The state appealed immediately, not on the grounds that the strip searches were legitimate, but on the grounds that Judge Brady, a federal judge, didn’t have the jurisdiction to enforce a state-issued consent decree. Louisiana argued that my case could only be heard in the 19th Judicial District Court in Baton Rouge. During the appeal process I was protected from strip searches, but every other CCR prisoner at Wade was still being strip-searched. Some officials in the administration tried to play it to the other prisoners as if I was getting special treatment, as if I’d orchestrated the whole thing. Most of the guys saw through it. I reminded all of them that I had asked them to join me to fight the strip searches but they didn’t want to get involved.
Next, the Fifth Circuit reversed Judge Brady’s injunction, not because the court agreed with the strip searches, but on the grounds that the matter had to be adjudicated in a state court. Officially, Wade corrections officers could start strip-searching me again, but most of them didn’t. My attorneys immediately filed for an injunction in the 19th Judicial District.
Over the winter and spring of 2014, King was on yet another A3 tour. He spoke on solitary confinement at California state legislative hearings in Sacramento; on the impact of solitary confinement at a scientific meeting in Chicago; at the Toronto Black Film Festival; at the Rutland Institute for Ethics Presidential Colloquium at Clemson University in South Carolina; and at Central Connecticut State University. At each stop he spoke about the horrors of solitary confinement and about our cases. I was worried about him—he had given his life up for me, and for Herman. He answered every collect call we ever made, spent part of each week on conference calls with our lawyers, with Marina Drummer, with Tory Pegram, with individual supporters and members of our advisory board; he took every call from every reporter who ever contacted him and sat down for interviews with anyone who could give us publicity for our case. I knew the travel was exhausting, that he sometimes got stopped by airport security. He never complained.
In May 2014, Rep. Cedric Richmond introduced HR 4618, called the Solitary Confinement Study and Reform Act of 2014, to study and reform the use of solitary confinement in the U.S. prisons, jails, and juvenile detention facilities. In July, it was referred to the Subcommittee on Crime, Terrorism, Homeland Security, and Investigations. That was the last action taken on that bill. (In early May 2018, Rep. Richmond introduced HR 5710, the Solitary Confinement Study and Reform Act of 2018. Later that month it was referred to the Subcommittee on Crime, Terrorism, Homeland Security, and Investigations.)
In July 2014, Amnesty International released a 54-page report on solitary confinement in U.S. federal prisons that began, “The USA stands virtually alone in the world in incarcerating thousands of prisoners in long-term or indefinite solitary confinement, defined by the UN Special Rapporteur on Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment as ‘the physical and social isolation of individuals who are confined to their cells for 22 to 24 hours a day.’ More than 40 US states are believed to operate ‘super-maximum security’ units or prisons, collectively housing at least 25,000 prisoners. This number does not include the many thousands of other prisoners serving shorter periods in punishment or administrative segregation cells—estimated to be approximately 80,000 on any given day.”
That fall, I got unbelievable news. In November, the conservative Fifth Circuit panel reviewing my claim that racial bias tainted the selection of the grand jury foreperson who presided in my case had ruled in my favor. It was a unanimous decision. All three of the Fifth Circuit judges agreed with Judge Brady’s ruling. Judge Patrick Higginbotham wrote a powerful decision for the panel (which included fellow circuit judges E. Grady Jolly and Leslie Southwick).
We begin with an important observation. Woodfox’s claim is not just about the selection of the grand jury foreperson. Rather, it is also about the selection of the grand jury itself. The grand jury system used for Woodfox’s re-indictment was the same as the one challenged in Campbell v. Louisiana. As the Supreme Court explained, the Louisiana system of grand jury foreperson selection, at that time, was unlike most other systems. Under most systems, “the title ‘foreperson’ is bestowed on one of the existing grand jurors without any change in the grand jury’s composition.” But under the Louisiana system at issue, “the judge select[ed] the foreperson from the grand jury venire before the remaining [eleven] members of the grand jury [were] chosen by lot.” The foreperson had the same voting power as all the other grand jurors. Thus, in effect, the judge chose one grand juror. This case then is one that alleges discrimination in the selection of the grand jurors, an important constitutional challenge. For well over a century, the Supreme Court has held that a criminal conviction of an African-American cannot stand under the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment if it is based on an indictment of a grand jury from which African-Americans were excluded on the basis of race.
