Life inside, like life outside, is complex and varied. No human enterprise could ever be just one thing, but prison has its own signatures. Looking back at the stories published in 2023 by Prison Journalism Project, it was hard not to notice certain themes — of perseverance, ingenuity, creativity and self-improvement. Every day, editors at PJP are privileged to read about the sometimes incredible examples of human spirit demonstrated by people living behind bars.
But it would be dishonest not to note just how much darkness looms over the writing that appeared in PJP this year. In January, contributor Jeffery Shockley set the somber tone in his essay, “How to Endure the Winters of a Life Sentence.” “[Like] the autumn trees, we can also be stripped bare,” he writes. “Time wears on you in here. Family and childhood friends fade, leaving you alone, forced to look at the life you led, the season ahead.”
When the editors gathered this year to select our favorite pieces of 2023, we did not set out to compile a dour reading list. We wanted to highlight the best writing from inside, work of high journalistic quality that illuminated incarceration, challenged stereotypes and asserted the humanity of imprisoned people. But so it goes: The writing and reporting that most gripped us this year — that marked us, even changed us — tended to confront the darker sides of prison life. The humiliation and degradation of strip searches. The psychological violence of solitary confinement. The unbearable fear of dying inside.
In the pieces below, editors and staff share a few thoughts on their favorite story of the year.
One definition of the word “somber” is “oppressively solemn,” and that seems to capture the essence of many of the experiences reported on by PJP contributors this year. But we readers should not look away or, worse, fall prey to cynicism. These stories implicate us all.
— PJP Editors
“How to Endure the Winters of a Life Sentence” by Jeffery Shockley
“Winter turns nature skeletal.” This line by Jeffery Shockley captures my attention every time I read his powerful piece on enduring harsh winters in prison. The essay, which was published in partnership with Atmos magazine, explores the relationship between two things that affect us all: incarceration and the seasons. For those like him with life sentences, Jeffery writes, “The calendar serves no purpose. There is no expected end, save the final end.” But that doesn’t stop the tide of time from transforming us. “Our lives, like seasons, change,” he writes. “Some days are bright and sunny. Others are dark and gloomy. The winter can be bitterly cold. Inside or out, it is best to try and find some joy in the season, to remain strong and enduring, like the pine trees on the hill outside my window.”
— Lyneka Little, audience engagement editor
“In Prison, What Keeps Racist Violence at Bay?” by Kevin D. Sawyer
Prison is a complex place, and misconceptions about it abound. It is commonly assumed, for example, that racial animosity is a potent, even explosive, force inside — and in many ways this is absolutely true. But in one of my favorite pieces from the year, Kevin D. Sawyer made a surprising claim, one that challenged my naive ideas about how racism functions behind bars. He writes that in “my more than 26 years of incarceration, I have never seen anyone attacked because of racial animus.” Kevin, a veteran reporter incarcerated at San Quentin State Prison, goes on to explore the complicated politics of racial violence inside prison. His story refuses simple narratives. It provides a clear-eyed view of life inside that can only be achieved with careful reporting and the wisdom of experience.
— Mason Bryan, senior editor
“All I Wanted Was Cold Milk My First Night in Solitary” by Jennifer Kszepka
This story by Jennifer Kszepka, one of my favorites of the year, is haunting. As Jennifer explains early in the story, she first went to prison at age 16. Since she was so young, prison staff decided it would be safest to keep her in solitary confinement until she turned 18. In this gripping and heartbreaking story, Jennifer details her first night in solitary. She stuffed damp toilet paper into cracks in the walls and pipes to keep pests out. She stared at a large, bright moon through her window, which was “captivating but so far away from my reality.” And she craved a large glass of milk. She asked a corrections officer for that glass of milk — for nourishment — and was turned down. I’ll never see a glass of milk in the same way again.
— Yukari Kane, co-founder and editor in chief
“This Is the Most Demeaning Act I Experience in Prison” by Shakeil Price
The strip search is one of the least-talked about aspects of incarceration. Also referred to as body or cavity searches, the procedure is rationalized as being necessary to keep contraband out of correctional facilities. It is intensely dehumanizing. Some incarcerated people experience these searches daily. I still acutely remember my first one — the abject shame, humiliation and intense discomfort I endured. Eventually, I became desensitized to them, much like Shakeil Price describes in this wrenching essay, one of my favorites of the year. When I read his piece, I remember feeling a shock of recognition. Never had I heard the procedure described so precisely.
