Noelle Hanrahan: Prison Radio conducted these rare and exclusive interviews with Herman Wallace and Albert Woodfox of the Angola Three by phone from the Closed Cell Restriction Unit and the Camp J punishment unit at Angola State Penitentiary in Louisiana. Both men are serving life sentences without the possibility of parole for the death of prison guard Brent Miller, who was stabbed to death on April 17, 1972. Robert King Wilkerson, the third member of the Angola Three, was freed from prison on April 8th of 2001 in the wake of a fifth circuit U.S. Court of Appeals ruling which called into question his murder conviction.
The story of the Angola Three began in early 1970s when the Angola State Penitentiary was a cauldron of violence, murder, sexual slavery, and unceasing daily brutality. Woodfox and Wallace began to hold educational classes on the yard. They brought warring factions of Black and white prisoners together, and they worked together to stop the sexual trafficking of young men. This struggle for basic human rights and dignity inspired them to found a chapter of the Black Panther Party within the prison walls. The case of the Angola Three has become internationally recognized as one of the most extreme examples of political imprisonment and state sponsored torture. The warden of the Angola State Penitentiary, Burl Cain, has stated that Woodfox and Wallace will continue to be held in complete isolation until they renounce their political beliefs. This is Noelle Hanrahan for Hard Knock Radio. I conducted this interview of Herman Wallace on August 24, 2002.
Noelle Hanrahan: What is the conditions of solitary?
Herman Wallace: We are virtually isolated. You know, you have the men next door to you, but then you hear their mouths. You know, they’re screaming and they’re howling up. I think you can hear the noise, or even from the unit that I’m standing by the telephone on, all right? And this is the type of thing that goes on. You, you’re completely isolated.
Noelle Hanrahan: What about the heat?
Herman Wallace: Very small windows and you don’t have very good ventilation here. There is no — there’s very little air that comes through. There’s one fan that’s at the other – one end of the tier and another fan at the other end. Anything in the middle, you don’t feel anything. You stand up and think about it, and you drip with sweat. And that’s where I’m at, in the middle of the unit. But I don’t dwell on my conditions. I can’t afford to. You know, we just recently had one man who attempted to commit suicide back here, and as a matter of fact, in the same unit, because he couldn’t take that type of pressure that’s coming down.
Noelle Hanrahan: What happens with four point restraints and handcuff boxes?
Herman Wallace: Four point restraint is when they take and lay them down on a bed with handcuffs on their legs and on their ankles and arms, where they can’t move. We are in a cell 24 hours every day, with the exception of times that we are allowed to go out three times a week and do exercise, but while on the yard, you are in restraints, and it’s not easy to take an exercise, I don’t even consider that exercise.
Noelle Hanrahan: Describe the restraints when you’re on the yard.
Herman Wallace: Well, it’s a chain around your waist with handcuffs attached to the chain. Your arms cannot come out too far.
Noelle Hanrahan: With your arms at your side.
Herman Wallace: Yeah, your arms is so close to your side you can’t move out. I mean, they’re just like, if you want to smoke, you have to bend your head down to light a cigarette. But there’s no cigarettes in the back here. You can’t, you’re not allowed to smoke. We’re allowed to have three books. I’m allowed to have underwears, and no clothes. You know, they give us a jumpsuit. We only allowed to have about three sets of socks, three sets of underwear and paper, pen. That’s about it. You’re not allowed to have cups to drink from. You have to drink from the, from the hydrant. You’re not allowed to have food in the cell, of no kind. You cannot even go to the store and buy food.
Noelle Hanrahan: What does it mean not to be able to buy food?
Herman Wallace: Well, so far, the food here is deplorable, and they hardly give you much of anything. And based upon that, that’s mostly why I’ve lost a great deal of weight. I would say I lost at least about 30 pounds.
Noelle Hanrahan: What are the other restrictions?
Herman Wallace: I’m not allowed to have radio. I’m not allowed to have any of them things. I’m only allowed to have only what I just what I just pointed out, you know, like stamps, pens, paper, envelopes, books, my mail, stuff of this nature here, you’re allowed to have 20 pieces of mail, you know. We allowed to have one telephone call a month over here. But because things be so erratic, you don’t necessarily even have to get that because they can bypass you.
Noelle Hanrahan: Why are you there?
Herman Wallace: I’m at Camp J. A security officer, claimed that he found a handcuff shim in my cell. I don’t use handcuff shims in all the history of my being in this penitentiary. There’s nowhere around my record that I’ve ever used handcuff shims, anything like that. I don’t participate in that. So, the security officer, he stepped out of line. But by the same token, while he did this, I believe that this was an administrative plot, because they are backing it up all the way. They denied me the right to take and present the evidence that would have exonerated me.
Noelle Hanrahan: What did the warden say about getting out of solitary?
