the time and went to prison versus lying around in the parish jail for two or more years waiting for a trial.” (70) This and many other unjust practices were part and parcel of the so-called “justice” system he was placed in.
The people in the criminal legal system, knowing him to be innocent, framed him, brought unreliable witnesses to testify (one “eye-witness” was proven to be legally blind), failed to investigate the crime, hid or “lost” evidence which would have cast doubt on his guilt, prosecutors failed to reveal the payments made to “eye-witnesses” for their testimony. The prison officials, prosecutors, elected officials and trial judges engaged in repeated violations of Alfred Woodfox’s human, civil and constitutional rights. For all of their collective heinous conduct not one of them faced any consequences.
In fact everything that was done happened because Mr. Woodfox dared to stand up - holding the 10 principles of the Black Panthers - and say, “You must treat me as a man, and my brethren as men.” This is how White Supremacy works in the United States. For daring to insist on being treated humanely and with the same rights as any other citizen every weapon the system has is turned against you. As James Baldwin said, “[If] any white man in the world says “Give me liberty, or give me death,” the entire world applauds. When a black man says exactly the same thing, word for word, he is judged a criminal and treated like one.” (85)
If only things had changed since Mr. Woodfox went through these years of torture, but they have not. He says, “We need to admit to, confront, and change the racism in the American justice system that decides who is stopped by police, who is arrested, who is searched, who is charged, who is prosecuted, and who isn’t, as well as look at who receives longer sentences and why and demand a fair and equal system. Racism in police departments and in courtrooms is not a secret. It’s been proved. Racism occurs at every level of the judicial process, from people of color being disproportionately stopped by police (racial profiling) to their being sentenced.” Still. We still need to be doing this.
"Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob, and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe."—Frederick Douglass
I bought this book on the recommendation of my daughter. I can only describe my response to this book as one where I burned with cold fury throughout. Reading books like this might not be good for my blood pressure, but the price I pay to know this story is a small one compared to the price Mr. Woodfox and the other Angola 3 paid as political prisoners in that so-called bastion of democracy - the United States. Imagine, around the time I was reading this book about the torture of these three men I was reading an article about the U.S. withdrawing 130 million dollars in aid to Egypt over human rights abuses. The profundity of the hypocrisy of the United States is unbounded. I recommend everyone read this book.
To prepare for writing this review I spent some time and measured out an area in my house with the dimensions 6 feet by 9 feet. I needed to get an idea, a picture in my mind, of what was allotted to these men for over 4 decades. I tried to imagine that space with a bed, a commode and a sink. Then I tried to imagine spending a day in that space. I suggest you try it. Of course there was no way I could really imagine it. Even if I confined myself to that rectangle for one day and brought in a pail for waste, and took all my meals there, I wouldn’t even be able to imagine what Mr. Woodfox and the other Angola 3 went through.
Before reading this book I had already read a number of others involving human rights violations and immoral conduct of people in the U.S. legal system. As Mr. Woodfox explains, “The FBI spent millions of dollars to infiltrate the Black Panther Party, create divisiveness and mistrust among its members, murder and incarcerate its leaders, hamper fund-raising for community programs and lawyers, and leak false information to the press and law enforcement authorities, all to destroy the party. . . .to charge them with crimes they didn’t commit and to keep Panthers in jail, separating them from the party and disrupting chains of leadership and communication within the organization.” (88)
Throughout the telling of this story three things stood out to me. One, the stark reality of life as a political prisoner in the United States. Two, that while going through life day to day we can be completely unaware of the inhumanity being visited upon our fellow human beings by the criminal legal system. Three, the representation of the worst humanity has to offer juxtaposed against the best humanity has to offer.
At the beginning of his journey Mr. Woodfox describes many of his criminal exploits that landed him in trouble. But anyone who believed that the policing system in New Orleans, Louisiana in the 1960s represented fairness and impartiality is not just naive, they are willing to turn a blind eye to the institutionalized racism in America at that time - particularly in the South. He explains that in his youth, “We couldn’t have articulated racism if we tried. We didn’t understand the depths of it, the sophistication of it. We only absorbed the misery of it.” (p 20). While describing a number of racist practices of law enforcement - from the police, to prosecutors to judges - Mr. Woodfox makes it clear that the system was stacked against Black men. Eventually, while incarcerated in New York City, he met members of the Black Panthers, learned their ten point program, and adopted a disciplined life - too late to keep him out of prison.
It was while in prison that he really began to have an impact on his fellow inmates. That was when trouble really began for Mr. Woodfox - because he was able to organize and teach the principles of the Black Panthers and begin to change his environment to one where everyone presented a unified front to stop rape, drug abuse and inhumane treatment by the guards. This became a problem for the prison mafia - headed by the warden. Mr. Woodfox was framed for a murder he did not commit - and this was the beginning of his 40 years of solitary confinement - a punishment defined as torture by the United Nations.
This is his story, but he was not the only one framed for a crime he did not commit (see Geronimo Pratt). So much of his case tells exactly how he was subjected to repeated and gross injustices in the “investigation” and trial of this case. The extent of prosecutorial misconduct - repeatedly over the entire 40 years of his struggle - is grotesque. The fact that no one ever paid the price for that misconduct is another common feature of the criminal legal system. In addition, the extent of the FBI and the other policing organizations' ability and determination to imprison Black Panthers on false charges, or outright assassinate them, makes it clear that these men were indeed political prisoners.
To quote one of my favorite authors: “. . . . we must make it impossible for those in power to pretend that they do not know the costs and consequences of what they do.” (Arundathi Roy in My Seditious Heart). There are a number of consequences of holding political prisoners. While the list is long, two of those are: 1) the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution is shown to be inapplicable to anyone who disagrees with gross violations of human rights and 2) the United States government has demonstrated that it is unashamedly hypocritical. But those in power do know the human costs, the political costs and the costs in their own reputation by torturing its own citizens. Mr. Woodfox’s case is just one example of many. If you allow the government to act as though there are “throw away people” among its citizenry you allow it to start down the road to fascism. Reading this book will show you just how far along the U.S. is on that road.
As I was reading the account of the Angola Three I was conscious of the dates throughout because I kept thinking how oblivious I was about what was happening. While I was going to high school, Albert Woodfox was in solitary confinement. While I was going to college he was in solitary confinement. When I joined the Peace Corps, got married, raised children and my children went to college - he was in solitary confinement. It is not just that he was in prison all that time - solitary confinement was worse. What happened to him is far worse than injustice.
If that wasn’t disturbing enough there was one point during his incarceration that he was subjected to illegal strip searches and body cavity searches, repeatedly throughout the day - sometimes several times a day. During this period, every time he left his cell, he was strip and cavity searched even though he was on complete lock down. When he filed a lawsuit to stop the illegal searches he was victimized even further. In fact, every time he stood up for the rights of inmates, whether through a petition of grievances or through a lawsuit, he and the others who joined him were victimized. Imagine the character required to know that filing a suit will result in even worse circumstances than one is enduring - but for the sake of justice you file it anyway. And then, the people in charge of the prison (a link in the so-called “justice” system) - who knew they were breaking the law - punish you for seeking justice. During the day to day course of my life this was happening to my fellow human beings in the United States. I was oblivious.
