Georgia Prison Strike: A Hidden Labor Force Resists

Last week a diverse group of nonviolent protesters across Georgia
stood up for their rights, calling for decent wages, better social
services and respect for their civil liberties. It didn't take
long for the government to crack down on the demonstrations,
however: the protesters were already in prison.

The uprising of Georgia inmates on December 9
defied the stereotype of the chaotic "prison riot" in the public
imagination. Yet neither did "Lockdown for Liberty" fit within the
conventional model of civil disobedience or industrial action. But
when the inmates in at
least six different prisons refused to leave their cells to
report to work and other activities that day, a strike began. And
it effectively paralyzed a small chunk of the bureaucratic
monstrosity of America's prison system.

The incarcerated have historically filled
the dregs of the American workforce, an emblem of racial
subjugation often invisible in the politics of labor and social
policy. It was against this hidden legacy of exploitation that the
Georgia inmates, with the support of the NAACP and other civil
rights advocates, raised issues common to incarcerated people
nationwide: abusive treatment, degrading living conditions, a lack
of accountability in the administration and parole authorities,
and a lack of basic educational and social services (see below).

Pointedly invoking the term "slave" to describe the
circumstances under which they toiled, the strikers showed how
historically entrenched racial divisions play out today in the
black-white disparities throughout the criminal justice system.
Still, Georgia protesters included Latinos and whites as well as
blacks, in a joint effort to resist and challenge
structural injustices.

Their demands were hardly radical, but rather, embodied mainstream standards for reasonable
and humane treatment: protection from cruel and unusual punishment
by officers, affordable medicine when they're sick, and above all,
fair pay for their labor. According to the Atlanta-Journal
Constitution, "state law forbids paying inmates except for one
limited program."

Final Callquoted reports trickling out from inmates
earlier this week:

One brother told me, 'We will ride until the wheels fall off,'
and that's been the sentiment amongst the men when they started
this," said Elaine Brown, a spokesperson for the strike... Part
of our purpose for doing this is that Georgia is the only state
that does not pay its inmates at all. Some guys in here work
seven days a week and they don't get a dime," said Dondito, one
of the strikers, who requested anonymity.

You can almost hear the zero-tolerance conservatives in
Washington now: how dare these criminals demand better treatment
from the state? The official reaction was to immediately curtail
what few resources the inmates possess. According to news reports, prison staff locked down four
facilities, attempted to transfer out the leading troublemakers,
cut off the hot water, and revoked cell phone privileges (yes,
according to Facing South, "Cell phones are contraband in Georgia's
prisons, but widely available for sale from correctional
officers.")

The strike was called off after six days, following reports of
violent crackdowns and rising fears that the situation would
escalate. But by then, the inmates had made their mark with one of the largest prison protests in U.S.
history. The decision to end the strike, moreover, seems
like the beginning of another phase in the inmates' collective
action, now that they've caught national political attention. The
AJC reported:

an inmate at Smith State Prison in Glenville said in a
telephone interview prisoners had agreed to end their
"non-violent" protest to allow administrators time to focus on
their concerns rather than operating the institutions without
inmate labor.

"We've ended the protest," said Mike, a convicted armed robber who
was one of the inmates who planned and coordinated the work
stoppage. "We needed to come off lock down so we can go to the law
library and start ... the paperwork for a [prison conditions]
lawsuit.

The proactive militancy of the strike organizers underscores the
fact that the entire action not only proceeded largely without
violence, but also spread rapidly through several institutions
thanks to careful planning and clandestine technology--messages spread via cell, expanding the
traditional jailhouse grapevine.

It may be a while before we see another prisoner strike going
viral, as the potential for prison-based activism remains constrained by
the criminal-justice power structure. But the Georgia inmates
helped change the public face of Americans who've been caught up
in the country's incarceration industry. Under the most oppressive
of conditions, they used disciplined strike tactics to align their
grievances with broader struggles for human rights.

It makes sense. Prison is the everyday reality lived by a huge
swath of the population (roughly one in one hundred, according to
recent surveys) Meanwhile, the impact of
prison labor leaves a hidden imprint on our economy as well. Noah
Zatz of UCLA Law School has estimated that:

well over 600,000, and probably close to a million, inmates are
working full time in jails and prisons throughout the United
States. Perhaps some of them built your desk chair: office
furniture, especially in state universities and the federal
government, is a major prison labor product. Inmates also take
hotel reservations at corporate call centers, make body armor
for the U.S. military, and manufacture prison chic fashion
accessories, in addition to the iconic task of stamping license
plates.

As a captive workforce and disenfranchised populace, the prison
system reaches deep into American society, and the distance
between the people on the inside and those on the outside is
increasingly a matter of luck--whether you're unfortuate enough to
have been born the wrong color or in the wrong neighborhood. If
the movement launched by the Georgia inmates, and their demands
for dignity, look surprisingly familiar, there's a good reason for
that: they are us.

For more information, follow the Black Agenda Report's ongoing coverage of
the Georgia prison activists.

The strikers' demands, which they continue to press with
state officials, are as follows:

A LIVING WAGE FOR WORK: In violation of the 13th Amendment to
the Constitution prohibiting slavery and involuntary servitude,
the DOC demands prisoners work for free.

EDUCATIONAL OPPORTUNITIES: For the great majority of prisoners,
the DOC denies all opportunities for education beyond the GED,
despite the benefit to both prisoners and society.

DECENT HEALTH CARE: In violation of the Eighth Amendment
prohibition against cruel and unusual punishments, the DOC
denies adequate medical care to prisoners, charges excessive
fees for the most minimal care and is responsible for
extraordinary pain and suffering.

AN END TO CRUEL AND UNUSUAL PUNISHMENTS: In further violation of
the Eighth Amendment, the DOC is responsible for cruel prisoner
punishments for minor infractions of rules.

DECENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Georgia prisoners are confined in
over-crowded, substandard conditions, with little heat in winter
and oppressive heat in summer.

NUTRITIONAL MEALS: Vegetables and fruit are in short supply in
DOC facilities while starches and fatty foods are plentiful.

VOCATIONAL AND SELF-IMPROVEMENT OPPORTUNITIES: The DOC has
stripped its facilities of all opportunities for skills
training, self-improvement and proper exercise.

ACCESS TO FAMILIES: The DOC has disconnected thousands of
prisoners from their families by imposing excessive telephone
charges and innumerable barriers to visitation.

JUST PAROLE DECISIONS: The Parole Board capriciously and
regularly denies parole to the majority of prisoners despite
evidence of eligibility.