In prisons and jails nationwide, more than 122,000 people are trapped alone in closet-sized cells for days, weeks, or years on end. They have no meaningful social interactions. The cell is often unbearably hot or freezing cold. Meals are meager. And the toilet is always within arm’s reach.
I know this reality all too well. I spent three years in solitary confinement, also known as “the box."
I’ve endured a lot of pain in my life, but nothing compares with the psychological and physical toll of solitary. It ravaged my entire being.
My only contact was a corrections officer who served me cold food through a metal slide in my door, but never looked me in the eye. The room was so quiet, I talked to myself just to hear a voice. Eventually, I contemplated suicide.
I’m not alone: Research shows that prolonged solitary confinement can cause severe brain damage, depression, anxiety, psychosis, and early death, especially by suicide or opioid overdose.
People in solitary are also deprived of educational and rehabilitative programs. This fact, combined with having a stay in solitary confinement on their record, can make it harder to win early parole. When people are released, few services are available to help them recover from the emotional damage caused by extreme isolation. That makes reintegrating into society especially challenging.
Yet solitary confinement, which the United Nations and advocacy groups such as the ACLU regard as torture, is used casually and frequently inside our nation’s prisons and jails, often for minor offenses, such as having extra books, sneaking food out of the mess hall, or refusing an abusive order.
Encouraging Momentum
Growing recognition of these problems has fueled a movement to end solitary confinement.
Since leaving prison in September 2013, I’ve been part of that movement, both as the director of U.S. Prison Programs at the National Religious Campaign Against Torture (NRCAT) and as a steering committee member of Unlock the Box, a coalition to end prolonged solitary confinement in the next decade. An initial grant from the Ford Foundation more than 10 years ago to NRCAT helped fuel this work. Since then, both NRCAT and Unlock the Box have received yearly grants from the Jacob and Valeria Langeloth Foundation.
Through the Unlock the Box Campaign, I help provide grants to 20 state anti-solitary campaigns that are almost entirely led by survivors or their relatives. The organization has seen huge success: Before its inception in 2018, state legislators introduced only a few dozen bills each year addressing solitary confinement. In 2023 alone, more than 170 pieces of legislation were introduced, and more than a dozen states passed laws limiting the practice.
Despite this momentum, many of the country’s top criminal-justice grant makers don’t consider the movement to end solitary confinement a priority. Some I’ve talked to insist their dollars are better spent reducing the incarcerated population overall. Others argue it’s fruitless to improve conditions inside facilities that are broken at their core.
This makes little sense and is morally questionable. Yes, the criminal legal system must be completely reimagined. Certainly, communities need re-entry programs, mental-health evaluations, and interventions to keep people out of jail in the first place.
But reducing the incarcerated population will take decades, and those in prison need help now. People in solitary are still dying in New York City’s Rikers Island jail, for example, even though the facility is slated to close.
Large and small foundations alike can provide the funds needed to capitalize on growing support to end the torture of solitary confinement.
Benefits Beyond Prison
Importantly, ending solitary won’t just help people in the box. It could also trigger other long-needed changes to the criminal legal system — and society as a whole.
Criminal Justice
Consider, for instance, that activists working to end solitary confinement are also pressuring officials to close prisons. That’s because their advocacy work helps shut down prisons with only solitary cells while also highlighting why we need to reduce the country’s incarcerated population overall.
For example, in 2021, New York’s HALT Solitary Act banned isolation in prisons and jails for more than 15 consecutive days. Months later, local leaders announced they would close the state’s oldest supermax prison, which only had solitary cells, plus five other prisons — a decision partially attributed to the HALT Act’s passage.
That same year, in Connecticut, activists working to end solitary helped shut down the Northern Correctional Institution, a maximum-security facility that had only solitary cells, saving the state millions of dollars annually. A year later, Democratic Gov. Ned Lamont signed a bill banning all long-term solitary confinement.
Ending solitary may also boost public safety and reduce the incarcerated population. People who experience solitary are more likely to re-offend and return to prison. Even brief stays in the box of a day or two can increase the chance of recidivism and unemployment, according to one Cornell University study.
For grant makers interested in the broader fight for racial justice, the country’s solitary cells are a logical place to start. Unsurprisingly, people of color like myself disproportionately land in solitary confinement. Eliminating the practice would go a long way toward reducing the extreme racial disparities in the nation’s criminal legal system.
Nixing solitary would also upend a system based on the premise that punishment is necessary and effective. When one form of torture is common, other instances of abuse in prisons and jails, courts, and policing are easier to justify. Deeming solitary confinement unacceptable would shine a spotlight on the ineffectiveness of the nation’s current corrections model, encourage the use of rehabilitative policies, and free up hundreds of millions of dollars currently squandered on isolating people.
The best people to convey this message are solitary-confinement survivors and their loved ones. But they lack the funding and tools to advocate effectively. And survivors can’t — and shouldn’t — work for free. For those who were recently released, it’s nearly impossible to do advocacy work while looking for a job, supporting a family, and reintegrating into the community, all while grappling with the residual psychological and physical harm of solitary.
Philanthropists could ease this burden by funding advocacy training for solitary survivors in areas such as coalition-building, grassroots organizing, media relations, and policymaking. Grant dollars would also allow advocates to enlist consultants and policy advisers to help craft effective messages and strategies. With full- or part-time advocacy jobs, these activists can get paid to do the work they’re passionate about, without constantly worrying about keeping food on the table or roofs over their heads.
I saw this firsthand a few years ago when just a small amount of financial support from the Langeloth Foundation allowed me to train and provide stipends to 50 fellow solitary survivors who, collectively, had spent at least 150 years in solitary. They learned about community organizing while also discussing how they’ve dealt with the trauma of solitary after coming home.
These survivors eventually became integral to key legislative efforts, including the passage of the HALT Solitary Act in New York. In New Jersey, they led the push behind the 2019 legislation that bans the use of solitary confinement for more than 20 consecutive days or more than 30 days during a 60-day period.
Solitary confinement is the worst thing I’ve ever gone through. To this day, I still feel uncomfortable in small spaces. It pains me that more than 122,000 people have experienced this, sitting in a six-foot by eight-foot cell without human contact for days on end, sometimes without even a book to pass the time. Meanwhile, politicians and public officials continue to turn their backs.
Ending this deadly torture is finally within reach. An extra push from the philanthropic community could help us cross the finish line.