What no person should have to endure Albert Woodfox endured. He has the dubious distinction of holding the record for solitary confinement in the U.S. - almost 44 years. Yet through it all he never lost his fighting spirit, he built friendships, he advocated for others, he continued to seek justice. He continued to seek justice long after it was clear that the system which tried and convicted him for a crime he did not commit had no concept whatsoever of the meaning of justice. Upon his release he did not relax. He continued his advocacy for the abolition of solitary confinement. He met with and thanked, personally, many people who advocated for his freedom - including the widow of the man he was wrongfully convicted of murdering in 1972. He truly aimed to be the best possible person in the face of the most egregious of systemic torture. While in solitary confinement each prisoner would come up for a periodic review. If you passed the review you were released. Over decades Mr. Woodfox witnessed many others come into the solitary confinement unit and be released. When he would go to the review board he was asked no questions, his records were not examined or considered and at times his denial of release was signed even before he appeared before the board. He stopped going so he could use his time for better things (like advocacy for other inmates) because it became clear the prison officials had no intention of ending his confinement for 23 hours a day (and sometimes more). Imagine, after all of that he could still look at his time in solitary and say, “Every day you start over. You look for the humanity in each individual.” (215) He concludes his story by saying, “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.” (485)
Contrast Mr. Woodfox with the worst representatives of humanity. For example, he explained, “I was arrested for one charge—armed robbery—but when the police arrested me they charged me with every unsolved robbery, theft, and rape charge they had. We called that cleaning the books. It was a common practice by the police then and is now. Everybody knew about it. To the police it didn’t matter if the DA was able to prosecute the charge or not. The police just wanted to wipe their books clean. The DA’s office didn’t mind; they could use the additional charges to intimidate guys and pressure them to take plea deals instead of going to trial. Innocent men took plea deals all the time and went to prison versus lying around in the parish jail for two or more years waiting for a trial.” (70) This and many other unjust practices were part and parcel of the so-called “justice” system he was placed in.
The people in the criminal legal system, knowing him to be innocent, framed him, brought unreliable witnesses to testify (one “eye-witness” was proven to be legally blind), failed to investigate the crime, hid or “lost” evidence which would have cast doubt on his guilt, prosecutors failed to reveal the payments made to “eye-witnesses” for their testimony. The prison officials, prosecutors, elected officials and trial judges engaged in repeated violations of Alfred Woodfox’s human, civil and constitutional rights. For all of their collective heinous conduct not one of them faced any consequences.
In fact everything that was done happened because Mr. Woodfox dared to stand up - holding the 10 principles of the Black Panthers - and say, “You must treat me as a man, and my brethren as men.” This is how White Supremacy works in the United States. For daring to insist on being treated humanely and with the same rights as any other citizen every weapon the system has is turned against you. As James Baldwin said, “[If] any white man in the world says “Give me liberty, or give me death,” the entire world applauds. When a black man says exactly the same thing, word for word, he is judged a criminal and treated like one.” (85)
If only things had changed since Mr. Woodfox went through these years of torture, but they have not. He says, “We need to admit to, confront, and change the racism in the American justice system that decides who is stopped by police, who is arrested, who is searched, who is charged, who is prosecuted, and who isn’t, as well as look at who receives longer sentences and why and demand a fair and equal system. Racism in police departments and in courtrooms is not a secret. It’s been proved. Racism occurs at every level of the judicial process, from people of color being disproportionately stopped by police (racial profiling) to their being sentenced.” Still. We still need to be doing this.
"Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob, and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe."—Frederick Douglass
June 14, 2020
This stark prison memoir is painful to read. Basically, the author was framed for a murder while doing hard time in the super-max Angola prison in Louisiana for a lesser crime. His new sentence was to serve life and thus begins his long travail to finding peace and justice. The memoir demonstrates how the practice of solitary confinement is "cruel and unusual punishment." If you want to learn more about the black man's struggles in the U.S. prison system, Solitary is a good place to start.
June 11, 2019
This book made me uncomfortable. Uncomfortable in the sense that people are still being treated differently because of the color of their skin. It seems so simple - we are all the same. Yet hate always seems to win. This book was disheartening, but hopeful. Mr. Woodfox clings to that hope. You can feel his hope reaching out and over the hate in the pages of this book. I would be honored to meet Mr. Woodfox one day. I would need to apologize. I would need to shake his hand.
March 9, 2019
“Our resistance gave us an identity. Our identity gave us strength. Our strength gave us an unbreakable will.”
-Albert Woodfox
“Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob, and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe.”
—Frederick Douglass
“[If ] any white man in the world says ‘Give me liberty, or give me death,’ the entire world applauds. When a black man says exactly the same thing, word for word, he is judged a criminal and treated like one.”
—James Baldwin
He starts by telling of his youth and his mother and her wisdom and fortitude.
A telling of survival in poverty under Jim Crow laws, being called names, despicable kind, the racist kind.
Be prepared for the days of the unstoppable force that is Albert Woodfox presented before you in this narrative, if you did not know him then you surely will now with awe and respect, man of code, principle. and no s**t toleration, a raw and unfiltered narrative of an urban survivalist.
His first jail sentence seems to be for two years for auto theft he had escaped the jail and brought back, he then landed in Angola at 18 he was set at doing two years at the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola, then overtime at aged 24 he was already through five years of being in and out of 4 different prisons, with one final terrible one, Angola, but this time in solitary for many years.
He does no look for sympathy in this narrative this laying down of his struggle but he does draw empathy, he had certain choices in life and due to poverty, racism, and social economic divide took them.
As he joined the Black Panther Party and started a chapter in the prison he became a threat to the status quo, in and out of prison.
Slavery, poverty, bondage, unjust prison system, corruption, horrors, abuses, but also the power of unity, brotherhood, education, reading, courage, will and hope, all brought back to the readers consciousness again, stark and raw truths layered out one of the most important narratives to be released in 2019.
Fighting against injustices, human and civil rights, making wrongs right, including ones of his self, a breaker of laws, metamorphosing into one of no more crimes, reestablished reborn with all the darkness, using his light and fortitude and what his mother instilled courage and leadership, never giving up and moving forward even if his life was in 6’ by 9’ in solitary.
A terrible tragedy within these pages and tale of empowerment and not allowing the prison to shape him, an inspiring struggle, this is a journey a portrait of a young to older man in incarceration and despite it all, compassion remains, courage and a fortified human being with unbreakable will.
Read my review with excerpts @ More2Read
-Albert Woodfox
“Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob, and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe.”
—Frederick Douglass
“[If ] any white man in the world says ‘Give me liberty, or give me death,’ the entire world applauds. When a black man says exactly the same thing, word for word, he is judged a criminal and treated like one.”
—James Baldwin
He starts by telling of his youth and his mother and her wisdom and fortitude.
A telling of survival in poverty under Jim Crow laws, being called names, despicable kind, the racist kind.
Be prepared for the days of the unstoppable force that is Albert Woodfox presented before you in this narrative, if you did not know him then you surely will now with awe and respect, man of code, principle. and no s**t toleration, a raw and unfiltered narrative of an urban survivalist.
His first jail sentence seems to be for two years for auto theft he had escaped the jail and brought back, he then landed in Angola at 18 he was set at doing two years at the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola, then overtime at aged 24 he was already through five years of being in and out of 4 different prisons, with one final terrible one, Angola, but this time in solitary for many years.
He does no look for sympathy in this narrative this laying down of his struggle but he does draw empathy, he had certain choices in life and due to poverty, racism, and social economic divide took them.
As he joined the Black Panther Party and started a chapter in the prison he became a threat to the status quo, in and out of prison.
Slavery, poverty, bondage, unjust prison system, corruption, horrors, abuses, but also the power of unity, brotherhood, education, reading, courage, will and hope, all brought back to the readers consciousness again, stark and raw truths layered out one of the most important narratives to be released in 2019.
Fighting against injustices, human and civil rights, making wrongs right, including ones of his self, a breaker of laws, metamorphosing into one of no more crimes, reestablished reborn with all the darkness, using his light and fortitude and what his mother instilled courage and leadership, never giving up and moving forward even if his life was in 6’ by 9’ in solitary.
