The power of the pen…
On May 29th and 30th, 2026, progressive individuals and organizations converged in Chicago in response to a call from justice organizations to attend the first-ever Bridging the Gap: Amplifying Incarcerated Voices conference. Chicago, with its long history of racism and criminal injustice at the hands of law enforcement and the political machinations of elected officials and judges, is really a perfect place to launch a conference that is all about resistance to authoritarianism and the power of journalists to effect change. Christopher Blackwell, an award-winning journalist incarcerated in Washington state, writes in a letter posted on the first page of the conference brochure that the singular aim of the event is to explore: “How can we, collectively, as a community of creators, writers, publishers, editors, organizers, and funders, work together to broaden and empower the voices of incarcerated individuals within society?” The question could not be timelier. This is the question that drove him to bring like-minded prison journalists together, all in one place, as a call-to-action and a convening of values.
Today, in the “free” world, we see murderous attacks on reporters in war zones, imprisonment of writers for op eds, public attacks on reporters’ credibility, restricting press access to information or events, legal threats against investigative reporting, and government censorship or surveillance.
For journalists behind the wall, the risks are the same as for those writing in a time of war. Writers face persecution such as beatings, solitary confinement, and write-ups, from the very people who run the system that the writers are critiquing.
The threat of cellphone jamming around prisons is emerging, intended to silence the slim amount of voices on the inside who gain access to phones, because they have no other choice but to film if they want to be believed. Institute to End Mass Incarceration Policy Fellow Corrine Shanahan notes that prisons are nervous about what the people they cage will expose. “The Alabama Solution,” screened at the conference, was recorded nearly entirely by incarcerated people with smuggled cellphones to expose the brutal beatings and murders that the world would have otherwise never seen.
While this is not how prison journalism usually operates, it presents a very stark example of the line between what members of the public, even us journalists, are able to see and what is hidden. It shows the imminent need for journalists on the inside to have the freedom to write their truths and reveal what human beings are doing to other loving, feeling human beings behind locked doors.
Despite these circumstances, incarcerated journalism, however embattled, is surviving thanks to the work of courageous and talented writers. Although not nearly as many as the hundreds that once circulated in the 1970s and 1980s, there are dozens of publications, and the number continues to grow. Along with this growth is the need for more organizations to connect from the outside to support journalists. Journalist Victoria Law notes that, following the horrid prison conditions during the COVID-19 pandemic, prison journalism has taken root in society in these past six years. This shows how prison journalism did not come out of nowhere; it came from a cumulation of poor conditions that could no longer be contained or survived.
Thanks to the conference organizers and a litany of sponsors ranging from the ACLU to the Unlock the Box Campaign, emerging and veteran incarcerated journalists will have their voices amplified. The organizers included Look 2 Justice, Haymarket Books, Empowerment Avenue, the Institute to End Mass Incarceration, and Inquest. Dana Blanchard, the director of programming at Haymarket House and leader of the Haymarket Books development team, states that the goal of the conference is to be a connective tissue: “A lot of us are doing the work, but it feels very siloed. How do we cross these barriers?” The conference went a long way toward bringing together organizations that do the work of publishing incarcerated writers’ stories. Many of us saw commonalities that we hadn’t seen before. For example, although the VIP had spoken about working with Empowerment Avenue, it took our attending one of their workshops to see creative ways to bridge the gap.
This room showed the VIP just a slim number, those who learned about and could make it to the conference, of how many like-minded individuals and organizations are out there. If we can take our individual passions and use them to elevate the cause and voices inside, maybe someone will finally listen. We can all make a bigger impact together.
Blanchard also reiterated a conference theme that we are “living in a moment.” The increase in technology has meant the increase in censorship, but it has also allowed information to flow back and forth between the prison and the outside with much greater efficiency. Conference organizers ask, how do we model working with respect, and how can we be in community together?