Herman Wallace: Well, King stated that, because of our politi– efforts, and also King — political beliefs, that he could not release us in the population. We had to conform that political view before he would let that happen.
Noelle Hanrahan: ‘The Farm,’ as Angola State Penitentiary is known, was a slave plantation before it turned into a prison. In 1865, the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution abolished slavery except in prison. The exact language of the amendment contains these words, “Neither slavery nor voluntary servitude, except as punishment for a crime, shall exist within the United States.” Albert Woodfox has been held in solitary confinement for 30 years at the Angola State Penitentiary. I conducted this interview with him on September 4, 2002 from the Closed Cell Restriction Unit.
Noelle Hanrahan: So, tell me what are some of the conditions like in the CCR and what does CCR. stand for?
Albert Woodfox: CCR stands for Closed Cell Restricted. It’s a max security cell block. There are 15 cells on the tier. Each individual gets one hour out of their cell. We allow three days yard exercise per week, if weather permitted. Other than that, we are in our cells the other 23 hours out the day. All our meals are served in the cell. There are TVs on the wall. There are fans on the wall.
Noelle Hanrahan: And you’ve been in this kind of solitary confinement for approximately 30 years. What gives you the strength to keep going and to survive?
Albert Woodfox: Well, I guess it’s a combination of the strength I inherited from my mother, you know. I’m a pretty determined individual. I think the fact that I’ve never lost faith in my political beliefs. I’ve never lost faith in the 10 Point Program in the Black Panther Party, which I’ve tried to live my life by the last 30 years. I’ve never lost faith in my ability to teach and help those around me
Noelle Hanrahan: For the first 25 years or so, did you guys think you were forgotten?
Albert Woodfox: Knew we were forgotten, you know. I mean, we virtually wrote, you know — right around the time when we were framed with the death of Brent Miller, the Black Panther Party was, I guess you could say, in the last stage of disintegration, you know. There was a lot of internal fights going on and all of that we virtually was just left abandoned. Over the years we tried to solicit a lot of help from political groups. We wrote letters. We wrote the NAACP, you know, try to get attorneys and all that. And, you know, we just never was able to get any help. So, we just decided it’s the stuff we had to do on our on our own and so, we became our own support committee. We became our own means of inspiration to one another. You know?
Noelle Hanrahan: Why were you framed?
Albert Woodfox: Well, we were framed because of our political belief, our political activism in this prison. We were organizing prisoners against the racism that was prevalent at the time. We were organizing against inhumane conditions, the lack of food. We organized a protection unit to keep young inmates from being raped and forced into sexual slaves during that time, you know, try to, you know, be visible among the inmates, set examples by our own self conduct. We had our political class. We began to make some great strides in this prison. We began to bring white and African American inmates together. We was a threat to the status quo, and they saw this. Whenever this officer was killed, they saw this as an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. There was a clique, the security people working here who wanted to get rid of at that time, Warden Roger C. Morris Anderson.
Noelle Hanrahan: From where you are and who you are, what does it mean that Angola was a former plantation?
Albert Woodfox: Racism, debt. When I came here in 1970 you know, this place was virtually run like a antebellum slave plantation. You know, inmates were being sold into sexual slavery or security people were benefiting from it directly. And you had these families that go back six, seven generations and they were in control of that. Our political activism in this prison was a direct threat to that.
Noelle Hanrahan: What does it look like now?
Albert Woodfox: As a result of some of those suits that we filed, you know, we have some changes, you know, like disciplinary boards. They use write ups and things, but some things are changed, and some things remain the same. There’s still a lot of brutality, guard/inmate brutality that go on in the prison. I really, you know, in my naiveness time, I really thought that I could go to trial and after the facts came out I would be found not guilty. Foolish me. You know, sadly, the overwhelming majority of the people in America seem to believe that if things are left up to themselves, they will somehow turn out all right. You know, they will correct themselves, and in some cases, that may be true, but look at the damage that’s done before the correction occurred. Look at the lives of this fraud; families that are torn apart, people are losing their freedom and lose greatly everything, their identity, who they are, what they believe in, they hopes, they dreams, everything is crushed. Before that correction, you know, you always hear people say, “Well, the pendulum always swing back the other way eventually.” Sure, it does, but look at the damage that’s done before the pendulum begins to swing back the other way.
Noelle Hanrahan: Now tell me, does it mean when people stand in solidarity with you. What does it mean when you see people actually do things?
Albert Woodfox: All I can tell you is how I feel. I believe that if a person’s not willing to lose everything for what they believe in, then they will never be able to truly bring about change. I guess an example right now is what the Palestinian people are going through in the Middle East; what the Vietnamese people went through during the Vietnamese War, and prior to that, the colonization by France, what the people in Africa went through.
Noelle Hanrahan: Why is compromise not acceptable when someone’s asking you to compromise your human dignity?