The state appealed the decision, asking for what’s called an “en banc” review so it could present its case before every judge in the Fifth Circuit, the full court, and if a majority of the active judges on the Fifth Circuit agreed to rehear the case, the three-judge panel’s decision would be vacated, and the full court would deliberate and decide my fate. Not one judge called for a rehearing. The state lost that round. Undeterred, Louisiana appealed to the U.S. Supreme Court, and lost again. Judge Brady’s ruling would stand. I would get a new trial.
On February 11, 2015—seven years after my conviction was overturned by Judge Brady the first time and two years after it was overturned the second time—the Fifth Circuit issued a mandate to Judge Brady to issue the final writ of habeas corpus. The next day, the state once again brought my case before a West Feliciana grand jury. I was reindicted for the murder of Brent Miller.
Later I would read the affidavit for my arrest warrant, written by an investigator from the attorney general’s office, which rehashed Buddy Caldwell’s false claims of rape and robbery as if they were fact. Everything in boldface type in this arrest affidavit is a lie:
Between January 4 and February 13, 1969, Woodfox engaged in a very violent crime spree committing 7 armed robberies and 5 aggravated rapes. [Not true.] As prosecutors worked their way through these cases [Prosecutors were never assigned to these cases.] the first case they brought to trial [The only case brought to trial.] ended with Woodfox being convicted for armed robbery (of Tony’s Green Room) on July 31 1969. . . . Woodfox was remanded to Orleans Parish Prison to await further court appearances [Not true. I was taken to Orleans Parish Prison to await sentencing on the armed robbery conviction.] on the other pending armed robberies and rape cases. [There were no other pending armed robbery or rape cases.] Woodfox was possibly facing five death penalty sentences on the aggravated rape charges that were pending at the time. [Not true. There were no pending charges. The judge dropped all charges except for the armed robbery. I was not facing any charges for rape.]
The affidavit, which I can only assume was read to the grand jury that indicted me, went on to say:
Prosecutors believed that Woodfox had nothing to lose in committing this heinous murder [Obviously not true.] as he believed he was already facing the possibility of 5 separate death penalty sentences [Not true.] for the aggravated rapes he had committed just three years earlier. [All lies. Slander.]
And:
[A] United States Supreme Court opinion was released on June 29, 1972, making the death penalty unconstitutional, effectively making it impossible for prosecutors to try Albert Woodfox for the death penalty [What made it impossible for prosecutors to try me was that there were no charges against me, no indictments, no arraignments.] for the murder of Miller or for the five aggravated rapes he committed [Because I did not commit these crimes.] during the New Orleans crime spree during January and February, 1969. [There had been no crime spree and Judge Brady saw through the lies. After looking at these charges and finding nothing that substantiated them, he granted me appeal bail. Which, on state appeal,
was blocked by the Fifth Circuit.]
The arrest affidavit went on to attribute to Chester Jackson a whole new story about the events leading up to Miller’s murder—different from Jackson’s testimony at Herman’s trial and different from what Jackson had said in his original statement taken in 1972. The affidavit claimed that I showed Jackson “a letter” the night before the murder (the same letter Warden Henderson would describe the day after Miller’s murder, a letter that the deputy warden had no knowledge of and that was never produced at either my or Herman’s trials).