A terrible tragedy within these pages and tale of empowerment and not allowing the prison to shape him, an inspiring struggle, this is a journey a portrait of a young to older man in incarceration and despite it all, compassion remains, courage and a fortified human being with unbreakable will.
Read my review with excerpts @ More2Read
Read
March 27, 2019‘In beautifully poetic language that starkly contrasts the world he's describing, Woodfox awes and inspires. He illustrates the power of the human spirit, while illuminating the dire need for prison reform in the United States. Solitary is a brilliant blend of passion, terror and hope that everyone needs to experience.’
Shelf Awareness [starred review]
‘[A] profound book about friendship … told simply but not tersely…If the ending of this book does not leave you with tears pooling down in your clavicles, you are a stronger person than I am.’
New York Times
‘[A] book that is wrenching… Woodfox’s story makes [for] uncomfortable reading, which is as it should be. Solitary should make every reader writhe with shame and ask: What am I going to do to help change this?’
Washington Post
Shelf Awareness [starred review]
‘[A] profound book about friendship … told simply but not tersely…If the ending of this book does not leave you with tears pooling down in your clavicles, you are a stronger person than I am.’
New York Times
‘[A] book that is wrenching… Woodfox’s story makes [for] uncomfortable reading, which is as it should be. Solitary should make every reader writhe with shame and ask: What am I going to do to help change this?’
Washington Post
July 5, 2020
Not a fan. First of all, it is not very well written or well edited. It goes into far too much detail, for example, on various court cases, even including extensive transcripts. All of that is unnecessary. Hinton's "The Sun Does Shine: How I Found Life and Freedom on Death Row" is better written and more persuasive.
Second, I just had a problem with Woodfox himself. Before being arrested, he routinely made armed robberies and assaulted people. And yet at least twice in the book he says that he regrets nothing:
> I have been asked many times what I would change about my life. My answer is always the same: "Not one thing."
I don't understand this. He doesn't seem to realize the effects of his crimes on others. For example,
> When I needed money, I went out and got it from a person walking down the street. I was a stickup artist … After robbing people on the streets and jacking dope pushers I eventually started robbing bars and grocery stores while they were open. I walked into a bar, pointed the gun at the bartender or somebody sitting at the bar, and yelled, "Nobody move, motherfucker. I'll kill you." … An unarmed deputy was seated next to the control panel. As soon as the doors closed I pulled the gun from my pants with my free hand and held it to his head. I told him to keep the doors closed and take us to the basement or I would shoot him. I didn't mean it but that's what I said
And yet, he also writes,
> "I used to think I kept getting arrested because I had bad luck," I told them. "It wasn't bad luck. I was targeted because I am black, that's why I kept getting arrested."
I get the sense from the book that Woodfox is highly self-absorbed. The book is about him, and only him. He seems to have mythologized himself as a civil rights warrior. It's good that this attitude got him through prison, but it's hard to read past his ego. Until the last chapter, everything is about him alone (and sometimes two others at Angola). The last chapter broadens the scale to criminal justice reform, but in a very unconvincing way. One is far better off reading Alexander's "The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness".
> To 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.
More quotes:
> Malik got word to me from Oakland that we should start a separate chapter of the party—a prison chapter—at Angola. Before I left Orleans Parish Prison, I took an oath on C-1 to become a member of the Black Panther Party. On my last day there, one of the Panthers gave me a copy of the Little Red Book, a collection of quotations from Mao Tse-tung.
> I thought it was sad that I had to come to prison to find out there were great African Americans in this country and in this world, and to find role models that I should have had available to me in school. What helped me was that I knew I wasn't a criminal anymore. I considered myself to be a political prisoner. Not in the sense that I was incarcerated for a political crime, but because of a political system that had failed me terribly as an individual and a citizen in this country.
> Our resistance gave us an identity. Our identity gave us strength. Our strength gave us an unbreakable will. My determination not to be broken was stronger than any other part of me, stronger than anything they did to me.
> They thought they would stop our organizing by separating us but all they did was spread our influence. Wherever they put us, we started over, organizing our tiers. Pooling resources. Educating prisoners. Setting examples by our own conduct. In this way, we taught men the power of unity.
> I'd been framed for murder, persecuted at my trial, and wrongfully convicted. But I didn't feel like a sacrificial lamb. I felt like a member of the Black Panther Party. If anything, I had become more of a revolutionary than I was before
> Since Judge Tanner had overturned my murder conviction in 1992, my sentence at Angola went from life in prison back to the 50-year sentence I was serving for armed robbery. On April 29, 1996, I was discharged from Angola on that original 50-year sentence, having done 25 years—half the time, which was all that was required. If I hadn't been framed for Miller's murder I would have gone home that day. Instead, I packed up my possessions. I was to be transferred to a jail in Tangipahoa Parish, where I'd be held during my second trial.
> If I knew everything that was going to happen to me and I could turn back the hands of time, I would not change one thing about my life—not one moment of dedication, not one moment of struggle, not one moment of physical pain that I've suffered from beatings by prison people in New York and in Angola.
> In all the years I was at Angola, I'd been on so many hunger strikes I can't count them, yet I was never written up for one. They wrote me up for "defiance" or "disobedience" or "aggravated disobedience." They didn't want a record of our protests.
> I don't know if they overmedicated people, or if it was the nature of the drug, but Prolixin almost made men immobile. It broke my heart to see men on this drug. It would take them damn near an hour to walk from one end of the hall to another. They stopped taking showers. Their cells became filthy. Drugs like this were referred to as "chemical restraints."
> I can tell you that it changes you—the grief overwhelms you, the "what ifs" haunt you. And now I have to live with another tragedy—the two innocent men, who have already spent 36 years in solitary confinement, who remain in prison for a crime that they did not commit. This is a tragedy that the state of Louisiana seems willing to live with. I am not. I hope you aren't either. . . . After over 36 years, there can be no excuse to deny justice for one more day. It is time for the state of Louisiana to finally compare the bloody prints found at the crime scene to every inmate who was incarcerated at Angola on the date of Brent's murder and find out who left his fingerprint on the wall of that prison dormitory before he walked out and left Brent there to die.
Second, I just had a problem with Woodfox himself. Before being arrested, he routinely made armed robberies and assaulted people. And yet at least twice in the book he says that he regrets nothing:
> I have been asked many times what I would change about my life. My answer is always the same: "Not one thing."
I don't understand this. He doesn't seem to realize the effects of his crimes on others. For example,
> When I needed money, I went out and got it from a person walking down the street. I was a stickup artist … After robbing people on the streets and jacking dope pushers I eventually started robbing bars and grocery stores while they were open. I walked into a bar, pointed the gun at the bartender or somebody sitting at the bar, and yelled, "Nobody move, motherfucker. I'll kill you." … An unarmed deputy was seated next to the control panel. As soon as the doors closed I pulled the gun from my pants with my free hand and held it to his head. I told him to keep the doors closed and take us to the basement or I would shoot him. I didn't mean it but that's what I said
And yet, he also writes,
> "I used to think I kept getting arrested because I had bad luck," I told them. "It wasn't bad luck. I was targeted because I am black, that's why I kept getting arrested."
I get the sense from the book that Woodfox is highly self-absorbed. The book is about him, and only him. He seems to have mythologized himself as a civil rights warrior. It's good that this attitude got him through prison, but it's hard to read past his ego. Until the last chapter, everything is about him alone (and sometimes two others at Angola). The last chapter broadens the scale to criminal justice reform, but in a very unconvincing way. One is far better off reading Alexander's "The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness".
> To 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.