— JoyBelle Phelan, writer relations associate
“As a Muslim Incarcerated in New Jersey, I Worry I Will Be Cremated When I Die” by Tariq MaQbool
The vast majority of people who are incarcerated identify as religious. Of those who do, according to a recent national poll of prison chaplains, more than three-quarters have switched religious affiliations since their incarceration. In a particularly impactful story from this year, which was co-published with Al Jazeera English, Tariq MaQbool draws attention to the importance of agency and bodily autonomy for Muslims, a majority of whom are converts, in the New Jersey prison system. Tariq describes the unsettling details of a friend’s death and the painful vulnerability of not being able to account for one’s own remains. I was shocked, frustrated and heartbroken. Our society is learning to take people’s identities seriously on the outside; this story made me grapple with the ways Muslims on the inside are still fighting for basic rights.
— Clare Hammoor, director of learning
“What It’s Like to Be Cooked Alive in a Texas Prison” by Khaȧliq Shakur
In the Southeast, nearly 95% of homes have air conditioning. Prisons in 13 states throughout the South, however, lack universal air conditioning, leaving incarcerated people susceptible to heat-related illness or death. This year was the hottest on record, and perhaps no state felt that blaze more acutely than Texas. In my favorite story of the year, which was co-published with The Guardian, Khaȧliq Shakur describes what it’s like living in constant extreme heat in his Texas prison. Electronic tablets malfunction. People wrap their heads in cool towels. Ice machines falter. The Lone Star State nearly dedicated $545 million toward cooling its prisons this year, but the state Senate shot the initiative down. Instead, the state only allocated $85 million toward the problem, which will keep many state prisons sweltering during the summer months. As Khaȧliq writes, Texas “had yet another chance to save lives. Instead it opted to save money.”
— Wyatt Stayner, deputy editor
“Three Generations of Incarceration” by Reginald Stephen
Incarceration can span generations, entangling countless loved ones in its maw. In this story by Reginald Stephen, my favorite of the year, he relies heavily on the perspective of his mother, underscoring the impact prison has on families outside. Women who support their incarcerated loved ones are too often the unseen collateral damage of the system. Here, Reginald shines a light on his mother’s sacrifices in the face of her family members’ incarcerations. He uses his story to reflect on his own failings and the consequences. A hopeful note concludes the essay, with Reginald’s mother expressing her pride in his growth as a person. Reginald has been with us since the beginning and I, too, am proud of all he has accomplished.
— Shaheen Pasha, co-founder
”What Panties Will I Wear When I Get Out?” by Heather Jarvis
Leaving prison is an odyssey. It is often a time of intense instability, uncertainty and confusion. The prospect of work, housing. community and questions about one’s own identity barrel toward the person about to get out. In one of my favorite pieces of the year, Heather C. Jarvis walks readers through this emotional turmoil. The issue that really overwhelms her? “After nine years of not having choices, I don’t even know what kind of underwear I want,” she writes. When it comes to putting back a life together, Heather suggests, you have to start somewhere.
— Carla Canning, contract editor
“Prison Is the Worst Place to Start Menopause” by Donna Hockman
Women make up only 10% of the U.S. prison population, and when they are written about it’s often in the context of sexual assault. That’s important, but so are the routine, too-often-overlooked humiliations women face every day in prison. In one of my favorite stories of the year, Donna Hockman’s unflinching account of menopause got me thinking about something that hadn’t occurred to me, but should have.
— Bill Keller, board of advisors chair
“Prison Coding Program Helps Participants Reboot Life” by Victoria A. Dennis
The pace of technological change is dizzying. That’s especially true for people inside, who languish for years and even decades in what the PJP contributor Victoria A. Dennis calls “a technology drought.” Lack of exposure to the internet, for example, can seriously hinder one’s prospects of securing employment upon release. But Victoria, who wrote one of my favorite stories of the year, highlights one program that is trying to change this. You’ll have to read the story yourself to find out how she became a full-stack developer behind bars.
— Wesley Lowery, board of directors chair
