Life in the Supermax Prison

Because it's so different from any other residential facility and goes so far beyond any other extreme life-style, life in a supermax prison holds an undeniable fascination. This is compounded by the relative secrecy that surrounds the supermax prison walls and the psychological and philosophical questions that arise from supermax confinement.

Apart from punishment and retribution, one of the many justifications of supermax incarceration of terrorists and heinous criminals is to keep them quiet and deprive them of contact with those who might condone, celebrate, or glorify their anti-social activities. But despite societal efforts to remove and restrict communication with supermaxed prisoners, word has been getting out. And what is revealed is that life, at least for some, in a supermax prison may be pretty much the same as in any other high security institution, regardless of how extreme the living conditions.

What prompts this observation is disclosure of a letter written by actor Woody Harrelson's father, convicted professional gambler and murderer Charles Harrelson, from his supermax prison cell in Florence, Colorado. Harrelson died a few weeks ago at the age of 69 after suffering a heart attack. Harrelson, it might be remembered, was convicted of murdering U.S. District Judge John H. Wood in 1979 in a murder-for-hire scheme. As reported in the San Antonio Express-News a few days ago, Harrelson was allegedly paid $250,000 to murder Judge Wood, who was then presiding over the San Antonio, Texas, drug trial of accused drug dealer Jimmy Chagra.

Anyway, as now reported in a Denver Post article, Charles Harrelson was not only acclimated to life in the supermax prison, but he even found much to like about it. The article cites a "chatty, six-page letter" Harrelson wrote to a friend, a Denver attorney.

In the letter, Harrelson "wrote eloquently about a peaceful, silent existence of reading and writing" and about watching television and listening to the radio. He reportedly enjoyed David Letterman, National Public Radio, and the BBC. He filled his days with "reading, writing, or doing chores;" he frequently wrote to his wife and family. Observing that he was never bored, Harrelson said, "There are not enough hours in a day for my needs."

According to Harrelson, "The silence is wonderful. And feeling left alone is great . . . . nobody bothers me." Savoring his ability to "take a shower anytime, stay awake all night if I wish," Harrelson described his solitary life as "something akin to independence."


A few months ago, Time Magazine gave a vastly different view of the same supermax prison: Inside Bomber Row, by Maryanne Vollers. Writing to his mother and to Vollers, the author of a book about him, convicted bomber Eric Rudolph reported that the prison resounded:

with the constant mechanical whir and clank of electronic gates, punctuated by the sound of inmates praying, wailing and shouting conversations in English and Arabic through the walls and vents between their cells.

One of the most fascinating parts of Rudolph's report from inside the supermax prison concerned some of the ways the prisoners are "entertained." According to Rudolph, prisoners are offered "crossword puzzles, bingo and Jeopardy competitions through flyers or through a closed-circuit TV channel. . . . The winners are rewarded with a candy bar or a picture of themselves." Rudolph, like Harrelson, enjoys the prison's closed-circuit cable TV, saying "he gets 60 channels, including music radio stations and local news."

Writing in 2005, a few months after he arrived, Rudolph said "It is Ramadan now and the Muslims are fasting. The call to prayer echoes through the halls five times a day giving this place a decidedly otherworldly feel."

Unlike Harrelson, who appeared content with his living conditions, Rudolph complained in his letters about increasingly severe conditions, including cold food, delayed mail, and missed exercise caused by a shortage of staff. According to Rudolph, after the increasingly less frequent times out of their cells for exercise, the guards slowly move the prisoners back, "And then we sit in our darkened cells for the rest of the week, staring out at the empty sun-drenched yard."

Through the slit window one can see the sky, but other than this and the few small birds that roost on the prison roof, there are no signs of the natural world

H-Unit

The modern concept of Supermax prisons came from the federal penitentiary in Marion, Illinois.

In October, 1983, Thomas Silverstein, a chained and shackled inmate returning from his weekly shower stopped outside the H-Unit cell of another prisoner, who quickly passed him a handcuff key and a shank. Silverstein killed one of the three guards escorting him from the shower. [Now, 23 years later, Silverstein is a prisoner in the federal supermax prison and has his own website.]

Later that day, another H-Unit inmate killed another guard and brutally stabbed two others. Federal officials locked the prison down and used the killings of the guards to justify a new and even more secure form of incarceration: Supermax.