More quotes:
> Malik got word to me from Oakland that we should start a separate chapter of the party—a prison chapter—at Angola. Before I left Orleans Parish Prison, I took an oath on C-1 to become a member of the Black Panther Party. On my last day there, one of the Panthers gave me a copy of the Little Red Book, a collection of quotations from Mao Tse-tung.
> I thought it was sad that I had to come to prison to find out there were great African Americans in this country and in this world, and to find role models that I should have had available to me in school. What helped me was that I knew I wasn't a criminal anymore. I considered myself to be a political prisoner. Not in the sense that I was incarcerated for a political crime, but because of a political system that had failed me terribly as an individual and a citizen in this country.
> Our resistance gave us an identity. Our identity gave us strength. Our strength gave us an unbreakable will. My determination not to be broken was stronger than any other part of me, stronger than anything they did to me.
> They thought they would stop our organizing by separating us but all they did was spread our influence. Wherever they put us, we started over, organizing our tiers. Pooling resources. Educating prisoners. Setting examples by our own conduct. In this way, we taught men the power of unity.
> I'd been framed for murder, persecuted at my trial, and wrongfully convicted. But I didn't feel like a sacrificial lamb. I felt like a member of the Black Panther Party. If anything, I had become more of a revolutionary than I was before
> Since Judge Tanner had overturned my murder conviction in 1992, my sentence at Angola went from life in prison back to the 50-year sentence I was serving for armed robbery. On April 29, 1996, I was discharged from Angola on that original 50-year sentence, having done 25 years—half the time, which was all that was required. If I hadn't been framed for Miller's murder I would have gone home that day. Instead, I packed up my possessions. I was to be transferred to a jail in Tangipahoa Parish, where I'd be held during my second trial.
> If I knew everything that was going to happen to me and I could turn back the hands of time, I would not change one thing about my life—not one moment of dedication, not one moment of struggle, not one moment of physical pain that I've suffered from beatings by prison people in New York and in Angola.
> In all the years I was at Angola, I'd been on so many hunger strikes I can't count them, yet I was never written up for one. They wrote me up for "defiance" or "disobedience" or "aggravated disobedience." They didn't want a record of our protests.
> I don't know if they overmedicated people, or if it was the nature of the drug, but Prolixin almost made men immobile. It broke my heart to see men on this drug. It would take them damn near an hour to walk from one end of the hall to another. They stopped taking showers. Their cells became filthy. Drugs like this were referred to as "chemical restraints."
> I can tell you that it changes you—the grief overwhelms you, the "what ifs" haunt you. And now I have to live with another tragedy—the two innocent men, who have already spent 36 years in solitary confinement, who remain in prison for a crime that they did not commit. This is a tragedy that the state of Louisiana seems willing to live with. I am not. I hope you aren't either. . . . After over 36 years, there can be no excuse to deny justice for one more day. It is time for the state of Louisiana to finally compare the bloody prints found at the crime scene to every inmate who was incarcerated at Angola on the date of Brent's murder and find out who left his fingerprint on the wall of that prison dormitory before he walked out and left Brent there to die.
May 18, 2020
A real life horror story. A man spends 40 years in solitary for a crime he did not commit, mostly in the (ex) slave plantation of Angola prison in Louisiana. I liken the U.S. penal system to tide pods. A concentration of the blatant racism, wage slavery, predatory capitalism, and the police state that exists in our larger society. That a man decided to protest his innocence, keep his dignity, help his fellow inmates ward off rape and mistreatment, could not go unpunished by prison authorities. Incredibly, the Angola prison farm was run by the same family that owned it when it was a legal slave plantation. They ran it as if emancipation was but a small technicality. (That family was finally ousted after Federal intervention). Albert Woodfox was a member of the first prison based chapter of the Black Panthers. For this crime he spent the majority of his life behind bars under going various levels of torture. That he did not succumb to insanity is something I cannot fathom. His humanity and the inhumanity of his torturers and the prison system is laid bare. The business of prisons is booming. That tRump reversed the Obama order to get the Federal government out of the business of modern slavery after only 2 weeks in office, tells us of the power and monies at stake in this business. If there is any desire to end the very worst of American society, then prison reform, abolishment of solitary confinement, and punishment for racist police tactics must be foremost in our agendas. Read this horror story and become very very angry. Then join the fight.
December 24, 2019
Truly amazing. Prisons are sexual and anti-Black violence. Abolish them all. Albert is a genius.
November 14, 2019
An scathing indictment to cruel and inhumane prison system.
November 7, 2018
When Albert Woodfox was incarcerated and sentenced to quite a stretch in jail, he didn't know what to think, really; he was a teenager who'd got muddled up in basic criminal teenage stuff.
One of Woodfox's great strengths is his ability to express himself straightforwardly, without mucking up a line. As here:
Also:
It's a fair shake to a man who can describe aeons of time in a single line.
I cannot even get into the innards of what happened to Woodfox, but he does a great job at showing what went down in Angola, a big American jail, where he went in the 1960s:
Just those two paragraphs put the fear of Bog in me.
This is quite the book to go well together with Shane Bauer's excellent exposé of the privately-owned prisons in the USA; that book is named "American Prison".
And that's just the start.
Woodfox's political being starts becoming awakened due to meeting persons who taught him of The Black Panthers, and what they wanted to teach (and learn). This changed matters inside:
Where the book goes slightly not-good, is where Woodfox goes deeply into his own case; while I see how the details are important to him, I personally feel the book should have been edited tighter; my mind had a hard time staying focused on all of the minutiae, the majority of which I will not be taking with me to my grave. In a larger context, sure, I can see how that all pans out by showing how the government/state/prison/DAs wanted to grind Woodfox down to stop appealing for justice.
Woodfox is really paying back to reading, what reading did for him:
There's so much good in this book. I hope it gets spread everywhere.
One of Woodfox's great strengths is his ability to express himself straightforwardly, without mucking up a line. As here:
The first time I was called a nigger by a white person I was around 12. I was waiting with dozens of other kids at the end of the Mardi Gras parade behind the Municipal Auditorium where the people on the floats, who were all white in those days, gave away whatever beads and trinkets they had left. On one of the floats the man tossing the trinkets was holding a real beautiful strand of pearl-colored beads. I thought they’d make a nice gift for my mom on her birthday. I called out to him, “Hey mister, hey mister,” and reached out my hand.
He pointed to me as he held the beads above his head and tossed them toward me. As the beads came close to me I reached up and a white girl standing next to me put her hand up and caught them at the same time I did. I didn’t let go. I gestured to the man on the float and told her, “Hey, he was throwing the beads to me.” I told her I wanted to give them to my mom. She looked at the man on the float who was still pointing at me, then she ripped the beads apart and called me nigger. The pain I felt from that young white girl calling me nigger will be with me forever.
Also:
At night, we stood under a streetlight on the corner of Dumaine and Robertson and talked shit for hours, boasting about things we never did, describing girls we never knew.
It's a fair shake to a man who can describe aeons of time in a single line.
I cannot even get into the innards of what happened to Woodfox, but he does a great job at showing what went down in Angola, a big American jail, where he went in the 1960s:
If you were raped at Angola, or what was called “turned out,” your life in prison was virtually over. You became a “gal-boy,” a possession of your rapist. You’d be sold, pimped, used, and abused by your rapist and even some guards. Your only way out was to kill yourself or kill your rapist. If you killed your rapist you’d be free of human bondage within the confines of the prison forever, but in exchange, you’d most likely be convicted of murder, so you’d have to spend the rest of your life at Angola.