For our first event on day 1, Mia and I attended Running a Publication Across Prison Walls where panelists Juan Haines, Editor in Chief of Solitary Watch and former senior editor at the award winning San Quentin News, and Valerie Kiebala, artist, writer, organizer and managing editor of Solitary Watch, shared how they work across prison walls “to help incarcerated storytellers develop their full potential as published writers and journalists.” Haines described a report on how solitary confinement was being used to separate people who were sick from the main population during COVID. He told a packed room with his voice projected live from San Quentin and his image above on two huge screens, “In my opinion, it’s the absolute worst thing that the carceral system can do to hurt someone who’s under correctional control … People would get the flu and be put in solitary confinement.” The report was part of the Ridgeway Reporting Project, a journalism initiative run through Solitary Watch that funds and supports incarcerated and formerly incarcerated journalists reporting on solitary confinement and prison conditions in the United States.
Joan asked a question about why solitary confinement continues, given its known detriments to the human psyche, and asked if there is anything on the books to end it, and Kiebala responded: “The prison system is an extension of the system of slavery in this country. And, so, it’s designed to break people, and it’s designed to target certain people, you know? Target Black and brown and poor people in this country. And solitary confinement is the place in the prison system that all of those dynamics are even more heightened.
I (Joan) got to speak with Jane Bloom, Director of Communications for Unlock the Box, the nation-wide organization that calls for an end to solitary confinement. Bloom states, “We support over 24 state campaigns fighting at the federal and state level. We work to ensure change.” Unlock the Box is “very much impact led,” states Bloom. She explains, “They need to know there is hope. People on the outside are a lifeline.” That was one of the central themes of the conference: that the work that needs to be done isn’t possible unless we build it together. And so, the call is to strengthen journalism by coming together.
For day one’s mid-morning session, Mia and I went to separate events. She attended Making Films from the Inside: Workshop from Empowerment Avenue Films for Liberation with Rahsaan Thomas, Corey Devon Arthur, and Sandro Ramani, while I attended Editing Incarcerated Writers. Mari Cohen, award-winning reporter on American Jewish politics and Editor of Jewish Currents, a left-leaning journal, who facilitated the panel with speakers Adam McGee and Ethan Corey, discussed the step-by-step process and the unique challenges of navigating asymmetrical risks when editing incarcerated writers. Cohen emphasized giving “a lot of time in dealing with incarcerated writers.” We must address conversations about security and risk.
Ethan Corey presented on the unique challenges in fact-checking with journalistic standards. He raised the example of an award-winning water story written by an incarcerated writer that did not have clear evidence of a connection between an illness incurred by an incarcerated individual and the water he drank. The lack of corroborating evidence made it impossible to make a direct correlation. This brought up expectations and ways of working through problems. The writer and editor worked out an authentic way to write about it. So in short, the process takes time. After getting a clean copy, the author reviewed it and received an explanation for the specific edits made. It was then ready for publication.
It was panels like these that sparked a fire under attendees, as each of us listened and learned of the common philosophies and approaches to communicating with incarcerated writers.
While Joan was in room 1, I was in room 2 learning about filmmaking behind bars. We watched two short films, “In Exchange for Flesh,” co-directed by Corey Devon Aruthur and Sandro Ramani featuring Corey and Sara Kielly, and “Painting Ourselves into Society,” directed by Rahsaan Thomas about Orlando Smith’s story.
“In Exchange for Flesh” highlighted the horrifying conditions of prison strip searches, where the film noted that if the brutal nature of the searches were inflicted outside the walls, it would be considered sexual abuse. As a transgender woman, Sara explained that she was seen as a “toy” and targeted for this kind of brutality. The film featured videos of a “proper” strip search, as well as videos of how they actually tend to go, with Sara and Corey filling in the gaps and talking about their experiences.
“Painting Ourselves into Society” was a film about prison art with a focus on Orlando’s exhibit. It showed the power of using art as an outlet, as well as how incarcerated people may struggle with access due to lack of art centers and staff confiscating art. Despite this, the art featured was absolutely beautiful, raw, and a window into humanity in an environment that intends to restrict a person’s ability to be human.
