Solitary
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Louisiana’s lawyers also examined our disciplinary reports trying to find legitimate reasons that could justify locking us up for decades. But, in all our time in Angola, we never got serious disciplinary write-ups. I was written up for declaring myself an emergency when I had the rash around my waist in the eighties. I was written up when I got sick on the Camp J work line and requested an ambulance. I was written up for having a “spear” in my cell. Brent Hicks was the lawyer for the state who questioned me about that incident.
Q. Mr. Woodfox, [in 1992] there was a telescopic pole concealed in a large envelope inside your locker box; is that correct?
A. Yes.
Q. And that was in fact inside your locker box?
A. Yes.
Q. What is that used for?
A. They call it a remote. We use that to change the TV with.
Q. What do you use the empty burned Coke can for? [Another disciplinary write-up.]
A. At the time we didn’t have hot or cold water in our cells so we used it to warm water, to make coffee. They sold instant coffee in the canteen but we didn’t have any hot water in the cell.
Q. Next I’m going to show you a Disciplinary Report dated February 5, 1992. According to this report, Mr. Woodfox, you had a homemade spear in your cell; is that correct?
A. Yes.
Q. That would extend eight feet long?
A. Yes.
Q. Is that a weapon?
A. Same thing, TV changer. We use them to turn the TV with. It’s a routine practice at CCR at the time.
Q. I don’t understand how it works, explain to me how it works.
A. All right, the TV is set up across the hall from the cell, [when] nobody is in the hall to change the TV [and] you want to change the TV to a certain station, you stick the stick out, press the button and change the TV.
Q. How would you make a spear from a roll of toilet paper?
A. You just roll it up. I mean, you shove it hard against the wall or something, it just collapses. Some officers didn’t have a problem with it, some officers did.
Given that there was no serious misconduct to point to as justification for the extreme punishment of long-term lockdown, Louisiana tried to paint our personal and political associations as something threatening. They asked me about the Black Panther Party, as if my political beliefs could justify the extreme cruelty of being locked up in solitary confinement for 23 hours a day. Again I was questioned by Mr. Hicks.
Q. Did the Black Panther Party advocate violence?
A. No.
Q. This was all peaceful?
A. Well, by advocate violence, if you’re saying to the point that they teach you to go out and attack people, no, I’ve never been taught by the Black Panther Party to attack any individual or organization.
Q. Were phrases such as “kill the pigs” affiliated with the Black Panther Party?
A. Affiliated with all organizations during that time. That was, I guess, for lack of a better word, it was a political rhetoric at the time.
Q. What did that phrase mean?
A. I guess it meant a lot of different things to different people. I know to the Black Panther Party it didn’t mean literally to kill anyone, it was more or less defining the cause or to rally the cause to fight against police corruption, police racism, government racism, government corruption.
Q. Did you use the phrase?
A. Yes.
Q. In what context would you use the phrase?
A. As I said, it was a part of political culture, political rhetoric that was being used at that time.
Q. Was a raised clenched fist a symbol of the Black Panther Party?
A. It was a symbol of all organizations at that time. It was a symbol of unity. It has been misunderstood and misquoted over the years but the clenched fist meant you were in unity and there was strength.
Q. Unity of what?
A. Unity of the community, unity of the people of America against government corruption, unity of people, workers against unfair working conditions.
Q. Do you think the government was corrupt at that time?
A. Yes, I did.
Q. Why did you think that?
A. Because of the policies of the government.
Q. What policies?
A. The racism, blatant racism that was allowed to be practiced in a country against African-Americans and other minorities, oppression of the communities across America, unemployment, the wealth of the country, unequal distribution of the wealth of the country.
Q. Do you think the government was involved in racism?
A. Yes, I do.
Q. How so?
A. Because they allowed the racist practices of the country: African-Americans couldn’t move into certain neighborhoods, they couldn’t get certain jobs, other minorities, and the government failed to enforce constitutional rights to every citizen in this country, to live where they wanted, to work if they were qualified, to have access to education, opportunities that were not based upon the color of their skin.
Q. You felt that’s what existed in the 1970s?
A. I knew it, I lived it, I saw it, I experienced it personally.
Q. Do you still believe that today?
A. I still think there is a lot of racism in this country.
Q. Do you still think the American government is corrupt?
A. Oh, yeah. . . . I think the government has a responsibility to all its citizens. I think they have a responsibility to protect them from events that take place in society they have no control over, such as unemployment—and I think the government has an obligation when unemployment, when this country goes through a recession that the federal government has an obligation to make sure that all its citizens have adequate homes, clothing, food, medical care, education and opportunities, and when the federal government or state government refuses to do this, I think that is a form of corruption.