Albert Woodfox: (chuckles) I think the reason I’ve been able to survive intact is that I’ve always faced things head on. I truly believe, from the depth of my heart, that if you start to turn away, and that’s what compromise is, if you start to turn away from what you believe in, it becomes a habit, you know, and that’s a habit I don’t want to acquire. That’s an individualistic point of view, I know, and I imagine that if I ever get out of prison and I’m a part of the activist community in this country, then obviously I have enough intelligence to know that sometimes you must compromise, and I’ll be willing to compromise as a part of a mass movement, as a part of a political organization. But as an individual, right now, I have to face things head on and with the belief and the confidence that as long as I face things head on, that I can survive. I will survive.
Noelle Hanrahan: What does it mean when the prison officials have said that you are being held in closed cell restriction because of your political beliefs.
Albert Woodfox: It is basically the administration, the people that you never come in contact with. It is in their best interest to keep this image, no matter how macabre, how false it is that Hooks [Herman Wallace] and I, and King, before he left, were monsters, you know, that we were racist, that we hated just for the sake of hating. That we had no beliefs, and even now to this day, they still use us as — in the teaching academy for correctional officers — as the worst type prisoner there that they can encounter. And I’ve had a lot of cadets who come work around us, and after they had a chance to get to know us, they say, “Well, you nothing like they told us you were,” you know.
But then you have to understand about prison that things change in a blink of an eye, you know. Everything could be going great, smooth, whatever you want to call it, and one word said at the wrong time, or the change of administration, or whatever, and your whole life can be chaos, you know. But, you have to remember, you have to remember, and they have to remember that they are correctional officers. And push come to shove, their jobs are on the line. Their family’s welfare is on the line. They will do their jobs.
But if given the opportunity, a lot of them, they will — a lot of correction officers there will show great compassion towards us, and they will show great understanding of our circumstances. And I’ve had a few correctional officers, have, you know, told me, say, “You know the only difference between you having a prison number and me having a badge number is luck. And I realized that, you know.” And when I, and other comrades and other prisoners here, when we encounter those correction officers, we try to work with them. We try to make their job as problematic free as we can, you know.
Noelle Hanrahan: Are there any guards who’ve been there as long as you’ve been there?
Albert Woodfox: Oh, yeah. They most all — all of them are wardens now, associate wardens rather, you know. Or they are colonels, or major colonels, lieutenant colonels, associate wardens, you know. They all hold power positions now, which is another reason that contributes to the fact that Hook and I are in max security of CCR.
Noelle Hanrahan: Because they remember the death of the guard?
Albert Woodfox: Yeah, and still view us the same way.
Noelle Hanrahan: Well, what about the fact that you didn’t do it? And they probably know that, so…
Albert Woodfox: Doesn’t matter. You know, a lot of correctional people in here, you know, say that they don’t believe, you know, we did it. But a lot do, you know. Like I say, this place is, in a lot of ways, it’s no different from society, or rather the people here, where society, you know, you have people who can be objective and who can see things the way they are rather than the way they are presented. But again, they are correctional officers. Their livelihood and their family depends on their job.
Noelle Hanrahan: Why do they continue to make an example of you every time you come up for review?
Albert Woodfox: Well, I think the fact that they haven’t been able to break us mentally or emotionally; they haven’t been able to change our political beliefs and stuff, and they see this as a threat. I mean, that’s what they say. We are a threat to the orderly function of this institution, by the nature of our political beliefs.
Noelle Hanrahan: And what are the core of your political beliefs?
Albert Woodfox: That every man should be treated as a human being. He should be allowed to develop dignity, pride, self respect. He should be able to have a sense of self worth. He should be exposed to meaningful programs that will prepare him for re-entrance to society. And I think that is, that in itself, conflicts with what prisons — the philosophy of prisons is to control — so anytime a man develops a sense of dignity, pride, or self respect, obviously he’s going to question being treated a certain way or talked to a certain way. This is a direct contradiction to what prisoners supposed to act like. How they supposed to conduct themselves as far as security is concerned?
Noelle Hanrahan: What’s your hope?
Albert Woodfox: Well, my hope is freedom. You know, obviously, you know, I think I’m still young enough, still healthy, you know, I still, you know, want to try to pursue some of the dreams, you know. I would still like to remarry, possibly have some kids, and just be a part of the human race, the very best part of the human race. Become politically active, try to be, to act and call influences in this country that are positive to all the people in this country and the world.
Noelle Hanrahan: For more information on the case of the Angola Three, visit angolathree.org. This has been a Prison Radio production. We had engineering assistance from Anita Johnson and Nancy Giditus (?). This is Noelle Hanrahan for Hard Knock Radio.
These commentaries are recorded by Noelle Hanrahan of Prison Radio.
