Solitary

Solitary (HarperCollins Publishers Ltd, 2019) is a memoir by the activist Albert Woodfox that recounts more than four decades in solitary confinement, largely at the notorious Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola. It was nominated for the 2019 National Book Award for Nonfiction and the 2020 Pulitzer Prize for General Nonfiction. Woodfox describes how the poverty and racism he endured growing up led him into crime, how the racism of individuals and institutions turned his initial crimes into nearly a lifetime in solitary confinement, and how the support of those committed to the principles of the Black Panther Party helped him survive. Largely chronological, digressing to explain the brutal realities of prison life, Solitary is both a memoir and a call to action for those committed to social justice.

Plot Summary

The book opens with a description of Woodfox awakening on his birthday, the day he is supposed to be released from prison, vowing that the first thing he’ll do as a free man is to visit his mother’s grave. From here, Woodfox goes back in time to introduce his mother, Ruby Edwards, who had him when she was 17. When Woodfox was a child, his mother impressed upon him the importance of keeping his word, and was herself “proud, determined, and beautiful” (1). But his mother had her struggles too, not least of which was the fact that her husband—Woodfox’s stepfather—eventually became abusive. To save her own life, she left him when Woodfox was a pre-teen, taking Woodfox and her brothers with her, and moved back to New Orleans’s Sixth Ward. When he was still a child, Woodfox began seeking opportunities to provide for himself—stealing food, running scams to make money—as part of a gang that called themselves the 6th Ward High Steppers. Eventually, Woodfox was convicted of stealing a car and fleeing police—though it was not Woodfox who had stolen the vehicle—and sent to the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola, the setting for much of the book.  

At Angola, Woodfox quickly established a reputation for being tough, which protected him from the worst of the abuse by other inmates. He describes Angola as being a brutal place in which assault and rape were endemic, and guards—all of whom were white, and called ‘freemen’—“had the power of life and death in their hands and they had no respect for life” (29). Despite the violence, and the monotony, of prison life, Woodfox made it through the time he was required to serve—a third of his sentence—and was released, but soon ended up back in Angola after being falsely accused of stealing a car. Eight months later, he was released again, and this time, Woodfox began engaging in more violent crime. Eventually, Woodfox was arrested for an armed robbery. While he was being held awaiting sentencing, Woodfox escaped. He made it to New York, where he was ultimately arrested under a false name. While he was in pre-trial detention, Woodfox met members of the Black Panther Party, an encounter that would change his life. From them, he learned about the achievements of Black people and the long history of injustices for African Americans. When Woodfox’s ruse was eventually uncovered and he was sent back to Angola to serve his sentence.

At Angola, Woodfox tried to teach the principles of the Black Panther Party to other prisoners, encouraging them to stop attacking one another and to unify in pursuit of better treatment and conditions. Eventually, Woodfox met Herman Wallace, who had also been incarcerated for armed robbery, and had likewise been transformed by the teachings of the Black Panthers. Together, they held party meetings to explain the concept of institutionalized racism, and organized inmates to protect other prisoners from rape. Then, in April 1972, their worlds changed when a white guard named Brent Miller was killed. Woodfox, Wallace, and two others were framed in retaliation for their Black Panther affiliations. Woodfox was placed in the Closed Cell Restricted (CCR) cellblock—solitary confinement—where he would stay for much of the next four decades. Soon, another Panther, named Robert King, joined them, and the three became close.  

Woodfox describes the trial for the murder of Brent Miller that would shape the rest of his life. Though the inmate witnesses offered contradictory and uncredible testimony—one was nearly blind—and Woodfox had witnesses testify that he was nowhere near the crime scene, the jury delivered a guilty verdict after less than an hour of deliberation. Shortly thereafter, Wallace was tried and found guilty, followed by King, who was framed for the murder of another inmate. All three were returned to Angola prison and put in solitary confinement. In the subsequent chapters, Woodfox describes his battles—such as his fight against strip searches—and his successes, including teaching another prisoner to read. Throughout this time, he remained close to Wallace and King, and all three worked to appeal their convictions, citing issues with the way the original trials had been conducted.

Woodfox describes the growing public support he, Wallace and King—who came to be known as the Angola 3—began to accrue, and how this both benefited their situation, and made them a target for prison officials. In 2000, King joined these efforts, when his murder conviction was overturned and he was released on a plea deal. From outside the prison walls, King joined a coalition that would eventually include federal lawmakers, international NGO’s such as Amnesty International, and people close to the case, such as Leontine Rogers, the widow of Brent Miller, who advocated for Woodfox and Wallace’s freedom. In chapter 50, Woodfox describes how these efforts bore fruit just in time for Wallace, who had been diagnosed with late stage liver cancer while in prison, and was only released by judge’s order shortly before dying in hospice care at the home of a supporter. Supporters and lawyers continued to work to free Woodfox, and finally, his legal team secured his release in return for a “no contest” plea, which meant he could claim innocence but the conviction would remain. Taking the plea was a struggle, Woodfox writes, because it meant giving up the fight for justice.