On July 5, 1852, the formerly enslaved abolitionist Frederick Douglass delivered his scathing Independence Day speech about the paradox of patriotism in an America that had passed its second federal Fugitive Slave Act. This notorious 1850 legislation required law enforcement to arrest people they suspected of escaping slavery, on even the thinnest of evidence. It also made feeding and sheltering runaways a crime punishable by six months in prison and a $1,000 fine.
After praising the “the truly great” and “brave” signers of the Declaration of Independence, Douglass asked his Rochester, New York, audience one of the most memorable rhetorical questions in U.S. history:
“What, to the American slave, is your Fourth of July?”
(His answer: “a sham…” “an unholy license…” “hollow mockery…” “mere bombast, fraud, deception and hypocrisy...”)
Inspired by Douglass’ famous question, 20 people ensnared in this country’s sprawling criminal legal system answered this variation of it:
“What, to the currently or formerly incarcerated American, is your Fourth of July?”
1. Franklin McPherson, 38
Shawangunk Correctional Facility, Wallkill, New York
As a modern-day American slave — because that’s what I am, thanks to a loophole in the 13th Amendment that still allows enslavement as a punishment for crime — July 4th is full of heartache, embarrassment and disappointment. It’s also a cruel reminder of how the criminal legal system is violating my 8th Amendment rights against cruel and unusual punishment.
So every Fourth of July — with a range of emotions — I cry in my cell. I’m sad and confused about how a nation can celebrate Independence Day when it forces millions of prisoners to be reliant on the state for their basic needs.
And I’m angry and frustrated because people should be marching and rallying for Congress to [amend] the 13th Amendment and for New York state to stop using slave code-style laws on its prisoners.
Frederick Douglass said it best when he called July 4th “a day that reveals to [the slave], more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant victim.”
2. Kwaneta Harris, 53
Lane Murray Unit, Gatesville, Texas
Your Fourth of July celebration is our mockery. Your freedom song is our funeral dirge. While you wave flags and speak of liberty, we Texas prisoners labor under armed guards in scorching fields, our hands bleeding as we pick the same cotton our ancestors did. The overseers have traded whips for shotguns, but the cruelty remains.
And as a Black woman behind these walls, I have the same protection against sexual abuse that my enslaved great-grandmother did: little to none. After all, the Trump administration recently terminated all funding for the National Prison Rape Elimination Act Resource Center, painting targets on our backs for predators in uniforms. With insufficient — and in some facilities, zero — mandatory documentation for in-custody pregnancies or assaults, the message is clear: It’s open season on incarcerated women.
3. Terrence Willis, 42
Danville Correctional Center, Danville, Illinois
Every year, as we near the end of June, the news broadcasts talk about how many people are expected to travel for the Fourth of July weekend. Commercials advertise the best techniques for barbecuing. The guards go on about vacations they plan to take.
As I listen to the anticipation, I inevitably find myself imagining what it would be like if we — America’s incarcerated population — could enjoy just one Fourth of July. Or at least what the holiday claims to celebrate: Independence. Equality. Freedom.
Perhaps that word “freedom” has grabbed you the way the Department of Corrections has on occasion grabbed me. Grabbed me out of line to silence me for talking back, when all I really did was question why. Grabbed me for a retaliatory shakedown for writing a grievance. Grabbed me to put me in my place.
What is freedom to America’s modern-day slaves? A one-man cell? Additional phone time? Purchasing a few extra candy bars at commissary?
These things, even if you are the one enjoying them, are not freedoms. They are pacifiers.
4. Jeremy Zielinski, 41
Woodbourne Correctional Facility, Woodbourne, New York
America has one of the highest incarceration rates on Earth. Still, nothing brings liberty to mind like hearing fireworks from behind a 30-foot wall. Are America’s prisons corrupt, oppressive and exploitative? Of course. But I celebrate because I can. I know that independence isn’t a historical event, but principled defiance. It’s the power of a mind that recognizes its own freedom from external control. If tyranny is a boot on the neck of a nation, liberation is using your last breath to laugh at the person wearing it.
5. Robert Havens, 55
Brattleboro, Vermont
I am out of prison on furlough, under “community supervision.” But I am still technically in the custody of the Vermont Department of Corrections. I am only “on the street” at their discretion.
Once I accepted a plea and conviction, the self-evident truths of equality and liberty were significantly diminished for me. I did something wrong, that’s true. I caused harm. I wish I had not. Part of my pursuit now is repair, but my culture doesn’t seem to value or accept that. I am now an “other.” But “othering” does not protect us. It makes criminal mindsets worse and reinforces the behavior we don’t want to see.
Just as we cherish the idea of freedom as a country, we should want life, liberty and happiness for those who do wrong, own that wrong, and work at repair.
6. Jazzy Mason, 59
Bedford Hills, New York
I am a Black woman, a mother, a healer and a queen. I survived incarceration, but I was never truly free, even before that. I hear the word “independence” and think of how many of us are still fighting for the right to simply be.
And yet, even behind prison walls, I remembered who I was. Because freedom isn’t fireworks — it’s truth. It’s being able to speak my name without fear. It’s walking in my purpose, with the light of my ancestors in every word I speak.
7. Andres Arqueta, 35
FCI Williamsburg, Salters, South Carolina
The Fourth of July is meaningless to me, especially while I am incarcerated. It is a strong reminder of how much freedom I don’t have; of how I am separated from my loved ones, especially my two sons.
When I was home, the Fourth of July was just another excuse to have off from work and to barbecue with family and friends. Now that I am incarcerated, it is just another day that I need to complete to get closer to going home.
