Voices From Solitary: Dispatches from Unit 29 at Parchman Prison

by | January 20, 2025

The culmination of three years of working with incarcerated students, Unit 29: Writings from Parchman Prison is a rare and gritty portrayal of the realities of prison life. Published on December 1, 2024, by VOX Press, this collection features writings from over 30 currently incarcerated individuals housed in Unit 29 at Mississippi State Penitentiary, also known as the Parchman Farm. Parchman was built on a former slave plantation in 1901, making it the oldest prison in the state. In 2020, attorneys hired by artist Jay-Z and his entertainment company Roc Nation filed a lawsuit against Parchman, demanding an end to the “abhorrent” and often fatal conditions in the prison. The lawsuit prompted the U.S. Department of Justice to investigate Parchman and two other Mississippi prisons, finding rampant and routine violations of incarcerated people’s constitutional rights. The state’s governor then commissioned parts of Unit 29—deemed the most brutally violent unit—to be shut down, though 34 men still remain locked down there on death row.

From documenting some of the most unfathomable living conditions in prison to describing the ravaging physical and mental damage of long-term solitary confinement, the book delves into the aftermath of the deadly riots that took place in Unit 29 from December 2019 through April 2020. The following five pieces are excerpted from the book and cover topics such as violence, substance abuse, grief, suicidal ideation, and resilience in the face of one of America’s most notorious prison facilities. The book is available for purchase in eBook, paperback, or hardcover through VOX Press or Amazon. —Kilhah St Fort 

• • • • • • • • • •

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF ME
Larry Jenkins 

You have to be strong. Don’t be weak to the cycle of emotion. The only respect you will get is the respect you have for yourself. There is no justice for you for the stripes you wear strips away your worth. You have committed a crime – you are no longer worthy of any justice.

See men that mind their business remain humble and don’t bother a soul get punched to the floor. For being in an area that he didn’t even know was another man’s personal space.

This man, now wearing a closed eye, bloody lip, goes to the captain about the situation and says he wants a different environment but is drug back on the zone because it is not believed by that captain that he did nothing to get that beating. Now this man as with the police – a rat that runs to the police and now gets another beating.

A world where violence is expected and condoned for entertainment. Police see it that you committed a crime, so you deserve to experience trauma, suffering, starving. They see how food is served barely enough, bugs in it, half done, cold, they don’t care. Eat it or get up and get out.

I ask what is my reason for existence? Staring at the man in the cloudy scratchy mirror… Eyes have blackened, hair has thinned, gray hairs sneak into view on the beard of my chin. Why do I continue to do this shit? Wake up, go to work for the prison, respect the guards, do the right thing. Why do I even pray? I’m a murderer, does God even hear me. My life has transformed into a maze with no exits. Even inside my head. They have given me life at 19. Or did I give it to myself? Who am I? Do I deserve to work amongst the living? Why should I continue to live? I hate my life. I hate myself. I can end it all right now. I can stand on the edge of the building and jump. Or I can tie this sheet around my neck and hang in my cell. I can’t run, can’t hide. My tears flow with no purpose. All I can do is wait on the day I die one day at a time.

When it’s finally quiet and the environment is calm all kinds of thoughts flow uncontrollably. The chipped and dull walls of the cell, the stale air, the slop that you have to eat to survive being slung through your tray hole. It’s like starting over every day because when you wake up gotta come up with a reason to keep going, a reason to keep the faith.

Take a dog, regardless of the breed, could be raised in a loving home with other friendly dogs. Never had to get violent or bite anything or anyone and put it around violent and aggressive dogs that bit him and pick on him. 7 times out of 10 eventually he’s gonna develop those same characteristics in order to survive, to eat and earn his place amongst them. It is the same with any species. Either you going to toughen up or become a victim.

Being in an environment of violent offenders. Such as drug dealers, manipulators, killers, rapist, bullies. Verbal abusers, gangs and men who are not mentally stable and will go crazy on you just for looking in their direction. Man was created to be strong not weak. I refuse to be like the hog in Africa that has to drink from a pond with crocodiles hidden under the water in constant fear of the crocodile sitting back waiting to bite his head off when it unexpectedly surfaces and scratches it into the water or lions grab it from behind staring at the pieces of metal hanging of certain parts of the buildings. I think about all the gang members walking around daily in small space of 70 to 100 men.

