Albert Woodfox

How have I survived 43 years in solitary confinement? I have no idea! Courage,

determination, etc. So many others have had these qualities yet failed. I have always felt
that I am an ordinary man, caught up in extraordinary times and circumstances.

Somehow I have been lucky enough to survive – damaged but sane.

I do believe that my mindset plays a major part. George Jackson said: “If you are not
willing to die for what you believe in, then you believe in nothing.”

Ninety-five per cent of my experiences in solitary have been horrible. Even now I start
each day thinking that no matter what this day brings I will adjust for whatever comes.
That’s how I spend my days: adjusting to survive.

Prison life is about routine. For me, it’s to try and make regular routines seem different,
even when you know, mentally, you are bullshitting yourself.

As to specifics, I work out daily, read a minimum of two hours a day, watch news
programs, listen to the radio or play CDs. I take short naps, as I find it hard to sleep for
long periods of times.

Surviving claustrophobia: for me it’s a matter of recognizing when an attack is coming. I

become very aware of space and time. My clothes start to feel very constraining. I start
to sweat and it’s hard to breathe. It’s like the atmosphere is pressing down on me,
closing in all around me.

I never know how long these attacks will last. At times it seems very short, and walking
back and forth helps. At times, I walk for what seems like forever. When they are over I
feel drained of energy. I never look at my watch when these attacks come or end; for
some reason I don’t want to know the time.

I think the worst attacks are when I wake up and I’m soaking wet and can’t move. It’s like
I’m trapped in my own body. These are my worst of times, because my sanity is at stake.

Some activities take me away from this horrible reality. I seem truly happy when I get
visits, especially with my brother. (He has supported and visited with me since 1969.)

When times are bad, I think I go through periods of severe or mild depression. I’m totally
unmotivated. Nothing seems to challenge me, everything I do day-to-day comes to a
halt. Nothing matters. There is a part of me that knows what’s going on, but I seem
helpless to do anything about what I’m going through. Time stands still for me.

[Editor’s note: Herman Wallace is another member of the so-called “Angola Three”. He
was also held in solitary confinement for more than four decades, then died two days
after being released in October 2013.]

As for Herman, it’s still too raw to tell. There is this constant sense of loss – that a part of
me is lost.
I was watching a program on US soldiers who lose body parts, and how in their head
they know the body part is gone, yet they are constantly shocked when they try to use
that body part and it’s no longer there or functional. They’ll still try to scratch an arm or a
leg that is not there. So many times I say or start to write to him and realize he is not
here anymore. The pain is almost unbearable. It’s like the loss of my mom and sister to
cancer all over again. Losing Herman is a hole that can never be filled.

What will I do if I go free?

Adjust, of course. Think about this: I am a man who has spent more than half his life in a
prison within a prison – solitary confinement. All of a sudden I will be responsible for
myself. How will I survive? Who will give me a job? How will I pay my bills?

For me, the sky will look the same as it does now – just with more of it to see.

I am a very practical man. My reality is the real world – that’s what I am facing. That’s
where I must find a place for myself.

As for what I’ll do when I get my freedom? I fight for the people. The reason I’ve been in
solitary so long is plain and simple: they have not broken me!