Q. And you think this corruption was going on in the 1970s?
A. I think it’s going on right now.
Q. What about unequal distribution, you talked about that a moment ago.
A. Yes.
Q. Explain what you mean by that.
A. Underpaid employees, benefits being thrown back, medical care being rolled back, working more hours for less pay.
Q. And when you talk about unequal distribution, are you talking about it being unequal based on race?
A. No, I mean being unequal period. Those who own the resources of this country, who own the means of production in this country, the industries, you know, when they pay a man for less than his work is worth, when they refuse to allow him the benefits from the wealth that they’re making from his labor, when they cut back on medical care, when they cut back on benefits and trust funds or loss, I think that’s a form of corruption.
Q. In the 1970s did you advocate violence in order to overthrow this corrupt government?
A. No. I advocated unity, organizing to petition the government, to protest.
Q. Did you advocate that a revolution had to take place?
A. Yes.
Q. Explain that to me.
A. Revolution meaning that things just need change, that the country had to change, that the government had to start protecting all of its citizens, that private enterprise had to stop being consumed, [it] was accumulating all of this obscene amount of wealth and not paying workers decent salaries, not giving them medical coverage or retirement benefits.
Q. So you advocated a peaceful revolution as opposed to a bloody revolution.
A. Yes.
Q. Do you think you’ve reformed these political views?
A. I’m not quite sure I understand what you mean, reform.
Q. Do you still have these same political views?
A. Yes, against corruption, abuse, racism. I think it’s wrong, I think it’s morally wrong for an individual to be this way or for the government to allow it to go on.
Q. So your political views haven’t changed since the 1970s?
A. No.
Q. Do you still consider yourself to be a member of the Black Panther Party?
A. The Black Panther Party no longer exists but I still believe in the principles of the Black Panther Party.
Q. The principles we’ve been talking about this morning?
A. The ten point program, yes.
Q. What do you understand needs to happen in order for you to be released from CCR?
A. What do I understand? I understand that unless the courts intervene in this matter I will never be released from CCR.
Q. What is that based upon?
A. The last thirty something years when I go before the Review Board, the way I’m treated.
Q. Do you feel like you’re being punished?
A. Yes.
Q. Why do you feel like you’re being punished?
A. Because I’ve been held in a cell for thirty something years and no matter what self-improvements I’ve made, no matter what my conduct is, I’ve not been given an opportunity to work my way back into the main prison population.
Q. Do you feel like you’re under constant pressure?
A. Yea, from being in a cell 23 hours a day.
Q. Do you recall meeting [Dr. D., a psychologist who interviewed me for the state]?
A. Yes.
Q. Have you read his report?
A. Briefly.
Q. Have you read it recently?
A. No.
Q. Would you agree with his conclusion that you’ve adapted to CCR reasonably well?
A. No.
Q. You don’t think you’ve adapted reasonably well to CCR?
A. I’ve managed to survive without going insane, without having a nervous breakdown from being in a cell 23 hours a day.
On February 11, 2008, I experienced another painful loss: Michael Augustine, one of my best friends since we were little, my former running partner in the High Steppers, my brother-in-law, died from kidney disease. One of the last times he visited me was right after he’d had some surgery. We were playing dominoes and when he lost a game he insisted on dropping to the floor to do the requisite push-ups, smiling and laughing, even with stitches still in his side. Mike fell in love with my sister Violetta when we were children. They grew in separate ways, had marriages and relationships and their own kids. In their forties, single, they met again and got married. Michael’s death was another loss I couldn’t properly deal with from my prison cell. My will to stay sane wouldn’t let me go into those emotions.
Warden Burl Cain didn’t want Rep. John Conyers to visit Angola. Lawyers from both sides got involved and Conyers prevailed. On March 20, 2008, Conyers led a delegation that included Louisiana state representative Cedric Richmond, King, Barry Scheck, Joan Claybrook, and our attorneys Scott Fleming and Nick Trenticosta to Angola. Warden Cain met them and took them on a tour of the prison grounds, even bringing some of them to my tier. Representative Richmond and Congressman Conyers stood in front of my cell and introduced themselves. After that, Herman and I were taken to the visiting room. When we arrived I shook everyone’s hand. Conyers hugged both me and Herman. He told us he had been shocked about our case. It was the first time I’d ever talked to Burl Cain. He had been on my tier numerous times and walked by my cell like I was the invisible man. He asked me and Herman how we were doing, putting a show on for the congressman and the others. I was impressed that a United States congressman and head of the House Judiciary Committee and a state legislator had taken an interest in the injustice by the state of Louisiana in our case. King brought some of his Freeline A3 candy and left a package with Warden Cain.
The next day Teenie Rogers, Congressman Conyers, and Representative Richmond met with Republican Louisiana governor Bobby Jindal as a follow-up to Rogers’s letter and asked him to consider the evidence of our innocence and use his power over the Department of Corrections and the Board of Pardons and Parole to look into our case and help Rogers find Brent’s real killers.