Some orderlies, inmate guards, and freeman who worked at RC sold the names of young and weak new arrivals to sexual predators in the prison population. I had to be much more confident than I felt to keep guys from trying stupid shit with me. I couldn’t look weak. I couldn’t show any fear. So I faked it. Luckily, I had a reputation as a fighter who never gave up. There were prisoners at Angola I had known on the street and who knew me or knew of me. Word spreads quickly in prison. Dudes gossiped and talked. Word was if you whip my ass today you have to whip it again tomorrow. You have to beat me every day for the rest of your life if necessary. That helped me a lot.
Just those two paragraphs put the fear of Bog in me.
This is quite the book to go well together with Shane Bauer's excellent exposé of the privately-owned prisons in the USA; that book is named "American Prison".
One of the greatest hardships for me the first few months I was at Angola was getting used to the sameness of every day.
The hardest job I ever had in my life was cutting sugarcane, Angola’s main crop. Cutting cane was so brutal that prisoners would pay somebody to break their hands, legs, or ankles, or they would cut themselves during cane season, to get out of doing it. There were old-timers at Angola who made good money breaking prisoners’ bones so men could get out of work.
And that's just the start.
Woodfox's political being starts becoming awakened due to meeting persons who taught him of The Black Panthers, and what they wanted to teach (and learn). This changed matters inside:
We practiced martial arts together on the tier. We read aloud. We held math classes, spelling classes. We talked about what was going on in the world. Every Friday we passed out a spelling or math test. We encouraged debates and conversation. We told each man he had a say. “Stand up for yourself,” we told them, “for your own self-esteem, for your own dignity.” Even the roughest, most hardened person usually responds when you see the dignity and humanity in him and ask him to see it for himself. “The guards will retaliate,” we said, “but we will always face that together.”
Where the book goes slightly not-good, is where Woodfox goes deeply into his own case; while I see how the details are important to him, I personally feel the book should have been edited tighter; my mind had a hard time staying focused on all of the minutiae, the majority of which I will not be taking with me to my grave. In a larger context, sure, I can see how that all pans out by showing how the government/state/prison/DAs wanted to grind Woodfox down to stop appealing for justice.
Woodfox is really paying back to reading, what reading did for him:
Reading was a bright spot for me. Reading was my salvation. Libraries and universities and schools from all over Louisiana donated books to Angola and for once, the willful ignorance of the prison administration paid off for us, because there were a lot of radical books in the prison library: Books we wouldn’t have been allowed to get through the mail. Books we never could have afforded to buy. Books we had never heard of. Herman, King, and I first gravitated to books and authors that dealt with politics and race—George Jackson, Frantz Fanon, Malcolm X, Marcus Garvey, Steve Biko, Eldridge Cleaver’s Soul on Ice, J. A. Rogers’s From ‘Superman’ to Man. We read anything we could find on slavery, communism, socialism, Marxism, anti-imperialism, the African independence movements, and independence movements from around the world.
There's so much good in this book. I hope it gets spread everywhere.
May 5, 2019
This is the story of the Angola 3, who spent decades in solitary confinement in a slave plantation-turned-prison in Louisiana.
Beneath the word SOLITARY, I see the word SOLIDARITY. Solidarity between the three men who were moved by the black panther party in the late sixties to change their lives and the lives of those around them. Solidarity in the struggle for survival and human rights against all odds, solidarity between these prisoners and their supporters on the outside who number in the hundreds of thousands.
This is companion reading to Michelle Alexander's The New Jim Crow or Patrisse Khan-Cullors's When They Call You a Terrorist or any number of expository works about our American injustice machine and the lives it destroys. There is no excuse for not knowing that the penal system doesn't rehabilitate people, and that justice is an actual impossibility in our justice system.
Beneath the word SOLITARY, I see the word SOLIDARITY. Solidarity between the three men who were moved by the black panther party in the late sixties to change their lives and the lives of those around them. Solidarity in the struggle for survival and human rights against all odds, solidarity between these prisoners and their supporters on the outside who number in the hundreds of thousands.
This is companion reading to Michelle Alexander's The New Jim Crow or Patrisse Khan-Cullors's When They Call You a Terrorist or any number of expository works about our American injustice machine and the lives it destroys. There is no excuse for not knowing that the penal system doesn't rehabilitate people, and that justice is an actual impossibility in our justice system.
July 30, 2023
I judged the Booktube Prize for three rounds in 2020 (Octafinals Fiction G, Quarterfinals Nonfiction B, and the Finals in Nonfiction) and for one round in 2022 (Octafinals Nonfiction C). I ranked this book in 1st place when I judged it during the nonfiction finals in 2020, despite the fact that it ultimately finished in 5th place. It was in an arguably strong class and "Know My Name" by Chanel Miller is one of the highest average ratings on Goodreads, thus the fact that it would win the Booktube Prize in its designated year should not be shocking by any means. I was really engaged in this book, though, and the story that Albert Woodfox tells about his experience of being imprisoned for over 40 years in Louisiana.
Albert Woodfox dealt with ongoing, minor offenses growing up, but he was ultimately a victim of circumstance when a shady car dealer turned against him. In this society, though, being black put you at a great criminal disadvantage. What put him in solitary confinement for over 40 years, though, was being accused of killing a prison guard. Throughout the text, we develop a greater understanding of Woodfox's stay in prison and what it was he had to go through.
This book is incredibly atmospheric, and I developed a greater understanding of what solitary confinement is truly like. Just the idea of being in a cell that is 6 x 9 feet! I developed a greater and more specific understanding about Woodfox's situation, how he handled it, and ways in which the prison system needs repairs. Woodfox is known for being part of the Angola Three, along with Herman Wallace and Robert Hillary King.
I feel that it was very important that Albert Woodfox told this story for himself, for Wallace and King, for everyone that wants to learn, grow, and understand the world around them and what it takes to fix it for the better.
Albert Woodfox dealt with ongoing, minor offenses growing up, but he was ultimately a victim of circumstance when a shady car dealer turned against him. In this society, though, being black put you at a great criminal disadvantage. What put him in solitary confinement for over 40 years, though, was being accused of killing a prison guard. Throughout the text, we develop a greater understanding of Woodfox's stay in prison and what it was he had to go through.
This book is incredibly atmospheric, and I developed a greater understanding of what solitary confinement is truly like. Just the idea of being in a cell that is 6 x 9 feet! I developed a greater and more specific understanding about Woodfox's situation, how he handled it, and ways in which the prison system needs repairs. Woodfox is known for being part of the Angola Three, along with Herman Wallace and Robert Hillary King.
I feel that it was very important that Albert Woodfox told this story for himself, for Wallace and King, for everyone that wants to learn, grow, and understand the world around them and what it takes to fix it for the better.
March 3, 2019
Some books we read to bear witness; to acknowledge the pain and suffering our country causes her own citizens to bear. Albert Woodcox was sent to prison, once there his life became a living hell. Accused of a crime there that he did not commit, he was held in solitary confinement for decades. Decades. This book explains his experience and the struggle for his release. Prison reform is but the tip of the iceberg in the change needed to rectify what happened to him. This book is important to read. I received my copy from the publisher through NetGalley.
August 28, 2018
Please just read it. Woodfox isn’t the first person to suffer at the hands of America’s broken criminal justice system and, as long as the prison industrial complex and systemic racism continue to chug along and get away with it, he most certainly won’t be the last. Yes, he’s one of many. Yes, it’s a story that we’ve heard before. And that’s exactly why his story is important and needs to be told.
July 7, 2020
Everyone should read this story. Incredible,moving, painful, heartbreaking, uplifting, eye-opening, and powerful all in one. It deserves more than five stars.
September 1, 2021
Impactante
February 14, 2023
After the first few chapters: “I’m can’t believe I’m expected to feel sorry for this guy because he goes to jail after he robs and ruins lives.” But then I softened. While in prison, he reformed himself through education and helped others learn to read, among many other things.
