An Inside Account of the National Prisoners’ Strike

“We just want to be able to take care of ourselves as men and women, in this Department of Corrections,” a strike participant from a South Carolina prison said.

Photograph by David Paul Morris / Bloomberg / Getty

On August 21st, the Incarcerated Workers Organizing Committee, a labor union for prisoners that aims “to end prison slavery,” announced the start of a nationwide strike inside U.S. prisons. Wages for incarcerated workers are typically measured in cents per hour, and several states—including Alabama, Arkansas, Mississippi, Texas, and South Carolina—use the labor of prisoners without paying them at all.

“We first heard about the strike from I.W.O.C.,” a man who is incarcerated in South Carolina, and is participating in the strike, told me, speaking from prison on a contraband cell phone. “They sent out a text message inviting everybody to join in—you know, to stand in solidarity and to end prison injustice. I did my own research, looked it up, verified it,” he added. He shared his identity with The New Yorker but spoke on the condition of anonymity, fearing retaliation by prison officials.

“The strike was supposed to happen next year,” he went on, “and it didn’t have anything to do with South Carolina—until the riot happened, and those gentlemen died.” In April, seven men were killed in a bloody prison riot at Lee County Correctional Institution, an understaffed prison in Bishopville, South Carolina. The head of the prison system, Bryan Stirling, claimed that gangs, contraband, and cell phones were to blame. Organizers moved the strike up in response, setting a new start date on the anniversary of the day, in 1971, that California prison guards shot George Jackson, a member of the Black Panther Party. The strike is meant to continue until September 9th, the anniversary of the 1971 Attica prison uprising.

“The information gets out by word of mouth, and it spreads,” the South Carolina man told me. “Somebody on lockup might get word to somebody on the yard with a little note. We call them ‘kites’—sending up a kite. Other times, you might not know something, and then it shows up on the news, and it sparks interest in everybody. It spreads like wildfire in some cases.”

I.W.O.C. initially expected tens of thousands of prisoners across seventeen states to participate. One week into the strike, the union reported that actions seemed to have taken place in prisons, jails, and immigration detention facilities in ten states, and also in Nova Scotia. Accurate numbers were hard to come by, in part because some state-prison officials refused to confirm that a strike had occurred. Over the past two weeks, reports have trickled out through letters, accounts of family members, and contraband cell phones.

The strike participant spoke to me on August 31st and September 4th from inside a maximum-security prison in South Carolina. He said that the facility has been on lockdown for months, but that he had spread word of the strike on Facebook. His account has been edited and condensed.

“Here in South Carolina, we’re going on a spending strike. We’re not spending any money with the state, if at all possible. You have some that’s doing medical strikes, just refusing to take their meds, if they can. I would say thirty per cent, right now, are striking—as opposed to what we had a week ago, maybe fifty, fifty-five per cent. A good bit of people trying to participate.

“Some brothers want to extend the strike. Me myself, I’ll hold out as long as I have to. We really appreciate what we hear on the news—other countries is involved, other states. We just want things to change.

“They have us in cells designed for one man with two men. They put these big plates over our windows, where we can’t see outside. Ninety per cent of the rooms here don’t have any lockers, chairs, or tables. The top bunk is almost six feet from the ground. There’s no ladder. We have men in their late forties on up trying to access these beds to sleep on.

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