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A week before the pandemic shut down the world, I held an art show in Baton Rouge, which left Louisiana fresh in my thoughts. Not long after, I began hearing disturbing reports that the state was imprisoning infected individuals at Angola’s Camp J, despite public health warnings and legal challenges. The news was chilling, especially given Camp J’s notorious history of violence and suicides that had previously led to its closure.
Angola Penitentiary, originally the Angola Plantation, carries a harrowing legacy. It was named after the country of Angola in Africa, reflecting the origins of many enslaved people forced to labor there. By the 1960s, Angola had earned the grim title of the “bloodiest prison in the South,” a reputation underscored by its brutal conditions. Over time, it has expanded to the size of Manhattan, making it the largest maximum-security prison in the United States.
The prison’s demographics tell a stark story: the inmate population is predominantly black, while the guards are overwhelmingly white, reflecting broader racial inequities. Angola even hosts its own prison rodeo, a bizarre juxtaposition of entertainment and incarceration that further highlights the institution’s complexity and controversy.
Louisiana’s history, and Angola in particular, serves as a powerful lens through which to view the intersections of systemic racism, public health, and the enduring legacy of slavery in America.