Lots of five star chapters but the grueling court talk with hundreds of names really weighed it down. Mostly, an up close look at the ugliness, violence and unfairness of prison. ( if you’re innocent).
I liked that he got a a posse together to try to stop all the raping that went on.
All the corruption in Louisiana courts and prisons, wow.
Passages:
“Prison is prison. First you figure out the routine, which doesn't
take long because every day is the same. Then you learn the culture and
how to play between the lines. The faster you do that the quicker you
adjust. At any prison there is always a pecking order. The strong rule over
the weak, the smart over the strong. All the threats, games, manipula-
tions, stories, and bullying were the same in the Tombs, overseen with
the same kind of cruelty and indifference by the prison administration.”
“I thought of the most violent and depraved prisoners I'd encoun-
tered at Angola and in New York. I couldn't bring myself to hate them.
Uneducated, they were surrounded by racism and corruption in prison,
threatened by, and often the victims of, violence and beatings because
of their race, forced to live in filth, worked to death, and barely fed.
Treated like animals they became subhuman. They became animals.
All the principles I was being taught by the Black Panther Party I now
started to understand. We want freedom. We want power to determine
the destiny of our Black Community. We want an end to the robbery
by the capitalists of our black and oppressed communities …..decent
housing, fit for shelter of human beings ..land, bread, housing, edu-
cation, clothing, justice, peace. I not only got it with my mind, I felt it
with my heart, my soul, my body. It was as if a light went on in a room
inside me that I hadn't known existed.”
“When Panthers raised a clenched fist, it was for unity. If you raise
an open hand your fingers are separate, you are vulnerable. When
you close those fingers and your hand comes together into a fist you
have a symbol of power and unity. The mainstream media turned
the Panther salute of a raised clenched fist for Black Power into a
rebuke against other races, which it was never intended to be, instead
of a call for unity, which is what it was. A raised fist was for unity
between Panthers, unity within black communities, and unity with
anyone waging the same struggles for the people, for empowerment
and equality and justice.”
“Also, in order to see a doctor, versus a nurse, you had to
declare yourself an emergency. I never felt that any sickness or injury
I had was an emergency. A lot of times for cuts and bruises I used an
old remedy my grandmother taught me: my own saliva. It worked well
to speed healing.”
“By the time I was 40 I saw how I had transformed my cell, which
was supposed to be a confined space of destruction and punishment,
into something positive. I used that space to educate myself, I used
that space to build strong moral character, I used that space to develop
principles and a code of conduct, I used that space for everything other
than what my captors intended it to be.”
“Private prisons--prisons run by corporations in order to make a profit,
are dangerous. When the goal of a prison is to make a profit, human
beings suffer. Corners are cut; rules are devised to keep people in prison
longer; there is no incentive to rehabilitate prisoners. A 2016 Justice
Department report issued by the Obama administration found that
there is more violence at privately run prisons and less medical care
than at government-run facilities. In 2016 President Obama directed
the Justice Department to reduce the use of private prisons. The fol-
lowing year, under President Donald Trump, Attorney General Jeff
Sessions rescinded Obama's order within three weeks of being sworn
in. The private prison industry is booming.” Never knew.
I just learned that he died in August from Covid related complications.
Lots of five star chapters but the grueling court talk with hundreds of names really weighed it down. Mostly, an up close look at the ugliness, violence and unfairness of prison. ( if you’re innocent).
I liked that he got a a posse together to try to stop all the raping that went on.
All the corruption in Louisiana courts and prisons, wow.
Passages:
“Prison is prison. First you figure out the routine, which doesn't
take long because every day is the same. Then you learn the culture and
how to play between the lines. The faster you do that the quicker you
adjust. At any prison there is always a pecking order. The strong rule over
the weak, the smart over the strong. All the threats, games, manipula-
tions, stories, and bullying were the same in the Tombs, overseen with
the same kind of cruelty and indifference by the prison administration.”
“I thought of the most violent and depraved prisoners I'd encoun-
tered at Angola and in New York. I couldn't bring myself to hate them.
Uneducated, they were surrounded by racism and corruption in prison,
threatened by, and often the victims of, violence and beatings because
of their race, forced to live in filth, worked to death, and barely fed.
Treated like animals they became subhuman. They became animals.
All the principles I was being taught by the Black Panther Party I now
started to understand. We want freedom. We want power to determine
the destiny of our Black Community. We want an end to the robbery
by the capitalists of our black and oppressed communities …..decent
housing, fit for shelter of human beings ..land, bread, housing, edu-
cation, clothing, justice, peace. I not only got it with my mind, I felt it
with my heart, my soul, my body. It was as if a light went on in a room
inside me that I hadn't known existed.”
“When Panthers raised a clenched fist, it was for unity. If you raise
an open hand your fingers are separate, you are vulnerable. When
you close those fingers and your hand comes together into a fist you
have a symbol of power and unity. The mainstream media turned
the Panther salute of a raised clenched fist for Black Power into a
rebuke against other races, which it was never intended to be, instead
of a call for unity, which is what it was. A raised fist was for unity
between Panthers, unity within black communities, and unity with
anyone waging the same struggles for the people, for empowerment
and equality and justice.”
“Also, in order to see a doctor, versus a nurse, you had to
declare yourself an emergency. I never felt that any sickness or injury
I had was an emergency. A lot of times for cuts and bruises I used an
old remedy my grandmother taught me: my own saliva. It worked well
to speed healing.”
“By the time I was 40 I saw how I had transformed my cell, which
was supposed to be a confined space of destruction and punishment,
into something positive. I used that space to educate myself, I used
that space to build strong moral character, I used that space to develop
principles and a code of conduct, I used that space for everything other
than what my captors intended it to be.”
“Private prisons--prisons run by corporations in order to make a profit,
are dangerous. When the goal of a prison is to make a profit, human
beings suffer. Corners are cut; rules are devised to keep people in prison
longer; there is no incentive to rehabilitate prisoners. A 2016 Justice
Department report issued by the Obama administration found that
there is more violence at privately run prisons and less medical care
than at government-run facilities. In 2016 President Obama directed
the Justice Department to reduce the use of private prisons. The fol-
lowing year, under President Donald Trump, Attorney General Jeff
Sessions rescinded Obama's order within three weeks of being sworn
in. The private prison industry is booming.” Never knew.
I just learned that he died in August from Covid related complications.
June 3, 2020
A story like this can’t help but be powerful. Albert Woodfox is the living personification of our beloved underdog. A member of an underprivileged class, he’s hit with enough abuse to bury most people, but he only comes out of it stronger.
The memoir, co-authored with Leslie George, takes us through Woodfox’s youth before he’s landed in prison on various burglary charges (it’s a little more complicated than that, but “burglary” seems to be the one thing he was guilty of.) Growing up in New Orleans in the fifties and sixties, the facts of his life laid bare unfair treatment from even before he was behind bars. Yes, he and his friends ran street gangs and judged each other in terms of toxic masculinity, but they also faced Jim Crow segregation and regular beatings by police. It’s easy to see the cycle feeding itself.
Woodfox first landed in Angola prison before he was 20, a place described, in eerie detail, as a mirror image of slavery in the antebellum south. It was a plantation, after all, with white administrative families living on the land for generations, and malnourished black inmates picking cotton, often without the proper tools, for pennies.
Psychological conditioning is a major part of prison; keeping inmates focused on the drug and sex (read: rape) trade means they’re not worrying too much about their rights under US law. When Woodfox was first in prison, he presented himself as a tough guy, which belied his true emotional state, he writes. Later, during one of his brief stints out of prison, he discovered the Black Panther Party and with it a cause to believe in. He started to educate himself about systematic oppression and other issues, and lived for something larger than himself.
