The connection between the overrepresentation of African Americans in the prison system and the optics of labor programs within prisons, such as those reminiscent of historical cotton picking, can evoke deeply troubling parallels to slavery.
African Americans are disproportionately represented in the U.S. prison system, a phenomenon often linked to systemic issues such as racial profiling, disparities in sentencing, and socio-economic factors. According to data from organizations like the NAACP and the Sentencing Project, African Americans are incarcerated at more than five times the rate of white Americans. This disparity is not merely a result of higher crime rates among African Americans, but also reflects broader structural inequities within the criminal justice system.
When prison work programs involve tasks or settings that echo the historical labor exploitation of African Americans—such as cotton picking—it can be deeply unsettling. These programs can appear reminiscent of the forced labor that was a cornerstone of slavery. Historically, enslaved Africans were subjected to grueling labor under brutal conditions, and while modern prison work programs are legally sanctioned and not comparable in terms of outright coercion, the optics can still provoke a troubling sense of déjà vu.
This analogy is compounded by the fact that many prison labor programs are often poorly paid or exploitative. In some instances, prisoners are compensated at rates far below the minimum wage, which can mirror the exploitative labor practices of the past. Furthermore, the lack of economic and social opportunities available to formerly incarcerated individuals can perpetuate cycles of poverty and crime, thus maintaining a form of economic disenfranchisement reminiscent of the systemic oppression of earlier eras.
The visual and symbolic parallels between historical slavery and modern prison labor programs can stir memories of a past where African Americans were exploited for economic gain. Even though the legal and social contexts have changed, the echoes of history remain potent, reminding us of the enduring legacies of racial and economic injustice.
In the United States, an often overlooked segment of the workforce contributes to the production of many well-known food brands. This hidden labor force finds its roots in an unexpected place—a former Southern plantation that now serves as the nation’s largest maximum-security prison.
At the Louisiana State Penitentiary, unmarked trucks loaded with cattle raised by inmates leave the prison grounds, bound for an auction house down a rural road. From there, the cattle journey another 600 miles to a Texas slaughterhouse, eventually entering the supply chains of major corporations like McDonald’s, Walmart, and Cargill.
These intricate and largely invisible networks connect some of the globe’s biggest food companies and most recognizable brands to prison labor across the United States. This connection was revealed through a comprehensive two-year investigation by The Associated Press, which linked hundreds of millions of dollars worth of agricultural products to goods sold in the market.
Prisoners, among the country’s most vulnerable workers, face severe consequences for refusing labor, such as losing parole opportunities or facing solitary confinement. Additionally, they are often stripped of the basic protections afforded to other workers, even in cases of severe injury or death on the job.
The products generated by these prisoners feed into the supply chains of many everyday items found in American homes, from Frosted Flakes and Ball Park hot dogs to Gold Medal flour, Coca-Cola, and Riceland rice. These items are available in nearly every supermarket, including Kroger, Target, Aldi, and Whole Foods. Some of these products are even exported to nations that have faced U.S. import bans for using forced or prison labor.
While numerous companies are found to be breaching their own policies against such labor, it remains legally permissible. This is due to the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, which abolished slavery and involuntary servitude, with the notable exception for punishment of a crime.
This constitutional clause is currently under scrutiny at the federal level, with efforts underway to remove similar language from state constitutions in approximately a dozen states this year.
Many prisoners toil on land where slaves once cultivated cotton, tobacco, and sugarcane over 150 years ago. In Louisiana, a state with one of the highest incarceration rates in the U.S., inmates labor on fields that stretch endlessly, echoing the past.
Willie Ingram, who spent 51 years at Angola, the state’s notorious penitentiary, reflected on his experiences working the fields. Under the supervision of armed guards, he witnessed fellow inmates fainting from heat exhaustion while working with minimal water. Despite the harsh conditions, protests from workers were met with severe punishment, including beatings.
The U.S. prison population began to surge in the 1970s, coinciding with Ingram’s imprisonment, disproportionately affecting people of color. With approximately 2 million individuals currently incarcerated, prison labor has evolved into a substantial industry, extending beyond the traditional images of prisoners making license plates or fighting fires.
While nearly every state operates some form of agricultural program within its prisons, farming constitutes only a small part of the overall prison workforce. An AP analysis of data from correctional facilities nationwide uncovered nearly $200 million in sales of agricultural products and livestock over the past six years. This figure is conservative, excluding additional sales to state and government entities.
Supporters argue that not all prison work is coerced and that these jobs offer a way to save taxpayer money. In some cases, the food produced is used in prison kitchens or donated, providing inmates with skills that could aid their reintegration into society. Additionally, some programs offer reduced sentences as a reward for work, and these roles help inmates repay their debt to society.
