Fighting Behind the Wall: The Legacy of Prison Strikes

On the outside, we often treat resistance as a public act: protests in the street, walkouts at work, petitions on our feeds. But some of the most powerful uprisings happen in places most of us never see—behind prison walls. There, resistance comes with extraordinary risk and few protections. And yet, time and again, incarcerated people have organized, struck, and refused to be silent.

From Attica in 1971, to Pelican Bay in 2011, to the nationwide prison strike in 2016, the legacy of incarcerated resistance is deep, strategic, and ongoing. It’s time we on the outside stop treating these actions as exceptional—and instead understand them as central to any movement for liberation.

Attica 1971: The Spark of Modern Prison Resistance

On September 9, 1971, over 1,200 incarcerated men at Attica Correctional Facility in New York seized control of the prison, demanding better living conditions, educational access, political rights, and an end to racist brutality. For four days, they held the yard, creating a temporary space of collective power and self-governance.

Then-Governor Nelson Rockefeller refused to negotiate. On September 13, state police stormed the prison, killing 29 incarcerated men and 10 correctional officers—most by police gunfire.

Attica changed everything. It revealed the brutal inhumanity of the prison system, exposed how quickly the state responds to organized Black and Brown resistance with lethal force, and planted the idea that prison walls cannot contain the demand for dignity.

Pelican Bay 2011–2013: Hunger Strikes Against Solitary Torture

Decades later, in the Security Housing Unit (SHU) at Pelican Bay State Prison in California, a different form of resistance emerged: the hunger strike. In 2011 and again in 2013, thousands of incarcerated people across the California prison system refused food, demanding an end to long-term solitary confinement—where some had been held for 10 to 30 years without meaningful human contact.

This wasn’t spontaneous. The strikes were meticulously organized across racial lines inside the SHU, with leaders from rival groups creating what they called the Agreement to End Hostilities—an unprecedented act of unity. Their demands were clear: basic human rights, fair classification processes, and an end to indefinite isolation.

Public pressure, litigation, and sustained organizing eventually led to California agreeing to end indefinite solitary confinement in 2015.

September 9, 2016: The Largest Prison Strike in U.S. History

On the 45th anniversary of the Attica uprising, incarcerated people in at least 24 states launched what became the largest coordinated prison strike in U.S. history. Led by groups like the Free Alabama Movement and the Incarcerated Workers Organizing Committee (IWOC), the strike protested forced prison labor and demanded recognition of incarcerated people as workers with rights.

“Slavery never ended. It just evolved,” one statement read. And they were right: under the 13th Amendment, slavery is still legal in the U.S.—if you’re convicted of a crime.

Participants refused to work. They organized teach-ins, wrote manifestos, and inspired solidarity actions on the outside. The response from prison systems was brutal: lockdowns, solitary confinement, canceled visits, retaliatory transfers. But the strike cracked open a conversation that had been buried—that labor exploitation inside prison walls is central to how mass incarceration operates.

Why Prison Resistance Matters

Prison strikes are more than symbolic. They are a direct confrontation with the carceral system’s logic—that those inside are voiceless, rightless, and disposable. Every act of defiance—every refusal to eat, to work, to cooperate—challenges the state’s monopoly on punishment and calls for a new way of understanding justice.

And they carry incredible risk. Organizing inside prison means facing retaliation without union protections, legal safeguards, or even access to the public. It means risking isolation, violence, and extended sentences just for daring to be seen as human.

What We Can Do on the Outside

If prison resistance is happening without our support, we’re failing the movement. Here’s how we can show up:

Uplift their voices: Share statements, zines, and calls to action from incarcerated organizers.
Donate to commissary and legal defense funds: Resistance often comes at a financial cost. Help cover it.
Pressure lawmakers: End prison labor loopholes. Abolish solitary. Pass meaningful parole reform.
Write letters: Connection is power. Let them know they are not forgotten.
Listen and follow their lead: They are already organizing. Our job is not to speak for them—but to amplify and support.

From the Inside Out

Prison strikes remind us that the fight for liberation isn’t only happening in courts or campaigns. It’s happening in cages, too. And it’s being led by the very people the system tries hardest to silence.

If we want to build a future without cages, we must start by honoring those already fighting for freedom from within them.

Solidarity means listening.
Solidarity means showing up.
Solidarity means remembering:
The walls may be high—but the movement is higher.