Within a week of those visits, in an attempt to undermine our lawsuit and take the pressure off the state, they let us out of our cells. We were not released into the main prison population but were put in a “CCR dorm” they had just created, called Eagle 1. On the surface, it might have looked like progress. It was pure PR. We would still be isolated from other prisoners. We would only be able to spend our days with CCR prisoners—in the yard, on the walk, and in the dining hall. We would still live under CCR rules, which prohibited us from participating in educational, vocational, or other programs or from doing any hobby crafts, like leatherwork, beading, or painting. (They removed the tables and chairs used for crafts from the day room in our dorm.) We had fewer contact visits than regular prisoners. We didn’t have to wear restraints while we were walking to the dining hall, but whenever we went outside—as a group or individually—guards cleared the walk, shouting, “Eagle 1 on the walk!” Others on the walk had to go behind various locked gates. There was no penological reason for this. They did it to put psychological pressure on us. Even when we were on a call-out—to the clinic or for a lawyer’s visit—and wearing full restraints, they cleared the walk when we were on it. It was a prison dorm in name only.
Twenty-five CCR prisoners were declared eligible to move into the dorm. Sixteen of us chose to be moved. Eagle 1 was at Camp D. Herman and I lived together for the first time in 36 years. It took no time to adjust. We trusted each other and knew one another well. Herman said being in the dorm lightened the burden and depression he felt in the cell. For me, it was wonderful to be able to see Herman and talk to him every day, but with all the security and the CCR rules I felt like I was still in the cell, only it was larger.
We were all given jobs, which I would have enjoyed if we were given the proper tools to do them. Herman and I were yard orderlies and our job was to cut the grass around the dorm. They wouldn’t let us use the gas-powered lawnmowers that yard orderlies used at other dorms. We had to use old-fashioned push lawnmowers that had dull blades. There was no way for us to sharpen the blades. The grass was so thick the lawnmower handles broke while we pushed them. We asked several times why we weren’t allowed to use the gas mowers that orderlies used at other dorms and never got a good answer.
Getting enough exercise on the yard was always a problem because we never got the amount of time we were told we could have. For months, there was no recreation allowed on the yard—no basketball hoop or weight pile. We had to make several requests to get a wheelchair for an inmate who weighed over 400 pounds and had difficulty walking. He couldn’t make it to and from the dining hall in the allotted time. First, we asked if we could bring him a tray of food so he wouldn’t miss his meals, and when authorities denied that we asked for a wheelchair. Eventually we got the wheelchair and took turns pushing him to the dining hall.
The highlight of my day was walking out of the dorm with no restraints to the dining hall to eat breakfast. For a while our dorm went to breakfast first, while it was still dark, and I was able to look up and see the stars. It had been many years since I could see stars above me. Inside the dining hall it was back to reality. The room would be empty except for CCR prisoners.
In April 2008, FBI director Robert Mueller got back to Congressman Conyers about our FBI files. He said they had recently been destroyed in a “routine” purge of departmental files. We were told no record was preserved of what was in those files. That same month Louisiana state representatives Cedric Richmond, Avon Honey (Baton Rouge), and Elbert Guillory (Opelousas) went with King to Governor Bobby Jindal’s office to deliver a ColorofChange.org online petition signed by 25,000 people, calling for an investigation into our convictions and lockdown in solitary confinement. Governor Jindal refused to meet with them, but Representative Richmond left a message for him, publicly calling for the governor to reexamine our case and asking him to pardon me and Herman. “The state is too silent on this issue,” Richmond told reporters, “so we need official government action. At some point, we’re going to have to stand up as
a state.” He announced that the state legislature would hold hearings about the case. (In 2011, Richmond would join the U.S. House of Representatives. He would go on to serve alongside Congressman Conyers on the U.S. House Judiciary Committee and eventually be elected as chair of the Congressional Black Caucus. He would continue to speak out actively on our behalf until I walked out of prison, and he is still trying to get legislation passed that would limit the uses of solitary confinement.)
In May 2008, a panel of three judges in the First Circuit Court of Appeal ruled on Herman’s claim. One of them, Judge Jewel “Duke” Welch, ruled that based on the evidence concerning Hezekiah Brown, Herman should get a new trial. Unfortunately, he was overruled by the other two judges, who denied Herman’s petition. Herman would now appeal to the Louisiana Supreme Court. Meanwhile, I got hopeful news that month. Magistrate Judge Christine Noland reviewed my habeas petition and recommended that Judge James Brady return my case to state court for a third trial because I had not received effective legal counsel during my 1998 trial. Among other deficiencies, she specifically found that my defense counsel was constitutionally ineffective for failing to object to the reading of forensic expert testimony about blood spatters on the “lost” clothing alleged to have been worn by me and for failing to further investigate. Modern forensics, she noted, could have determined who wore the clothes and whose blood was on the clothing.