Every year on March 20th, millions of people across the globe come together to tell and listen to stories. Begun in the early 2000s, World Storytelling Day is a collective action of learning from and connecting with others through storytelling, and the community-building that comes with it. 

The theme of World Storytelling Day 2026 is “Light in the Dark.” Few storytellers are as well-positioned to expand on this theme than those who tell their truths from behind bars, often at great risk to themselves. The narratives penned by incarcerated writers illuminate the lives and experiences of those locked in the darkest corners of the U.S. criminal punishment system. Yet their voices are too seldom heard, and too little heeded.

To celebrate World Storytelling Day this year, Solitary Watch, in collaboration with Unlock the Box, is spotlighting the work of five incarcerated journalists. By unflinchingly sharing their stories and the stories of their fellow incarcerated people, each writer has made a significant contribution to uncovering the truth about solitary confinement and other harsh prison conditions in the United States.

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Christopher Blackwell, journalist and director of Look2Justice, incarcerated in Washington State

The risks taken by incarcerated journalists reporting from what I call “behind enemy lines” are endless. Your visits and communication can be stripped away,  your mail delayed or destroyed, your cell continuously searched, you can be taken to solitary—the list never ends. Doing this work forces you to keep your head on a swivel. But I continue to do it, because someone has to share the truth, or change will never occur. If we don’t expose the system, it will remain hidden in the shadows, along with all the abuse and oppression that comes with it. I refuse to let that happen!

Read more of Christopher’s work here.

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Edwin Chavez, journalist, incarcerated in California

Being an incarcerated journalist can be dangerous when reporting on the ongoing corruption by prison staff. In the past, I’ve been sent to the hole on stacked-up charges. I spent over a decade in isolation. I witnessed the horrible and inhumane conditions people endure in solitary. It was then that I decided to pick up a pen and taught myself to read and write. Equally importantly, I’ve reported against the Salvadoran regime for incarcerating innocent people inside CECOT, a prison that houses up to 40,000 people, many of whom have not committed a crime. As a journalist, if deported back to El Salvador, I might get killed. Reporters there are being killed and imprisoned. I will continue to report even if it will cost me my life. I feel that we need to educate the world about all the injustices and atrocities inside prison walls and about those who are being deported into a dungeon.

Read more of Edwin’s work here.

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Juan Moreno Haines, journalist and Solitary Watch, Editor-in-Chief, incarcerated in California

Mainstream media, typically, depict prisons and jails as places filled with unfit, useless, uneducated people. My 30-year incarceration experience has shown me otherwise. As an incarcerated journalist, I am uniquely situated to offer the public familiarity with a place from which they normally get one-sided stories that do not include the voices of people held in custody. To achieve balance in any reporting, when it’s about a person, that person’s voice is central. Therefore, content created by incarcerated journalists is necessary to find truth. Journalists reporting from prisons and jails challenge the beliefs that the public have about the criminal legal system. Their reporting humanizes people who are oppressed and othered as regularly as sunshine and nightfall. To anyone with a story to tell: Pick up your pen. Hold it firmly in your hand and push it forward. Your liberty status matters not.

Read more of Juan’s work here.

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Kwaneta Harris, journalist and Solitary Watch Senior Writer, incarcerated in Texas 

Every word I write from behind these walls is an act of defiance against erasure. They can lock my body in a cell, but when I put pen to paper, I become ungovernable. The risk isn’t just bogus disciplinary reports that can be used to justify parole denials. It’s daring to believe that our stories matter, that these truths carved from concrete and survival deserve to breathe in the outside world. I write knowing they watch, knowing they censor, knowing that my voice makes them uncomfortable. And still, I write. Because silence is the only cage I refuse to accept.

Read more of Kwaneta’s work here.

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Sara Kielly, journalist, incarcerated in New York State

Journalism that addresses our correctional system, prisons, and criminal justice reform—particularly freelance journalism from those currently incarcerated or carcerally impacted—is integral to the humanity of our nation and society. Without the voices of those directly affected by our nation’s most biased, abusive, and rogue industry—the prison industrial complex—the grave injustices that occur cannot come to light or be remedied.

Storytelling, even in an age where the truth is denounced as “fake news,” is a tradition spanning back to before written history; and gives birth to the ability to develop empathy, understanding, and connection across generations. We tell these stories and truths to shine a light into dark corners of our world, and even our hearts—to share lessons and morals with each other, our children, and those of our descendants yet to come. When we speak, our actions affect the world and people around us; but when we write those stories and lessons down, it leaves an indelible mark on the conscience of our society for eternity.

Read more of Sara’s work here.

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Read more work by incarcerated journalists here.

Donate to support the work of incarcerated writers here.