“Upon information and belief” the affidavit accused me of writing the letter taking credit for burning the guard in the booth, which was signed by “The Vanguard Army.” “The Black Panther Party,” the affidavit erroneously stated, was “also known as the Vanguard Army.” The affidavit also claimed that Leonard “Specs” Turner “without hesitation” broke the case for investigators, telling prison officials I murdered Brent Miller with Herman and Chester Jackson; “armed with Turner’s statement” (a “truth” the man who took the statement couldn’t remember at my trial), investigators then “reinterviewed” Hezekiah Brown. “Upon hearing the details, Brown confirmed the information Turner had provided was true.” Leonard Turner was never called to testify at my first trial, and at my second trial he denied making the unsigned, undated statement presented to him as his. The former captain who allegedly took the statement from Turner testified he couldn’t remember taking it and he didn’t remember what the statement said, which would be highly unlikely if the statement had been real, because it would have cracked the case for investigators.
At the time, I wasn’t aware of these new false accusations against me. All I knew was that I was reindicted for the murder of Brent Miller. I was transferred from David Wade Correctional Center to a jail in West Feliciana Parish. It happened so quickly I didn’t have a chance to give my things away to other prisoners on the tier at Wade.
The West Feliciana Parish jail is small. There were four solitary cells on my floor. The first was a holding cell for drunks, where people were put to sober up. I was in the second cell. The two cells on the other side of me were used to hold prisoners for short durations, a few weeks at most. The cells had solid steel doors. The only way I could talk to someone was if I bent over and spoke through the food slot. There was a small TV in the cell and a window that didn’t open that looked out on the yard. Any relief the window might have provided me was counteracted by the steel door. I still got claustrophobic attacks. When I started getting mail at my new address I received dozens of birthday cards. I had turned 68.
Since I was no longer in state custody, my strip search lawsuit had become moot. George Kendall wanted to continue litigating it for the CCR prisoners at Wade and tried to find another prisoner who would take over for me as plaintiff, but nobody wanted to do it. Meanwhile, George was also looking ahead in my criminal case. We were still hoping Judge Brady’s unconditional release order would hold up in the Fifth Circuit. In case we lost, though, George brought in two new lawyers to join my legal team to focus on my defense at trial, Billy Sothern and Robert McDuff. They started reinvestigating the murder of Brent Miller and moved quickly to defend me in court, filing to have the latest indictment thrown out and to get me out on appeal bail. Meanwhile, Buddy Caldwell continued his unethical, inflammatory campaign of lies, publicly accusing me of being a rapist (still never pressing charges). “The facts of the case remain solid,” Caldwell told reporters. “Despite Woodfox’s last-ditch efforts to obtain a ‘get out of jail free’ pass on grand jury selection issues, the proof of his guilt in committing the murder is undeniable.”
As the weeks passed I felt drained of energy. I stopped taking my hour out of the cell. The guard would come and ask me if I wanted yard and I’d say, “Nah, not today.” In my cell, I watched CNN. I’d been watching the news about police shootings of unarmed black people and following the Black Lives Matter movement. It hurt me to see organizers of Black Lives Matter painted as being racists. It hurt me to see black people needing to state the obvious: that we mattered. I thought of the black sanitation workers who went on strike in Memphis in 1968; black workers wore placards that read I AM A MAN. Fifty years later, and the humanity of a black person is still in dispute?