Brief caveat to note that Woodfox was returned to prison mostly on trumped up charges—police trying to “clear their books” by pinning all unsolved crimes on one perp. But being framed for the murder of Angola guard Brent Miller was something bigger. Revitalized by his Black Panther convictions, Woodfox was working to stop toxic prison culture and advocate for inmate rights. Putting him in solitary, at least given the conditions he described, which went on for literal decades, was designed to break him.
Instead, Woodfox fostered deep friendships with the men he was wrongfully convicted with, and their continued education and discipline ultimately progressed into an activist support group on the outside. Still, thanks to the mix of incompetent to corrupt legal proceedings men like Woodfox face in the US, he was kept in solitary for over 40 years.
Woodfox describes, in stark to the point prose, the claustrophobia and other psychological anomalies of solitary confinement, being stuck in his small cell for 23 hours a day. It’s easy to let the facts speak for themselves and get caught up in the injustice of this story. The legal proceedings, however, which Woodfox reports in similarly excruciating detail, were less effective. On a logical level (when I could keep up with all the names) I understood the preposterous nature of his experience with the US “justice system.” But it droned on and on, and it lacked the emotional power of his personal day to day life.
To be frank, the power of this story comes less from the writing craft than from the circumstances described. But it’s an important piece, and often moving, particularly the progression of Woodfox’s strong friendship with Herman Wallace.
Woodfox stands by the idea that this is an “issues” book, particularly in the epilogue when he addresses readers as activists. He’s against the tyranny of solitary confinement and the US prison industrial complex as a whole. He points out continued systematic racism in the justice system. He’s anti-capitalist and maintains his allegiance to the spirit of the Black Panthers (a revolutionary socialist group, whose end is chronicled in this book as a longstanding FBI plot.) His fire is on full display. But so too is his heart, the fact that he can maintain close relationships and not allow the injustice in his life to drown out a sense of goodness. “I bear the scars of beatings, loneliness, isolation and persecution,” he writes at the end of his epilogue. “I am also marked by every kindness.”
A role model (to put it lightly) worth our aspiration.
The memoir, co-authored with Leslie George, takes us through Woodfox’s youth before he’s landed in prison on various burglary charges (it’s a little more complicated than that, but “burglary” seems to be the one thing he was guilty of.) Growing up in New Orleans in the fifties and sixties, the facts of his life laid bare unfair treatment from even before he was behind bars. Yes, he and his friends ran street gangs and judged each other in terms of toxic masculinity, but they also faced Jim Crow segregation and regular beatings by police. It’s easy to see the cycle feeding itself.
Woodfox first landed in Angola prison before he was 20, a place described, in eerie detail, as a mirror image of slavery in the antebellum south. It was a plantation, after all, with white administrative families living on the land for generations, and malnourished black inmates picking cotton, often without the proper tools, for pennies.
Psychological conditioning is a major part of prison; keeping inmates focused on the drug and sex (read: rape) trade means they’re not worrying too much about their rights under US law. When Woodfox was first in prison, he presented himself as a tough guy, which belied his true emotional state, he writes. Later, during one of his brief stints out of prison, he discovered the Black Panther Party and with it a cause to believe in. He started to educate himself about systematic oppression and other issues, and lived for something larger than himself.
Brief caveat to note that Woodfox was returned to prison mostly on trumped up charges—police trying to “clear their books” by pinning all unsolved crimes on one perp. But being framed for the murder of Angola guard Brent Miller was something bigger. Revitalized by his Black Panther convictions, Woodfox was working to stop toxic prison culture and advocate for inmate rights. Putting him in solitary, at least given the conditions he described, which went on for literal decades, was designed to break him.
Instead, Woodfox fostered deep friendships with the men he was wrongfully convicted with, and their continued education and discipline ultimately progressed into an activist support group on the outside. Still, thanks to the mix of incompetent to corrupt legal proceedings men like Woodfox face in the US, he was kept in solitary for over 40 years.
Woodfox describes, in stark to the point prose, the claustrophobia and other psychological anomalies of solitary confinement, being stuck in his small cell for 23 hours a day. It’s easy to let the facts speak for themselves and get caught up in the injustice of this story. The legal proceedings, however, which Woodfox reports in similarly excruciating detail, were less effective. On a logical level (when I could keep up with all the names) I understood the preposterous nature of his experience with the US “justice system.” But it droned on and on, and it lacked the emotional power of his personal day to day life.
To be frank, the power of this story comes less from the writing craft than from the circumstances described. But it’s an important piece, and often moving, particularly the progression of Woodfox’s strong friendship with Herman Wallace.
Woodfox stands by the idea that this is an “issues” book, particularly in the epilogue when he addresses readers as activists. He’s against the tyranny of solitary confinement and the US prison industrial complex as a whole. He points out continued systematic racism in the justice system. He’s anti-capitalist and maintains his allegiance to the spirit of the Black Panthers (a revolutionary socialist group, whose end is chronicled in this book as a longstanding FBI plot.) His fire is on full display. But so too is his heart, the fact that he can maintain close relationships and not allow the injustice in his life to drown out a sense of goodness. “I bear the scars of beatings, loneliness, isolation and persecution,” he writes at the end of his epilogue. “I am also marked by every kindness.”
A role model (to put it lightly) worth our aspiration.
August 9, 2020
Woodfox's story is eyeopening and heart-wrenching - convicted for a murder he did not commit he spent 40 years in solitary confinement before being exonerated. As a piece of writing I had some issues with the book though, so check out my full thoughts in this Booktube Prize vlog: https://youtu.be/F90Ee0WglUw
July 30, 2023
“I turned my attention to the street. There, I quickly learned everyone had one choice: to be a rabbit or a wolf. I chose to be a wolf”.
It’s not always common for me to finish a book and cry. To reread a book and sit with how relevant it is because injustice has not dwindled. In Solitary, by Albert Woodfox, we learn of one man’s journey to prison but there, his fight was never singular as a brotherhood was developed that could never be broken.
From a young age, Albert was surrounded by poverty and slowly started understanding how his skin tone was a crime. Young and restless, he would not abide by his mother’s rules and began dabbling in crime at a young age to survive the streets of New Orleans’s Treme neighborhood. Albert became no stranger to the system even though he escaped on numerous occasions. By the age of 24, he had been in and out of prison and had a yearlong addiction to heroin until he kicked the habit with the help of a girlfriend.
In the need to survive, his mother could not read or write which resulted in prostitution to make sure her children had a roof of their head and food in their bellies. With his need to survive, Albert discloses how he stole from people who almost had nothing. His own people. Things finally got out of hand in 1969 when Albert was sentenced to 50 years in prison for armed robbery mixed with added false chargers so police can clean their books.
In Angola prison, the largest maximum-security prison that was a plantation, Woodfox is introduced and joins the Black Panther Party. Fighting injustices in the prison system, Woodfox became a target. He was charged with killing a guard by the name of Brent Miller. With a lack of evidence and numerous tellings of the incident that did and did not put Woodfox and other inmates at the scene of the crime, there would be a long fight not only to prove their innocence but to succumb to four decades in solitary confinement faced with harsh and brutal treatment daily. Hot cells, numerous strip searches, brutally attacked, deteriorating health, and being behind bars while you start to lose friends and family members that believe in your innocence.
The false charge of murder introduced us to true friendship as the “Angola 3” (Herman, Albert, and King) stood firm in their beliefs and their duty to protect other inmates as they stood up to the prison rape culture, helped educate inmates through reading and writing, and joined in hungry strikes to get fair and appropriate treatment. Herman died three days after his release from prison in 2013, Woodfox finally tasted freedom in 2016 but passed away in 2022, and the last remaining member of the three, King, never stopped his fight to speak on the harsh conditions of the prison and justice system.
