I spent much of 2009 in One North, a solitary confinement wing at the Washington State Penitentiary, in Walla Walla, Washington. We were on a 23-and-one schedule: Once each day my cell door would roll open, controlled remotely. I would step out alone, given an hour to pace the empty tier or use a pay phone. Back in my cell, I’d be confronted by more emptiness. A steel sink and toilet, a bunk, a battered paperback, and my own thoughts for company.
What you notice first about One North depends on what time of day you enter the unit. Earlier in the day, it’s the smell—an overpowering mélange of feces, urine, pepper spray, and industrial-grade cleaning solution. The smell is so pungent it seems to have weight to it, like a physical substance. The air seems to pool in your lungs, weighing them down.
Should you arrive later in the day, from midmorning on, the noise is loud enough to disorient you. The stench hits you only after your mind recovers from the clamor. The sound of screaming and clanging bars being rattled by a hundred prisoners at once. People jumping up and down on metal bunks, mule-kicking the steel sinks and toilets. Guards shouting over the PA system. Prisoners shouting at the guards and each other. The entire cacophony plays through rattling, off-key acoustics. It feels like living inside an amplifier with a hole kicked in it, cranked up to full volume.
It took only a few days in this environment for my entire psychology to shift. My mind wandered. I was restless, getting up from my bunk and going to the window in the cell door to stare out at nothing, walking back and forth for hours with no clear thoughts. My mood was darkening. All around me, based on the things they would say or scream or, more disturbingly, their deepening silence, other prisoners were obviously undergoing the same process.
As outrageous as these conditions were, the prison administration’s justification for keeping me in solitary was worse, revealing an obscenely arbitrary process through which officials wield this inhumane punishment against people in their custody. Two prisoners who violate the same facility rule—or no rule at all—can spend radically unequal periods of time in the hole. As I would find out, everything depends on the whims of whichever administrator is randomly assigned to your case.
Hellbound and Down 