Narrator: What is the first thing a person thinks about after being locked in a six-by-nine-foot cell for over forty years? For Albert Woodfox, on the day of his release, it wasn't about the future. It was about the past. It was about a promise he couldn't keep to his mother, a final goodbye he was never able to say. He carried the weight of her question, "When are these folks gonna let you out?" for decades. How does a human being survive such an ordeal—forty-three years in solitary confinement for a crime he insists he did not commit? The answer lies not just in survival, but in transformation. In his harrowing memoir, Solitary: Unbroken by Four Decades in Solitary Confinement, Albert Woodfox, with Leslie George, documents a journey from a life of petty crime to becoming a political activist, detailing the brutal realities of the American prison system and the profound power of the human spirit to find meaning in the midst of unimaginable suffering.

Narrator: Albert Woodfox’s path to prison was paved by the systemic racism and poverty of 1960s New Orleans. His early life was a series of lessons in social inequality. He was born in a segregated hospital wing and raised by a mother who worked tirelessly to provide for her children, all while dreaming they would have a better life. But the world outside their door was hostile. A particularly searing memory from his childhood illustrates this reality. During a Mardi Gras parade, a man on a float threw a beautiful strand of pearl-colored beads directly to a young Albert. As he reached for them, a white girl snatched them at the same time. When Albert explained they were for him, she ripped the beads apart and spat a racial slur at him. Woodfox notes, "The pain I felt from that young white girl calling me nigger will be with me forever." This incident, along with a nun shaming him for the holes in his shoes at church and a school system that taught him only about a white America he couldn't access, fueled a growing sense of anger and disillusionment. He chose the streets, forming a gang called the 6th Ward High Steppers, not out of malice, but out of a need to survive and carve out a space of dignity in a world that denied him any.

Narrator: Woodfox’s initial descent into the criminal justice system demonstrates how impulsive decisions and a code of loyalty can lead to devastating, life-altering consequences. In 1965, an 18-year-old Woodfox found himself in a car with friends after a party. When police pulled them over, his friend’s panicked brother confessed the car was stolen. Acting on impulse, Woodfox fled, leading to a high-speed chase that ended with the car in a canal. To protect his friends, Woodfox surrendered and took the blame, earning him a two-year jail sentence. This act of loyalty cost him his freedom. His desperation to escape this fate only deepened his entanglement. After a few weeks, he escaped from jail with no plan other than to get home. He stole a cement mixer and drove it towards New Orleans, only to be caught and beaten by police. When sentenced, the judge offered him a choice: four years in a city jail or two years at the infamous Louisiana State Penitentiary, Angola. Recalling the respect given to men who had survived Angola, he made a fateful choice. He thought it would be an honor to go there. He chose Angola.

Narrator: A crucial transformation occurred not in Angola, but in the notorious Tombs prison in New York City, where Woodfox landed after a daring escape from a Louisiana courthouse. It was there, in 1970, that he met incarcerated members of the Black Panther Party. These men were different from any criminals he had known. They were disciplined, educated, and driven by a political ideology. They held meetings, taught illiterate inmates to read, and shared their food and knowledge. They explained the concept of institutionalized racism—how the system, from police to banks, was designed to oppress Black communities. This was a revelation for Woodfox. His personal experiences with racism were suddenly placed in a larger, systemic context. The Panthers gave him a copy of William Melvin Kelley’s novel A Different Drummer. The story of its protagonist, Tucker Caliban, a Black man who rejects his oppressive past by salting his land and leaving the South, resonated deeply. Woodfox later reflected, "After reading A Different Drummer I started to believe, for the first time in my life, that one man could make a difference." He was no longer just a criminal; he was becoming a political man with a purpose.

Narrator: On April 17, 1972, a prison guard named Brent Miller was murdered at Angola. Woodfox, who had been organizing a chapter of the Black Panther Party inside the prison, was immediately targeted. The head of security confronted him, yelling, "Woodfox, you motherfucking nigger, you killed Brent Miller." Despite a lack of physical evidence and credible witnesses, Woodfox and fellow Panther Herman Wallace were accused, convicted, and placed in Closed Cell Restricted (CCR)—solitary confinement. This began a four-decade-long battle not just for freedom, but for basic human dignity. The conditions were designed to break them. One of the most degrading practices was being served food on the floor, slid under the cell door like an animal. Woodfox, Wallace, and Robert King—who would become known as the Angola 3—organized a hunger strike. For 45 days, they refused food, demanding food slots be cut into their cell doors so they could be fed like human beings. The prison administration tried to break them by serving their favorite foods, but they held firm. They eventually won, a small but profound victory that affirmed their humanity in a system designed to strip it away.

Narrator: The decades in solitary confinement forged an unbreakable bond between Albert Woodfox, Herman Wallace, and Robert King. Their shared commitment to the principles of the Black Panther Party and their unwavering loyalty to one another became their primary survival tool. This solidarity was tested repeatedly. In 2000, after King and Wallace were eligible for release from the brutal Camp J punishment program, they refused to leave without Woodfox. They chose to remain in the harshest conditions rather than abandon their comrade. This act of defiance solidified their identity as the Angola 3. It was Woodfox who insisted that King be included in their public advocacy, telling supporters, "We are stronger together. We can’t start letting something come between us now." This unity became their greatest strength, inspiring a global coalition of supporters who fought for their release. They lived by a quote from Star Trek that they often shared: "Separated but never apart, never touching but always connected."

Narrator: The final chapters of Woodfox’s story are a testament to the agonizingly slow and often corrupt nature of the legal system. Over the years, his legal team uncovered a mountain of hidden evidence. They found proof that the state's star witness, Hezekiah Brown, was paid for his testimony with weekly cartons of cigarettes and the promise of a pardon. They discovered that another key witness was legally blind, and that a bloody fingerprint from the crime scene matched none of the accused. Yet, appeals were repeatedly denied. A powerful supporter emerged in Teenie Rogers, the widow of the murdered guard, who, after reviewing the evidence, became convinced of their innocence and began advocating for their release. In 2013, Herman Wallace, dying of liver cancer, had his conviction overturned. He was released from prison and died a free man three days later. Finally, in 2016, after a 45-year legal battle, the state of Louisiana offered Woodfox a deal. He could be released immediately if he pleaded "nolo contendere" (no contest) to lesser charges. Torn between his commitment to proving his innocence and the desire for freedom, he accepted the deal. On his 69th birthday, Albert Woodfox walked out of prison, not exonerated, but free.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from Solitary is the profound resilience of the human spirit and the power of political conviction to forge meaning out of unimaginable suffering. Albert Woodfox’s story is not merely one of survival; it is one of transformation. He entered the system as a young man shaped by crime and emerged as a political thinker who, along with his comrades, refused to be broken by a system designed to crush them. They turned their six-by-nine-foot cells into universities, halls of debate, and centers of resistance.

Woodfox’s journey forces us to confront a difficult question: What is the true purpose of a prison system? Is it to punish, to rehabilitate, or simply to contain? His four decades in solitary confinement, a practice now widely condemned as torture, suggest that for many, it is a system of brutal and dehumanizing control. His story is a powerful indictment of that system, but it is also a testament to the idea that even when stripped of everything, a person’s principles, their dignity, and their love for humanity can remain an unconquerable fortress.