In the streets, it is suicide to confront any dangerous individual that has a gun without a gun. Being 19 and full of energy and aggression. Feeling it is impossible for me to bow or submit to any man. 2 a.m. I lie wide awake. Breakfast is served at 3:30 a.m. The speaker comes on and the officer calls feeding. Everyone gets up and rushes out to avoid being caught in the back of the line with the gang members because you either get charged money or beat up. Skunks roam around the grounds in the dark uncovering any snacks hidden in the trash bins. As everybody else walks to the dining hall, I stand on the side of the building in the dark. When the coast is clear, I go to the pieces of metal trimming at the bottom of the outside of the building. Breaking pieces off 6 to 12 inches long. I come in with the zone after the last meal is fed and 6 o’clock count I began breaking the metal in half and into pieces.

I was taught in the county jail to make knives so I was already up on how to do it. I had no plans to use them, I just felt safe with one and when it is known that you carry knives not many will be quick to try you. Crazy how they throw you in a hole with 99 other felons and expect you to rehabilitate and do better and not get into trouble but the ones they let free they tell to stay away from other felons. Or you will be sent back to prison. Though you was just around thousands of felons for years and wasn’t influenced by them.

At 10 p.m. it’s time to get in the bunk. TVs are cut off. After the zone workers get done clacking the mops and brooms and the rap session in the corner is done it gets rather quiet.

I lay and think of freedom. No letters from friends. No letters from the girls that cried when they sent me away. I look into the depths of my solitude is the only time I really exist. How do I choose my thoughtsthe same cracked concrete lined with dust filled, abandoned spider webs I lay in my bunk at night and stare at will be the same ones I will be looking at when I’m 50. Life in prison. I’m sorry, Momma. Why did I leave you in that crazy world alone? Constantly yearning for her forgiveness know recurring moments when she needs me daily for whatever duties men of a family is supposed to be there for, and I’m not, is going to raise disappointment. Does she still love me or only tells me out of obligation? Can my mind ever be at peace?

A completely innocent man fighting for his freedom filling paperwork to the court of appeals has deadlines that he can’t meet on time getting those papers out due to ineffective legal operations being inconsistent with procedures. He also was delayed by the library in receiving cases to study and use as example. Verbally abused daily and disrespected or looked down upon by staff for being in this situation but when you do everything in your power that you supposed to do and still doors slammed in your face and rejected.

Every day you wake up you gotta fix your spirit and rebuild it. Change your state of mind. Don’t lie to yourself like today is going to be a good day regardless of how you’re feeling or how calm and cool the guards and convicts are. Every day, hour, minute, second is different inside these walls. Anything could happen in a split second. They can make a big fuss and put all the blame they want on hard drugs, but the real drugs are coffee and cigarettes.

If you put 100 red ants in a jar with 100 black ants and the kick it and chill but you shake the jar, they will immediately start killing each other – they see each other as enemies when in reality the enemy is the one that shook the jar. I love cigarettes. Need one when I wake upneed one when I take a shit, need one after I eat. Aggravation sets in on the weak minded after not having a cigarette and smoke is in the air. He starts to spread that negative energy around the zone and starts a separation of haves and have nots. Now the have nots want to rob the havesthings begin to get stolen now – beatings, arguments and hatred for one another fill the ambience. Once the mood sets on this level it can be stuck there for weeks. Getting locked behind the door is a different level of being locked up. You already have limited privileges then to have those taken away and put in a small boxno tv, no radioonly the excitement of the 3 meals being put in our door and the three times a week that you shower. Some deal with it in different ways than others. Some don’t be bothered at allglad to be away from others.

. . .

SAVE ME
Larry Jenkins

Lend me your wings Mr. eagle
Let me soar away in the breeze
Longing to glide amongst the clouds
Sink your claws into my back
Carry me far, far away
I am not happy here
Like the roots of the oak
I grip the ground of my emotional, spiritual and physical prison
Show me the world oh Mr. eagle
One apart from here
Bless my soul to be free
Save me Mr. eagle can’t you see
Take me to the other side
This world is not for me.

. . .

