BULLOCK CORRECTIONAL FACILITY

December 8, 2023
Presenter: Alabama Prison Arts & Education Program

Inmate population: 1478
Location: Union Springs, Alabama

I can say that in a place that treats these men as anything but human, for that hour we shared, we were all human together.

I had never set foot in a prison before, much less performed in one. To be honest, my general feeling about prisons and the incarcerated was that they were scary. That changed when I happened to play at a homeless shelter of mostly formerly incarcerated men in Louisiana. I wrote about that visit here, and about Louisiana being the incarceration capital of the world. 

Well, Alabama’s incarceration rate is almost on par with Louisiana’s, and I knew that if I wanted to truly understand Alabama and its people, I could not leave the incarcerated population out. A performance was set up for me by Alabama Prison Arts & Education Program, which provides arts education classes in prisons across the state. The bureaucratic hurdles to realizing the concert was staggering, and I am so grateful to APAEP staff for their heroic efforts in making this - and all of their programming - happen. In fact, we had two prison performances planned out months in advance. It was when my flight landed in Birmingham that I got a call letting me know both of those were canceled by the hosting prisons, and I would be going to a different prison altogether - Bullock Correctional Facility for men.  

Alabama’s incarceration system is barbaric and repulsive. The federal government sued the State of Alabama in 2020 for how inhumanely they treat their prisoners. Until recently, Alabama prisons were a thinly veiled extension of slavery; it was only in 1996 that the practice of chain gangs was outlawed, where prisoners are cuffed together as they perform manual labor. It was in 1997 that whipping posts were outlawed - a punishment method where inmates were chained to a metal bar in the heat and sun for multiple hours without food or water, often while contorted in uncomfortable or physically harmful positions.

[Further reading: Alabama Appleseed]

Alabama prisons are violent and dangerous, suffering from lack of funding and staff shortage. I found this article about a man being killed in Bullock Correctional. And just a week after my visit, news sources posted this video of a man being attacked at Bullock. Staff corruption runs rampant across Alabama prisons.

Actually, before I went to Bullock, I intentionally didn’t research any specifics about Alabama prisons. I preferred not to know, rather taking things in as they came. APAEP let me know beforehand that I’d perform at Bullock’s chapel, all the way at the back of the property, and I would have to make a very long walk through the corridors, past the men’s dormitories. I was advised to keep looking ahead - don’t look into the dorms or make eye contact or respond to anything that was said to me - just keep walking. 

Once we unloaded in the Bullock parking lot, a security guard in a pickup truck immediately questioned us and the piano. After that, we walked through electrically charged double gates, then cleared by security. We passed through smoothly, but APAEP staff told me they’ve waited as long as 3 hours in the past for clearance; it just depends on prison staff availability of the day. My piano and I were escorted by a kind and helpful prison staff who organizes recreational activities for the men, and we kept up light banter during the walk as he pushed the piano on a huge dolly. I remember the smell of that corridor being unexpected. I thought it would smell like body odor, but it smelled eerily devoid of humans, yet still pungent somehow. I couldn’t help but sneak some peeks into the dorms. The rooms were huge - housing maybe 100 men per room, with bunk beds and a communal shower with privacy shields. Some men had their faces pressed against the windows, looking at us and the piano. At some point on the walk, a man was down on the floor of the corridor with staff carrying him out by his arms and legs. I think I glimpsed a pool of blood around him. 

The chapel itself was actually quite nice and cozy, with brick walls, rugs, wooden pews, and a real stage - a jarring change from all of the grey concrete and metal of the corridor. I set up and warmed up like any other concert. Attendance was on a sign-up basis, and about 60 men showed up. They surprised me right away with their lively banter and enthusiastic hellos. I think I was expecting them to be somber, depressed, and mute - like when I played for students at the Ute Tribe reservation in Utah.

Everyone was happy and excited to be there, to listen to music, to interact with me, to soak up every moment of this special occasion. My concert program included pairings of music with poems by Alabama writers, to be read by volunteers from the audience. This group at Bullock was by far the most enthusiastic to volunteer, and each reading received cheers and applause from fellow men. They listened to all of my pieces with palpable focus and attention. Afterwards, we had a Q&A session which would have gone on endlessly if I hadn’t cut them off. They made incisive observations, for example how the mood in classical music morphs and shifts so frequently within a piece of music. They asked about what it’s like to perform, where I’ve performed, and the process of practicing and learning. I told them it’s always a work in progress, and admitted that in fact the George Walker piece didn’t go so well that day, to which one man exclaimed,  “No, you showed that George Walker who’s boss!” Sometimes the men would share stories; one shared about how his grandfather would play guitar while holding him in his lap as a child. 

In the end, they all wanted to line up and shake my hand and thank me. It broke my heart that they asked if I could come back soon. One of the men started telling me about his innocence, that it was a mistake he was in there. I could only nod and wish him luck. 

It was all a lot to take in, but this was one of the most meaningful days of my life. I can say that in a place that treats these men as anything but human, for that hour we shared, we were all human together. I am so grateful to this project for the opportunity, and to APAEP.