My Lockdown Chronicles

Incarcerated writer Rufus McFadden on adjusting to the harsh realities of Mississippi's prison system

The following essay is an excerpt from Unit 29: Writing from Parchman Prison, a collection of writings and illustrations from over thirty men who currently are or have been incarcerated in Parchman Prison’s notoriously brutal Unit 29.

Order a copy of Unit 29: Writing from Parchman Prison from Vox Press.

My lockdown chronicles began in November of 2004. I’d just been sentenced to serve Life in the Mississippi Department of Corruption (MDOC). I’d been moved from the county jail to Central Mississippi Correctional Facility (Rankin County) to a maximum-security section (6), cell 41. This was a lockdown unit. During this era, anyone sentenced to Life had to do the first five years in “The Hole.”

I had no idea what to expect. I was mentally and psychologically torn. I was only twenty-three years old. I’d already heard numerous stories about prison and was a nervous wreck.

It was approximately two p.m. when I stepped off the bus still wearing my “free world” clothing. The only thing I possessed was a New World Translation of the Holy Scriptures. We were all chained from wrist to ankles and lined in front of the bus awaiting orders. The atmosphere was very busy and all staff had a “no bullshit” aura flowing from them. We received a speech from a lieutenant and were ushered to receiving and classification.

In there, I realized I was no longer free. I was officially the property of MDOC. My clothing was taken and I was ordered to stand in front of everyone while naked. From that point, we were all herded like cattle. Some of the officers made offenders look directly at the person’s ass in front of them. A few inmates rebelled only to be made an example of. One inmate was maced and beaten which made the rest of us submit in complete silence and compliance. We were then herded to the barber shop and issued somewhat of a haircut. Officers mocked many inmates with long hair, trying to provoke them into a reaction. We then entered the shower area. We were all issued a bar of soap and forced to get in the shower together while still naked and cold.

After showers, we were issued clothing and hygiene supplies. I felt like I was at a hospital or psych ward and was about to be programmed. The next stop was orientation. We all sat in a classroom listening to an old man rant about how life isn’t over. I wasn’t paying any attention. I’d just been sentenced to Life for a murder that I did not commit. Manslaughter maybe. Definitely not murder. We listened to him for approximately an hour, filled out a few forms, took a few tests and were herded to the clinic.

Here we were externally examined, asked about our medical history, and assigned to our living areas. I was placed in solitary confinement, segregated from the rest. I was exhausted. It was approximately five p.m. and was issued a tray containing three pancakes, yellow grits, a scoop of green jello. Wow! What a first day at MDOC.

I was housed in an 8 x 10 single man cell. The cell was still cluttered with the trashy remains from the person that dwelled there before my arrival. The atmosphere was cold and I instantly felt lost and alone. Then the door slammed and locked and my time began. It wasn’t hard for me to fall asleep that night.

Around two a.m. that morning, I was awakened by the mechanical whining of the door being opened to my cell. Was this a sign that I was getting out? I slowly raised up and sat on the edge of my bed. I’d been having dreams that I was going home. I stood and walked slowly to the door trying to decipher if I was still dreaming. I wasn’t. My door was really opened. I slowly peeked out of the door and saw no one. It was eerily quiet which brought about a feeling of danger. I returned back into my cell and locked the door behind me.

For the next month, I was confined to that cell twenty-three hours per day. About ten of those days, I didn’t leave the cell for twenty-four hours because no one would take me to the outside cage used for a one-hour recreation period. Time alone in that cell started to take its toll. I got a chance to think really hard about my situation. I was very optimistic about not spending the rest of my life in prison. My belief in God was too strong. It was good memories and my eight-month-old daughter that were driving me up the wall. My daughter, Daria, was only three months old when I was incarcerated. I had practically spent every day with her since her birth, and this separation was killing me. I’d call home and she would reach out for my voice while crying. Everyone missed me and I missed them. An emptiness always overwhelmed me every time I hung up the phone with my family. This made me put pressure on my lawyer handling my appeal. I had to get out a s soon as possible.

I stayed up most nights talking and listening to inmates. Some of the guys were truly insane. Shouting all night and talking to themselves. Some were sexual predators masturbating in front of every woman they saw. It was crazy.

For the next two weeks, I got a chance to sit, read, study, and research the Bible. I had my entire faith that the Bible were God’s words. All of it. When I was younger, I was taught not to question the Bible. But, there were many, many questions I’d posed in my mind. I quickly ignored them and continued reading. This gave me hope and made my faith stronger, but didn’t get me any closer to freedom.

Early one December morning I was commanded to pack my belongings. I was headed to the Mississippi State Penitentiary in Parchman, Mississippi. This was and still is the most corrupt prison in the nation.

My first housing unit was Unit 32 A building. The “Notorious Unit 32.” Maximum Security. I was housed on a Security Threat Group (STG) zone with twelve single man cells. I wasn’t a part of any gang. This was my first day in prison. But I was housed with high-ranking gang affiliates and people known for violence.

The tiny one-man cells were miserable. The plumbing was so poorly structured that whenever the person next to you defecated or urinated, the feces would come into your toilet whenever they flushed theirs. Chemicals for cleaning were never brought by. This was December so I had not yet discovered the heat and mosquitoes.

I listened and talked to these guys and they filled me in on mostly everything. These were some very intelligent guys. We’d stay up all night debating everything under the sun. This one guy called “School Boy” opened up my eyes on religion and how it’s used for control. I enjoyed the week when he’d be next to me.

All eleven STG members were moved to a different cell once per week. I enjoyed School Boy’s company the most. He didn’t have the average Mississippi mind frame. We’d talk for hours while we worked out, ate, etc. He turned me on to what real wickedness was. He told me that I’d always be separated from the rest wherever I went so I that I couldn’t teach others.

This state is all about righteousness until they’re exposed for being the wicked people they are. When you know their laws and policies better than they do, you instantly become a threat. He explained to me that he wasn’t on STG for being in a gang. This is where they “hid” him so that he couldn’t teach people how to expose this wicked system. He’d get letters from people in different countries and share them with me. He spoke several languages and encouraged me to learn every language I could. He also encouraged me to get myself away from STG. He explained how there was no way I was supposed to be housed with STG members and I should hurry and expose what the system was doing to me. The most valuable advice he gave to me was when he told me: “God will not help you until you’re willing to help yourself.” In other words, don’t think that having faith in God will get you out of prison without putting in work. I had to learn the laws, learn to litigate, in order to expose how severely screwed up the Mississippi judicial system is.

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Rufus Darwin McFadden is the son of the most noble Theodore and Annie McFadden. Born on December 17, 1980 at 12:00 a.m. at the University hospital in Jackson, Mississippi, he has five siblings: Cornelius, Donna, Aaron, Mikal, and Theodore McFadden the 3rd. (Teddy). He is the youngest of six. His parents recently celebrated a milestone anniversary on October 11, 2024. He was raised at home with a mother and father, and he sincerely thanks them for all the good he has in him. He graduated from Carthage High in 1999 and attended East - Central Community College. At the age of twenty-three, he was incarcerated for murder and has spent the last twenty-one years in the MDOC.

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