The films displayed the overwhelming importance of using film and video recordings to talk about prison conditions and even opportunities. Videos are indisputable to the public, they are human and compelling. Hearing from incarcerated voices about what they experience is vital in journalism, but showing it is even more impactful.
After the films were shown, I asked a question about how incarcerated people interested in film could foster their passion. Corey noted that incarcerated people should learn what filmmaking entails, find people on the outside who can provide support, and how he showed his path which proved that filmmaking on the inside is possible. He detailed scriptwriting, mechanics, a “listen[ing] to your people,” and that much of the process is trial and error. Corey gives a lot of credit and trust to Sandro artistically, and the people who helped him along the way.
One of his most powerful notes was about how, by creating his film, he paved the way and showed other incarcerated people that it is not impossible to make films.
In the afternoon, we met the panelists for Bridges, Not Walls: Building the Future of Journalism in and about American Prisons. Panelists, including Phillip Vance Smith II, an incarcerated individual who called in, discussed how “essential journalism” is under threat. Prisons, by nature, are secretive places hidden in rural areas away from the mainstream eye. In addition, we’ve seen a decline in prison newspapers, allowing prison officials to shutter prisons from public view.
The consequences of such isolation have devastating consequences on the incarcerated population. We heard that in Texas, incarcerated journalist Jeremy Busby has spent months in solitary confinement because he reported prison corruption. They spoke of ICE denying elected officials and the press access to see inside, allowing officers to do whatever they please without scrutiny or accountability. Panels such as these made us aware that our work has never been more important because there are real barriers to our work. The panelists on the Bridges, Not Walls panel asked us to think about how we can advance “radical policy interventions to shifting policy norms.” They also asked us to consider impediments to journalism in the United States and how we can address them. Panelists wanted to know, “What pathways to change seem most promising to you? Why?”
As the conference reached one of its pinnacles, its tone rose to an excited pitch. Katherine Hurvey called us all “troublemakers” and said we were all here “because we believe in what is possible”—telling the truth to the powers that be who want us to be silent! Writing is resistance! Speaking truth is resistance! She was followed by keynote speaker Jessica Schulberg, senior reporter at the HuffPost who echoed Blackwell’s remarks that we “don’t want to be a voice for the voiceless but to amplify the voices already there.”
One impactful moment from the conference on day 2 was a Workshop on Investigative Journalism From the Inside/Out with Master of Ceremonies Maya Schenwar who introduced Chris Blackwell, an award-winning journalist currently incarcerated in Washington state. Schenwar reminded us in her introductory remarks that this work we are all doing is “life and death…the real lives of millions. Every article we publish can end these death-making systems.” She then handed the mic to Blackwell, saying, “He is the force behind this conference.”
Blackwell reminded us that this is a battle and that “we are reporting from beyond enemy lines.” To deconstruct the carceral state, Blackwell insists on coming together and expanding incarcerated voices. The stories guide our path. He states, “Only when these stories come to light can we end these conditions.” And in a sure sign that this is a new day, he exclaimed, “We don’t believe in being the voice of the voiceless. We believe in passing the mic.” He left us all with a feeling that this work matters!
Organizers planned the conference’s final hours well, which left all of us wanting more. John J. Lennon, a 2026 Guggenheim Fellow whose writing has appeared in much of the mainstream press and who has been incarcerated at Sing Sing for 24 years, kicked off the afternoon session of the second day. His remarks got to the heart of what writing can do for a person. Before he began writing, he felt it “unrealistic to think that a murderer could publish a piece.” But for Lennon, “to become a writer is a way to overcome becoming a killer.”
The final panel before the keynote address was titled The Unfree Press: The Challenges, Needs, and Possibilities of Writing Behind Bars. Who better to moderate a panel such as this than Dan Berger, historian, and author of multiple books on Black Power and incarceration. Panelists Rahsaan Thomas, Victoria Law, Juan Haines, and Seth Stern spoke about the unique perspective provided by incarcerated writers, yet how they face enormous hurdles in getting their work out. Panelists discussed what tools, support systems, and policies would improve its effectiveness.