NOT INSTITUTIONALIZED
Leon Johnson 

I try to live by the
mind of Christ, and not
Look toward man.

I don’t allow any thing
To bother me. It’s all
About today, not yesterday,
or what tomorrow may
Bring.

I obey these that have
authority over me. I
Do what they ask me or
Tell me, do, and I do
What I suppose to do,
When there is no one
Around, standing over me.

I put no one before
Anyone else, bond or
Free. Are there any one
Better than you are?

I’m really free within.
Prison don’t have any
Real chains on me.

. . .

FECES THROWERS OF MSP UNIT 29 LOCKDOWN
Darosky Ford

In Unit 29 lockdown they call it
A shit shake or getting hit with the draco.
I always heard about the shit shake,
But never saw it in action with my own eyes.
It is something that I really didn’t want to see,
Just imagining how repulsive that could be.

The WORD/was/there was a convict named Twin
Who was the king of the shit shakes?
He would put it in a VO5 Shampoo bottle and
Squirt it through the cell bars on whoever he argued with.
I happened to see Twin,
He was dark skinned, and more than six feet tall.
I saw him throw a bag of shit bigger than a basketball.

Twin had an argument with a guy one day.
The guy told Twin, “I throw shit too if that’s how you want to play.”
They argued for a long period
Of time before anything actually happened.
The guy shot shit on Twin from a VO5 shampoo bottle.
They commenced to throwing and
Shooting shit on each other full throttle.

They were arguing back and forth.
I said to myself, “the officers will be in here soon.”
As the officers were taking Twin to the shower
I saw him lick shit off his chest and
Say, “nigga I’m a real baboon.”

Twin was the king of arguments and strife.
I never saw a person come up with
So much shit in all my life.
Twin threatened to throw shit on the warden.
The warden said, “with you I’m definitely not going to play.”
Twin was packed up and
Shipped off of the compound the next day.

. . .

FINAL EXIT
Christopher Smith 

I was transferred away from a zone, unit 29-G building A zone, where I had all the trouble on Jan. 12, 2023, to A building B zone. I thought this to be a relief only to be notified that my mother passed the next day. She passed on Jan. 6, 2023.

I took the news okay for a week, probably because I got some meth to hide behind, but on about the 21st or 22st I was sent to unit 42, on suicide watch, because I cut my forearm, almost to the artery.

I was in a cell with only a sink/toilet with a suicide blanket, and a paper gown. For the first week, I could not eat and hold it down and the nurses would not give me shit for my nerves or stomach until I started giving them hell. After two weeks, two days before my mom’s B-Day, Feb. 11th , I was sent back to my cell in A building, cell 64, even though I told them I was still wanting to kill myself. Today is Feb. 13th so I made it through, but am still wanting to die. I HATE LIFE!

.

I am back to eating again and being away from all the bullshit where I was does help me. The solid door also gives some peace. Now all I do is write and read books. I have NO ONE LEFT!

As prisoners, I’m sure we all think about being free one day, surely those who have a life sentence. Most have loved ones to go home to.

In my outlook of life, for the last, going on 14 years and Freedom, it don’t mean much to me because I don’t have shit to be free for. No one is alive for me to get out for.

See, if I had something worth being given freedom for, I would not be speaking this way, I would be glad to live on for freedom. But at this point in my life all I want is to not see the next day.

To be free you must have something to want to be free for. Freedom is only to enjoy with someone, which I don’t have.

To those, if I have to tell, if you have people to be free for cherish it and always let them know how much you wish you were there for them and love them, because that is freedom in itself. Or was for me. DON’T FUCK UP YOUR LIFE!

.

I want to figure something out, because I really don’t understand why these gang members believe they are so bad, but when you give them their chance, they won’t act on what they say.

I do understand they hate me just as I hate them, so why don’t they just do as I do. I don’t deal with them nor get in there business so why don’t they just stay out mine as well. I realize that I am the inferior here in prison but that does not mean they run me.

They hate I won’t cower down to them, nor live as they live, without morals. I refuse to live as they do, pray on those who stand alone because they are greater in number. Fuck the guards even fear them, that’s why they get away with everything. They just don’t see I want to die because that is the only true freedom I see.

. . .

Featured image from the Archives and Records Services Division, Mississippi Department of Archives and History.

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