It didn’t make sense to me. The top 1 percent of Americans own more wealth than the bottom 90 percent of all Americans of all races, combined. And yet Americans believe that people of other races, religions, sexual preferences, and cultures are the problem. An unjust economic system can only be perpetuated if we, the majority of the population, are at odds with one another. Black Lives Matter was formed to campaign against violence and systemic racism toward black people. How was that being racist? When you see organizations like Black Lives Matter under attack for being “racist,” you are seeing the agenda of an unjust economic system at play—a system that seeks to separate groups of people within the majority to benefit the top 1 percent. If we can’t allow diversity, if we can’t accept our differences, if we can’t see one another as equal, if every race can’t begin to function on an equal footing with every other race in this world, we will never be able to unite, which means we will never be able to demand economic justice for all. We won’t be able to advance as a species. Capitalism can’t be “fixed” or made to be fair or just; it must be destroyed. The very nature of a capitalistic economy prevents unity and fosters class struggle. Under capitalism there is division in labor and division among the workers themselves because they are taught to look out for the individual and not for their fellow workers. There is no equal distribution of the wealth of the nation under a capitalist system. We have to come together and look out for one another. In 1968, Martin Luther King spoke before a mixed-race crowd who had gathered to support the striking black sanitation workers, honoring the unity of the group. “You are demonstrating that we can stick together.” King said, “You are demonstrating that we are all tied in a single garment of destiny, and that if one black person suffers, if one black person is down, we are all down.”
I had no energy at the parish jail, but I would always leave my cell to meet a visitor who came to see me, even though it required a lot of effort to be positive throughout the visit. The visits were keeping me connected to the world, and I loved the people who came. The room where we met was antiquated. I had to sit in a booth and look through a window to see my visitor. I put my head down to the mesh screen beneath the window to speak and to hear what was being said. Most of the time they kept handcuffs on me, but sometimes they didn’t. It depended on the personnel working. My most regular visitors were old friends: Maria Hinds, Professor Rebecca Hensley, and Jackie Sumell. Michael came every month. He begged me to go out on the yard. I told him I would, but I didn’t feel like it. George and my other lawyers got on my case too, pressing me to get out of the cell for my hour and exercise. When I did go out on the yard I didn’t feel like running. Sometimes I walked. Sometimes there was a deputy working who was up on current events and we talked about politics or whatever was in the news. Almost all of the guards at the jail used to work at Angola. Sometimes we talked about Angola.
George set up an attorney-client visit with me and King at the West Feliciana jail to talk about our civil case. I was looking forward to it. King was a stabilizing force for me. When he arrived for the visit, they told him he couldn’t enter the prison visiting room unless they strip-searched him. He allowed the strip search. He didn’t tell us about it until the end of our meeting. He wanted to brush it off because he knew if he didn’t submit to a search, this would be our last visit. I wanted to see King. I needed to see him. But not at the expense of his dignity. “I don’t want you to be strip-searched anymore,” I told him. George said that we would fight it in court. I told King, “If we can’t stop the strip searches, don’t come back.”
I met my daughter in person for the second time since she was a baby at the West Feliciana jail. She came to visit with my grandson and three of my great-grandc
hildren. It was strange looking at my great-grandchildren knowing they were a third generation removed from me, that no matter what the system did to me my legacy was still moving on. I appreciated the visit so much; it was another step in building a bond with my family and it supported my ongoing effort to preserve my humanity.
In June, Judge James Brady issued my habeas corpus writ. To ensure justice for me, and my freedom, he went beyond my wildest expectations, issuing what’s called an “exceptional writ,” an extremely rare, unconditional writ that orders the state to release a habeas petitioner from prison and bars the state from retrying him.
“The Supreme Court has long instructed that habeas corpus relief must be applied with an eye toward ‘the ends of justice,’” Judge Brady wrote. “The Fifth Circuit has identified two categories of rare and extraordinary cases where ‘law and justice’ require the permanent discharge of a petitioner: either the circumstances of the case involve a ‘constitutional violation [that] cannot be remedied by another trial’ or ‘other exceptional circumstances [must] exist such that the holding of a new trial would be unjust.’” Judge Brady listed five “exceptional” circumstances that justified his decision: “Mr. Woodfox’s age and poor health, his limited ability to present a defense at a third trial in light of the unavailability of witnesses, this Court’s lack of confidence in the State to provide a fair third trial, the prejudice done unto Mr. Woodfox by spending over forty-years in solitary confinement, and finally the very fact that Mr. Woodfox has already been tried twice and would otherwise face his third trial for a crime that occurred over forty years ago.”
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