Keynote speaker Mari Cohen improved our understanding by pointing out that journalism is more than just sharing events: “It occurred, and people have a right to be told.” She also exclaimed that writers tell her that writing gives them agency, capability, and hope. Writing, then, is more than a tool to write a great article. It’s a vehicle for communicating to the public about the world behind the walls. As she repeats, “the public has a right to know.” This line of thought is very much aligned with the conference’s mission to build bridges between the prison and the community.
The final speech by Kwaneta Harris and read by Dr. Chelsea Moore was the highlight of the conference. Moore is the former director of Look2Justice, an organization she co-founded with her husband Christopher Blackwell. Her reading was so good that one forgot that Moore was reading and instead visualized Harris who was pictured above in two oversized photos. Her emotion and cadence were impeccable. Harris is a former nurse, business owner, and expat, now an incarcerated journalist who entered a Texas prison at the age of 19. She has spent eight and a half years in solitary with “no phone, no TV, no air conditioning, and eventually a pen.”
So begins her journey to become a writer. For Harris, writing was and is a life saver. She describes the daily horrors of solitary confinement, how it does something to the mind. It’s a system that’s supposed to be about “rehab but instead is about erasure.” It’s a place where women’s basic needs like sanitary pads are ignored. She tells us, “I have a voice…Writing saved my life.” And she does not mean this metaphorically. She says, “Writing made me real again—It gave me purpose in a place that wants to deny my purpose.”
She describes writing despite death threats because “silence is surrender.” Her main message was the “power of the pen.” She writes through stopped toilets, water turned off, and the heat turned up in the summer–acts of retaliation made possible by her powerful pen. Reasons such as Harris’s are the motivation for why we need to build a community network of incarcerated writers so the “stories keep moving.” Hers is a call not for polished prose, not abstract policy failures. She states, “it’s a system created by men and for men. Women’s experiences inside are invisible.” She tells us, “no outsider can tell you what listening to a rape of a 17-year-old for sanitary pads is like. We are the experts on our own oppression.” Who better to write on the expanding system of authoritarian control than those who are directly experiencing it.
As the conference closed, what remained was not simply a collection of workshops, panels, or speeches, but a clear call to action: incarcerated journalism cannot survive in isolation. Again and again, speakers returned to the idea that writing is not merely documentation—it is resistance, survival, accountability, and connection. From Kwaneta Harris writing through retaliation and solitary confinement to Christopher Blackwell’s insistence that we must “pass the mic,” participants challenged us to rethink who gets to tell the story of incarceration and who has access to the public sphere. If prisons depend on invisibility to maintain power, then journalism from inside becomes an act of disruption. The work ahead requires more than amplifying voices; it requires building the networks, resources, and solidarity necessary to ensure those voices continue to reach beyond prison walls. What we heard was a simple but urgent message: the stories are already there. Our responsibility is to listen—and to make sure they keep moving.
Joan Parkin
Joan Parkin is a lifelong committed socialist and the Director of the Vanguard Incarcerated Press. She is the author of Perspectives from the Cell House: An Anthology of Prisoner Writings, and co-founder and former director of Feather River College’s Incarcerated Student Program. She holds a Bachelor of Arts from Boston University and a Ph.D. in Comparative Literature from the Graduate School and University Center of the City University of New York (CUNY).
Earlier in her career, Parkin served as the Chicago coordinator for the Death Row Ten—a group of wrongfully convicted prisoners who were tortured by former police commander Jon Burge and sentenced to death. Many of these men were later pardoned by Governor George Ryan, following a successful abolition campaign that culminated in historic death row commutations. Today, she continues her advocacy and education work by teaching incarcerated students through Boston University.
Mia Bella Rodgers
Mia is a pre-law student interested in observing the court and gaining first-hand experience. She is particularly interested in observing criminal cases involving unjust rulings, crimes against women, and access to resources.