Marion opened in 1963, the same year Alcatraz closed. In 1973, H-Unit was designated a "control unit." Prisoners, who couldn't constitutionally be placed in long-term disciplinary confinement, were said to be in "administrative segregation," or "ad-seg." Whatever it was called, it evolved into a new and extremely harsh form of imprisonment. Inmates were placed into solitary, given nothing to do, with little to hear or see. The worst of these inmates are classified for "no human contact."

Although there is no definitive list, there are believed to be around 50 supermax units or facilities, and many more prisons have "solitary" or other minimal contact units where prisoners are placed for limited amounts of time.

Considering those living conditions, how can it be that a group of segregated, isolated, supermaxed prisoners are now on trial, charged with running a huge criminal enterprise from their prison cells at Pelican Bay in California, the Florence, Colorado, ADX, and other super-maximum security prisons around the country. More than two years ago, the New Yorker printed a story detailing the background of the powerful Aryan Brotherhood, "The Brand."

Flash forward to 1999, when a few Aryan Brotherhood defectors apparently started cooperating with government agents. Officials established a secret unit inside the Florence, Colorado, supermax prison. This is the federa; prison that houses the country's most notorious terrorists, bombers, and gang leaders. They called it the H-Unit.

Alan Prendergast, a reporter for the Denver weekly, Westword, has been covering the Colorado Supermax prison since 1995. According to Prendergast, in "A Broken Code," published in July, 2000,

the federal supermax presented the perfect setting for an ongoing "debriefing" process that would help authorities make cases against incarcerated gang members as well as those on the street. Prison officials also hoped to learn more about how inmates obtained weapons and passed messages, even in lockdown, and to identify staff members who'd grown too cozy with the gangs or were on their payroll.

But doubts remained, and persistent rumors suggested that the cons were conning the cops. One of the H-Unit residents, Danny Weeks, later said he was a "mole," working within the Unit to discover who was snitching on the Brotherhood, the prison gang charged with controlling much of the violence, mayhem, gambling, and drug dealing in the U.S. prison system.

Special privileges, including fast food and pizza from town, use of a computer, color televisions, payoffs and placement in protection programs, and access to privileged information about other prisoners were just a few of the rewards. The H-Unit prisoners were even allowed to read other prisoners' mail, allegedly to search for coded messages.

By 2002, Federal officials were finally ready to move; they rounded up 40 purported members of the Aryan Brotherhood, and charged them with one of the most extensive conspiracies this country has seen. The only thing even coming close is the investigation and prosecution of the mafia, and even that never resulted in the kind of prosecution and trials now underway against the Aryan Brotherhood. Last year the L.A. Weekly published "Who'll Stop the Reign?," a report about the events and people involved in the trials.

In Colorado, Alan Prendergast, in "Bringing Down the Brotherhood," again discussed the issues, this time focusing on a former-supermax prison guard, Joe Principe, who was allegedly fingered by the H-Unit informers and subsequently indicted as part of the conspiracy.

In March, 2006, the first of the planned series of trials, involving four of the powerful gang's purported leaders, started in Santa Ana, California. The OC (Orange County) Weekly published this graphic story.

Of the 40 men rounded up in 2002, nineteen (including Joe Principe) have made plea bargains, and one died. That leaves 20 defendants still charged in what prosecutors have called the largest capital crimes case in U.S. history. Two of the four defendants presently on trial face the death penalty.

Over the last few months, the prosecution has presented a parade of witnesses. The first of those witnesses described the oath he had taken many years ago: "My tongue eternally silent, I give my life to the Aryan Brotherhood." Gang leaders must reportedly kill someone to qualify for membership. This week the defense began to present its part of the cases.

Predictably, the defense attorneys admit their clients are members of the Brotherhood, but deny the conspiracy. They contend that the government's convict witnesses were paid for their testimony, which is in large part fabricated. Federal agents this week reluctantly confirmed that some of the witnesses received reduced sentences, and sometimes were released from prison, and that some received money and favors.

A U.S. Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives case agent, Michael Halualani, said one inmate received $150,000 when he was released from prison, and others at the Colorado Supermax prison were also paid for their time. According to Halualani, "I paid for time and information, not for convictions." He said the payments were similar to lawyer's charges for billable hours: "although they are in prison, it's their time."

The agent agreed that there was a danger of getting false information. He claimed, however, that the information was corroborated. "We do pay for time and we do pay for information but we also do some work," he said.

According to a Fox News report,

Danny Shoff, a Bureau of Prisons offical now assigned to Washington, D.C., said he was one of the few staff members at the Supermax prison in Florence, Colo., allowed entry to "H Unit" at the time when the inmates were helping the government crack the heart of the Aryan Brotherhood.