This is not an easy story to read as much of it still stands in the injustices and the harsh treatment of Black men in America. Albert Woodfox introduces us to true friendship as he shows the strength and comradery he had with Herman Wallace and Robert King. He shows us what endless love and strength look like and how the fight must go on even when the odds are stacked against you. He shares so much of the legal process as he starts to learn the law and has an army behind him that would not give up in the fight to prove his freedom. This is a book everyone should read as I have only touched on minimal as there is so much more detail and understanding to be had.
It’s not always common for me to finish a book and cry. To reread a book and sit with how relevant it is because injustice has not dwindled. In Solitary, by Albert Woodfox, we learn of one man’s journey to prison but there, his fight was never singular as a brotherhood was developed that could never be broken.
From a young age, Albert was surrounded by poverty and slowly started understanding how his skin tone was a crime. Young and restless, he would not abide by his mother’s rules and began dabbling in crime at a young age to survive the streets of New Orleans’s Treme neighborhood. Albert became no stranger to the system even though he escaped on numerous occasions. By the age of 24, he had been in and out of prison and had a yearlong addiction to heroin until he kicked the habit with the help of a girlfriend.
In the need to survive, his mother could not read or write which resulted in prostitution to make sure her children had a roof of their head and food in their bellies. With his need to survive, Albert discloses how he stole from people who almost had nothing. His own people. Things finally got out of hand in 1969 when Albert was sentenced to 50 years in prison for armed robbery mixed with added false chargers so police can clean their books.
In Angola prison, the largest maximum-security prison that was a plantation, Woodfox is introduced and joins the Black Panther Party. Fighting injustices in the prison system, Woodfox became a target. He was charged with killing a guard by the name of Brent Miller. With a lack of evidence and numerous tellings of the incident that did and did not put Woodfox and other inmates at the scene of the crime, there would be a long fight not only to prove their innocence but to succumb to four decades in solitary confinement faced with harsh and brutal treatment daily. Hot cells, numerous strip searches, brutally attacked, deteriorating health, and being behind bars while you start to lose friends and family members that believe in your innocence.
The false charge of murder introduced us to true friendship as the “Angola 3” (Herman, Albert, and King) stood firm in their beliefs and their duty to protect other inmates as they stood up to the prison rape culture, helped educate inmates through reading and writing, and joined in hungry strikes to get fair and appropriate treatment. Herman died three days after his release from prison in 2013, Woodfox finally tasted freedom in 2016 but passed away in 2022, and the last remaining member of the three, King, never stopped his fight to speak on the harsh conditions of the prison and justice system.
This is not an easy story to read as much of it still stands in the injustices and the harsh treatment of Black men in America. Albert Woodfox introduces us to true friendship as he shows the strength and comradery he had with Herman Wallace and Robert King. He shows us what endless love and strength look like and how the fight must go on even when the odds are stacked against you. He shares so much of the legal process as he starts to learn the law and has an army behind him that would not give up in the fight to prove his freedom. This is a book everyone should read as I have only touched on minimal as there is so much more detail and understanding to be had.
October 17, 2019
Summary: This was a powerful story showing the human cost of systemic problems.
This is the memoir of Albert Woodfox, a man who survived more than 40 years of solitary confinement imposed for a crime he didn't commit. As you might expect, a lot of the power of this book came from the author's experiences. It was absolutely incredible how he was able to focus on the people who helped him, rather than on those who wronged him. The purpose he found in his life is inspiring.
The writing felt simple and I wasn't initially certain it would be effective in conveying the horror of his situation. As I read more of Albert's story though, I found a different sort of power in his matter-of-fact litany of abuses that prisoners faced. He doesn't emphasize the horror of these abuses through emotional writing. Rather, he shows that the true horror is how common place and expected abuse was, both abuse of prisoners and abuse of the justice system.
The beginning of the story, describing the author's childhood, was an interesting window into what it was like growing up black in the 1950s-60s. It was less effective as a window into who the author was as a person. it seems likely that he started committing petty thefts, etc because his family was poor and because police injustice and brutality left him with little respect for the law. The reader is left to draw this conclusion on their own though. There was very little introspection in this early section. Even larger events, like abandoning a wife and child in his teens, included no explanation or expressions of regret.
Fortunately, the trajectory of the book seemed to follow the trajectory of Albert's life. As the author gained political awareness through meeting members of the Black Panthers, his writing moved from sounding like he was repeating to Black Panther slogans to thoughtful commentary on systemic racism and injustice. As the author grew up and had to learn to manage his emotions to survive in solitary, he began to have more insight into himself to share with the reader as well.
The author's inclusion of political commentary also got more powerful as the book progressed. The initial history of Angola prison, when Albert arrived, felt out-of-place. It seemed unlikely he would have known the information he was sharing at that time in his life. By the epilogue, the statistics he shared about wrongful imprisonment; systemic racism; police brutality; and solitary confinement in the US all had more impact shared against the background of his own personal suffering.
Perhaps mistakenly, I did expect a slightly more information dense text. I have only read the nominees for this award from last year, but something I enjoyed most about those books was the feeling of being filled to the brim with new facts. So far, the only nominee I've read this year that was similar is The Heartbeat at Wounded Knee. So, while I blown away by the author of this book and I think this is a story very much worth reading, I'm still rooting for Heartbeat to win the award at the moment.This review was originally posted on Doing Dewey
This is the memoir of Albert Woodfox, a man who survived more than 40 years of solitary confinement imposed for a crime he didn't commit. As you might expect, a lot of the power of this book came from the author's experiences. It was absolutely incredible how he was able to focus on the people who helped him, rather than on those who wronged him. The purpose he found in his life is inspiring.
The writing felt simple and I wasn't initially certain it would be effective in conveying the horror of his situation. As I read more of Albert's story though, I found a different sort of power in his matter-of-fact litany of abuses that prisoners faced. He doesn't emphasize the horror of these abuses through emotional writing. Rather, he shows that the true horror is how common place and expected abuse was, both abuse of prisoners and abuse of the justice system.
The beginning of the story, describing the author's childhood, was an interesting window into what it was like growing up black in the 1950s-60s. It was less effective as a window into who the author was as a person. it seems likely that he started committing petty thefts, etc because his family was poor and because police injustice and brutality left him with little respect for the law. The reader is left to draw this conclusion on their own though. There was very little introspection in this early section. Even larger events, like abandoning a wife and child in his teens, included no explanation or expressions of regret.
Fortunately, the trajectory of the book seemed to follow the trajectory of Albert's life. As the author gained political awareness through meeting members of the Black Panthers, his writing moved from sounding like he was repeating to Black Panther slogans to thoughtful commentary on systemic racism and injustice. As the author grew up and had to learn to manage his emotions to survive in solitary, he began to have more insight into himself to share with the reader as well.
The author's inclusion of political commentary also got more powerful as the book progressed. The initial history of Angola prison, when Albert arrived, felt out-of-place. It seemed unlikely he would have known the information he was sharing at that time in his life. By the epilogue, the statistics he shared about wrongful imprisonment; systemic racism; police brutality; and solitary confinement in the US all had more impact shared against the background of his own personal suffering.
Perhaps mistakenly, I did expect a slightly more information dense text. I have only read the nominees for this award from last year, but something I enjoyed most about those books was the feeling of being filled to the brim with new facts. So far, the only nominee I've read this year that was similar is The Heartbeat at Wounded Knee. So, while I blown away by the author of this book and I think this is a story very much worth reading, I'm still rooting for Heartbeat to win the award at the moment.This review was originally posted on Doing Dewey
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