Critics, however, believe that while prison work shouldn’t be eliminated, it should be fair and voluntary, with decent compensation and humane treatment. Specialized training does not always translate into better job prospects upon release, with many former inmates facing barriers due to their criminal records.
Law professor Andrea Armstrong of Loyola University New Orleans criticized the current system, questioning the rationale behind forced labor in prisons. “They are largely uncompensated, they are being forced to work, and it’s unsafe. They also aren’t learning skills that will help them when they are released,” Armstrong said.
Prisoners often work in hazardous conditions, facing severe labor shortages and performing some of the country’s most dangerous jobs. The AP reviewed thousands of documents and spoke with over 80 current or former inmates, uncovering instances of injury, abuse, and even death on the job.
One tragic case involved Frank Dwayne Ellington, who was killed in 2017 while working at Koch Foods in Alabama. Despite the company’s initial attempts to dismiss the case, it was eventually settled. The Occupational Safety and Health Administration fined Koch Foods for inadequate safety measures.
The AP’s investigation found that prison labor is integral to global supply chains, including products exported to countries with U.S. import bans for using forced labor. U.S. prison labor has entered supply chains of multinational companies, such as Cargill, Bunge, and Archer Daniels Midland, which together handle billions of dollars in commodities annually.
Responses from companies involved varied. Cargill admitted to sourcing goods from prison farms but stated that it constituted a minor portion of their total volume. Whole Foods and Bunge indicated they no longer source from correctional facilities. Other companies, like McDonald’s, pledged to investigate their links to prison labor.
The AP’s investigation followed the flow of agricultural goods from prison farms to major corporations, exposing the complexity and lack of transparency in the system. For instance, cattle raised by inmates are sold at auction and may end up in the supply chains of major food chains like Burger King and Tyson Foods.
Jermaine Hudson, who served 22 years at Angola before being exonerated, expressed his frustration at the disparity between the food served in prison and the products that end up in the market. “It’s a real slap in the face,” he said, “to hear where all those cattle are going.”
Angola, known as the “Alcatraz of the South,” covers 18,000 acres and houses approximately 3,800 men, with a significant proportion being Black. Prisoners work in fields under harsh conditions, initially receiving no pay and later earning between 2 to 40 cents an hour. Calvin Thomas, a former inmate, described the harsh consequences for refusing or failing to meet work expectations, likening the situation to slavery.
Louisiana corrections officials deny such comparisons, stating that “sentenced with hard labor” is a legal term rather than an indication of modern-day slavery. Despite recent reforms, many former and current prisoners have filed lawsuits claiming forced labor equates to slavery.
Historically, prison labor in the U.S. traces back to the post-Civil War era, when the 13th Amendment’s exception allowed for the exploitation of Black men through convict leasing. This system continued until 1928 and paved the way for the current prison-industrial complex.
Today, prison labor is embedded in the supply chains of many major corporations, often with limited oversight and transparency. Civilian workers enjoy protections that prisoners do not, highlighting a stark disparity in labor rights.
The ACLU reports that while state and federal prisons employ around 800,000 people, the majority of prison jobs are low-paying and involve maintaining prison facilities. The sector generated over $2 billion in revenue in 2021 from goods and services produced in prison industries, excluding other programs run through local jails and rehabilitation centers.
Incarcerated individuals, often working alongside civilian counterparts, remain largely unnoticed and undercompensated. As awareness of their role in the global supply chain grows, so does the call for fair treatment and meaningful reforms in prison labor practices.
The Legacy of Forced Labor in Modern U.S. Prisons: A Closer Look. On Friday, August 18, 2023, Christopher Terrell, a prisoner at the Cummins Unit of the Arkansas Department of Corrections, was seen working near a tractor in Gould, Arkansas. This facility, like many others in the Southern United States, continues to rely on inmate labor for agricultural tasks on former slave plantations. While large-scale farms have largely transitioned to mechanized equipment for crops such as corn and rice, there are still regions where inmates perform manual labor, including tasks like clearing brush with swing blades.
For many inmates, outside work assignments can be highly sought after due to the potential for higher earnings and the opportunity to save a small portion of their wages for their eventual release. However, the reality of these jobs is often less rewarding than anticipated. Although some states do deposit a fraction of earnings into prisoners’ savings accounts, a substantial portion of their wages may be garnished for various fees, including room and board.
In contrast, work on prison farms presents a starkly different picture. The most extensive agricultural operations are concentrated in the South, where crops are still cultivated on lands with historical ties to slavery, such as those in Arkansas, Texas, and Mississippi’s notorious Parchman Farm. States like Florida, Alabama, South Carolina, and Georgia often offer no compensation for the labor performed by prisoners.