Shoff said he was aware that "H Unit" inmates were using a computer and were producing documents, but he was not sure whether they had access to internal prison databases that could have given them information that they would then represent as their own.

Defense attorneys also called Leslie Smith, supervisor of the Bureau of Prisons' special investigations unit, to testify.

The Associated Press reported that "Smith said he spent nearly four years suypervising the 'H Unit' in which cooperating witnesses were housed at Supermax. He said six inmates eventually occupied the space and were allowed to mingle with each other and enjoy special privileges."

Every once in a while supermax prisons emerge from their obscurity and take center stage in society's consciousness. The Aryan Brotherhood trial presents such an occasion. The sentencing of Zackarias Moussaoui to life imprisonment was another.

If it can be "ethical" or "reasonable" to lock convicted terrorists and gangsters into solitary administrative segregation without any human contact or concern for their well-being, is it equally appropriate to reward some of them for informing on their fellow or former gang members.

And if some of them take advantage of what is offered, and they con the cops into accusing and indicting the wrong people, is that cause for additional prosecutions and more societal discomfort or concern or is it a kind of weird "justice"? Does this story, and use of the H-Unit informers, demonstrate how ineffective and contradictory our present practices are and how many of our values and principles have adapted to a stark reality?

The trial is now in recess until June 27, when it will resume.

SUPERMAXED: An Introduction

Supermaxed, the website, started about five years ago. I became interested in the institution of super maximum security prisons when corrections officials of the state I live in sent a planeload of more than 100 mostly medium and minimum security prisoners to what was then one of the most oppressive supermax prisons in the country: Wallens Ridge State Prison in Big Stone Gap, Virginia. That happened in 1999.

The recipients of the all-expenses-paid trip to Virginia had the misfortune to have been in a privately run prison when a guard was killed. Even though those prisoners had nothing to do with the murder, the Secretary of Corrections thought they needed to be taught a lesson, so he shipped the hapless prisoners to Virginia to live in a supermax prison for a while.

I knew such places existed; but I assumed that only "the worst of the worst," as they said, were sent there. I quickly learned that was far from the truth; that these were, indeed, cruel places. And that they weren't always filled with "the worst."

I tried to learn all I could about supermax prisons. The result was "supermaxed.com," a website dedicated to information, references, and resources about supermax prisons in the U.S. Eventually, I included material about other prisons, and the abuse and torture of prisoners here and around the world.

On May 4, 2006, a federal judge sentenced would-be terrorist Zacarias Moussaoui to multiple sentences in supermax prison. About a week later, federal authorities flew him from Virginia to the federal supermax penitentiary in Florence, Colorado. He is supposed to spend the rest of his life there.

The international debate over Moussaoui's sentence centered on whether life in solitary confinement is "better" than the death penalty. The meaning of "better" ranged from "more humane" to "more cruel." The most insightful commentary I found was in the May 15, 2006, issue of the New Yorker magazine: Sentenced, a comment by Hendrick Hertzberg.

According to all reports, Moussaoui was hopelessly inept. He literally never got off the ground. His flight simulator instructor tipped off the F.B.I., and he spent September 11, 2001, in jail. He pled "guilty" and the U.S. prosecutors wasted a year attempting to get the death penalty. But the jury spared his life and sentenced him to life imprisonment instead. The jury foreperson described the frustration she felt as a lone holdout juror repeatedly cast the ultimately prevailing vote against death.

One commentator, Charles Krauthammer, discussed the reasons he would have chosen life imprisonment over the death penalty:

In the Moussaoui case, there were three plausible grounds for mitigation: insignificance, lunacy or deprivation. Insignificance would have been my choice. Moussaoui was hardly even a cog. If he had any role in Sept. 11, which is doubtful, it was very peripheral. He was a foot soldier in an army of evil, but he never got a chance to practice his craft. That warrants life, not hanging.

At the sentencing the Judge told the terrorist:

Mr. Moussaoui, when this proceeding is over, everyone else in this room will leave to see the sun...hear the birds...and they can associate with whomever they want. You will spend the rest of your life in a supermax prison. It's absolutely clear who won.

About a week later, Osama Bin Laden announced that Moussaoui really had nothing to do with the September 11 terrorist attacks. Believe it or not, "innocent" or "guilty," Moussaoui is in supermax prison for the rest of his life.

So Moussaoui is in his supermax prison cell, alone with himself and nothing to do for the rest of his life. Which is "better" for Moussaoui, life in a supermax prison cell or death? One of the many interesting discussions of the death-or-life choice is here.