While large-scale operations, such as Angola, have largely automated their processes with commercial tractors and combines for row crops, some facilities still require prisoners to handle manual tasks. Faye Jacobs, who worked on prison farms in Arkansas, described her experience: “I was in a field with a hoe in my hand with maybe like a hundred other women. We were standing in a line very closely together, and we had to raise our hoes up at the exact same time and count ‘One, two, three, chop!’” Jacobs, released in 2018 after over 26 years of incarceration, reported receiving only basic supplies such as toilet paper, toothpaste, and menstrual pads as her compensation.
Jacobs recounted enduring harsh conditions and verbal abuse from guards. She described being subjected to demeaning tasks like carrying rocks back and forth across a field and facing harassment from staff. After complaints of sexual harassment from fellow prisoners, Jacobs was reassigned to manual labor in another facility as a form of punishment. “We were like ‘Is this a punishment?’” Jacobs recalled. “‘We’re telling y’all that we’re being sexually harassed, and you come back and the first thing you want to do is just put us all on hoe squad.’”
David Farabough, who manages Arkansas’ 20,000 acres of prison farms, believes that these labor programs offer benefits beyond mere productivity. He asserts that such work helps instill a sense of responsibility and purpose in inmates, potentially leading to better behavior and improved conditions in prison kitchens.
Joshua Sbicca, director of the Prison Agriculture Lab at Colorado State University, highlights that across at least 650 correctional facilities in the U.S., prisoners engage in a variety of jobs including landscaping, greenhouse maintenance, livestock care, beekeeping, and fish farming. However, Sbicca notes that the allocation of these roles often reflects the corrections officials’ judgment on who is deemed deserving of vocational training versus field work.
Many states also run their own processing plants, dairies, and canneries, but a significant number also outsource inmate labor to private enterprises. In Mississippi, for instance, prisoners at restitution centers are employed at fast-food chains and for private jobs such as lawn mowing and home repairs. Cliff Johnson of the MacArthur Justice Center at the University of Mississippi criticizes this system, arguing, “There is nothing innovative or interesting about this system of forced labor as punishment for what in so many instances is an issue of poverty or substance abuse.”
In Alabama, where prisoners are leased to companies, laborers are often sent to poultry processing plants, including those run by Tyson Foods and other major brands. Tyson, while not commenting on direct ties to prison farms, claims its work-release programs are voluntary, with inmates receiving wages comparable to civilian workers.
Some individuals in Alabama are assigned work even before trial under a work-release program that allows them to earn bond money while avoiding jail time. However, with significant deductions from their earnings, accumulating enough for bail can be a lengthy process.
In Florida, chain gangs—historically a relic of the past—continue to operate under Sheriff Wayne Ivey, who asserts that this unpaid labor benefits both inmates and taxpayers. “It’s a win-win,” Ivey claims. “The inmate that’s doing that is learning a skill set… and the other side of the win-win is, it’s generally saving the taxpayers money.” This system, which still includes ankle shackles, is one of the few remaining in the country.
Despite these claims, some former prisoners have reflected positively on their experiences, even if they felt exploited at times. William “Buck” Saunders, for example, valued the forklift certification he received while working at Cargill during his incarceration in Arizona, which he later applied in the outside world.
Prison labor offers companies a consistent and cost-effective workforce amid broader labor shortages exacerbated by immigration restrictions and the COVID-19 pandemic. In March 2020, when other external jobs were suspended, around 140 women were relocated from their prison to a warehouse operated by Hickman’s Family Farms, Arizona’s largest egg producer. The move, which generated substantial revenue for the corrections department, was also criticized for inadequate working conditions and minimal pay, with prisoners earning less than $3 an hour after deductions.
The sprawling network of prison labor in the U.S. intersects with numerous popular food brands, highlighting its pervasive role in the economy. The challenge of tracing the flow of money within this system reveals a complex landscape of economic activity, where inefficiencies and corruption occasionally come to light. For instance, agricultural programs in Texas and Louisiana have reported financial losses, prompting investigations into mismanagement and corruption.
Despite these challenges, work-release programs often become significant revenue sources for states. In Alabama, for example, the state has generated over $32 million in the past five years by garnishing a substantial portion of prisoners’ wages. Local-level programs, run by sheriffs, also contribute to this financial flow, though reports of abuse persist.
In states like Idaho and Kansas, prisoners have been employed to sort and pack products such as potatoes and chocolates. These labor programs, though sometimes shrouded in secrecy due to security concerns, remain a crucial part of the U.S. correctional system’s economic operations.
A visit to The Myrtles, a former slave plantation turned tourist site in Louisiana, underscores the ongoing legacy of exploitation in modern prison labor. The proximity of this historical site to Angola Prison, where many inmates labor in challenging conditions, illustrates the continued presence of systemic issues.
Curtis Davis, a former Angola prisoner, poignantly reflects on this connection, stating, “Slavery has not been abolished. It is still operating in present tense. Nothing has changed.” His words echo the broader sentiment that despite significant reforms, the legacy of forced labor in the U.S. prison system remains a pressing concern.