8. Bryan Panarella, 34
Eastern NY Correctional Facility, Napanoch, New York
Because I am now dependent upon the Department of Corrections, I can no longer identify with the meaning of Independence Day. The only thing that I find special is that it’s my sister-in-law’s birthday, which is a holiday in the eyes of all those who love her. I know that my call puts a smile on her face, especially when I tell her how the world around her is celebrating her birthday. Fireworks light up the night sky just for her.
I also hold on to something Angela Davis once stated: “Walls turned sideways are bridges.” Her words remind me that the walls I am behind today will not stop me from building the bridges necessary to get my independence back someday in the future.
9. Lucretia Stone, 52
Edna Mahan Correctional Facility for Women, Clinton, New Jersey
I am writing from the only female correctional facility in New Jersey, which is ironically located on Freedom Road. Each year, the Fourth of July further solidifies something for me: Freedoms, liberties and justice are only applicable to some of America. With mass incarceration, the prison industry has become a billion-dollar business. As a result, the incarcerated people are being warehoused and treated like capital, instead of human beings capable of rehabilitation and change. That’s why independence is still a dream deferred. But while my body is enslaved as per the Constitution, my mind will always be free.
10. Bill Walsh, 46
Sing Sing Correctional Institution, Ossining, New York
The Fourth of July is an idea and an ideal that arose in the face of oppression. A group of men who have been labeled both patriots and traitors, depending on who you ask, made a choice to push back against that oppression. They gave rise to a new nation, one that promised a change from what they knew.
For me, the Fourth of July is still a choice. I choose to continue learning about people, things and myself, and I refuse to surrender the part of myself that I can control. This is not always easy in an environment that embraces the dark and the negative. But we all have the opportunity to choose our own destiny, like they did 249 years ago, even in a place like this.
11. Maurice Miller, 37
Woodbourne Correctional Facility, Woodburne, New York
In light of the brazen, unfortunate attacks on affirmative action, DEI policies and Black American history, I am becoming more afraid by the day that our home is reverting to the way it was when Frederick Douglass delivered his Fourth of July speech. Affirmative action, along with DEI policies, were put in place because this country has a long and troublesome history of treating women, people of color and LGBTQ people radically different from [straight] White men.
So how can I be a proud American father to my beautiful little girl when there still exists a vast gender pay gap, despite the so-called Equal Pay Act? How can I be proud while the current American government demolishes the rights of trans people?
How can we all sing about our pride when it is less and less likely that we are all free?
12. Demetrius Buckley, 40
Cooper Street Correctional Facility, Jackson, Michigan
To answer, “What, to the American incarcerated person, is your Fourth of July?” I have to speak about the history of the American Revolution. The truth is, colonies in this new land wanted to protect their hustle in slavery, a business outlawed in Britain in 1772. Fearing that they would have to follow suit, Southern slaveholders joined the rebelling Northerners — who also profited from this “peculiar institution” — to fight for independence. The American rebels took up war in 1775 and declared independence in 1776, winning the right to keep the “negro” in bondage. That’s why there will always be unrest here, because of the unsanctified blood in the soil.
13. Ayana Satyagrahi, 51
FCI Seagoville, Seagoville, Texas
I’m a federal transgender inmate, and I’ve been incarcerated since 2010. Being a double minority — a transgender and a Black person — the Fourth of July is nothing but a good meal in the chow hall.
Growing up, I didn’t know that I was on a pipeline to prison. I remember being harassed by police in the streets of Galveston, Texas, standing on the corner with my friends. Then I would watch other young people standing on the corners in their White neighborhoods who didn’t get harassed.
There’s this profound song called “Scholarship 2 the Pen” by a rapper in Houston named ‘Lil Keke. Like the title suggests, I didn’t grow up hearing about college or how I could get financial aid. Instead, I went into a Scared Straight program, which didn’t do anything but show me what prison was like. Meanwhile, in more suburban and White neighborhoods, kids heard questions like, “What college are you going to? Who are you going to intern for?” It was no surprise that I eventually caught a case.
Today, with Donald Trump in office, it seems like they’re rolling back all of our rights. I’m incarcerated here with a lot of Black men who were literally sitting in front of the television when Trump was getting elected saying, Oh, he’s gonna let us out of jail. I told them, “No, he’s not. He does not care about you.”
All of this is why the Fourth of July is nothing more to me than a big hamburger with all the fixings, a ‘brat or two, some watermelon, and some type of ice cream dish.
14. Corey Devon Arthur, 47
Otisville Correctional Facility, Otisville, New York
Most prisoners frown at Independence Day because we are not included in this version of America. From our first footsteps, freedom hasn’t been a part of our view, only an ongoing failure.
15. Joseph Wilson, 46
Green Haven Correctional Facility, Stormville, New York
On the afternoon of July 4th, I will walk into a mess hall and wait in line, shifting from foot to foot, conversation to conversation.
At the front of the line, a group of incarcerated servers will slap two hot dogs, two hamburgers, a scoop of baked beans, an infant-sized bag of potato chips, and an apple onto each tray. The hot dogs, discolored by overstuffed boiling vats, will be made of turkey. The hamburgers will be made of beef, chicken and soy. They will bear grill marks, although they are steamed in perforated plastic bags.
It is all fake, yet we will stand in a long line, stashing tiny plastic baggies of mustard, mayonnaise and ketchup for this meal. We do this to mask the fraudulent flavors, the tastes that betray our dreams of the past and fantasies of future independence.
In general, the appreciation of such flotsam foods will be linked to memories of barbecues with friends and family members. But this food will also be a stark reminder that slaves ate slop, hoping to survive until their Independence Day came for them. That, as dogs, some of us have returned to meals deferred by committing crimes.
16. James Mancuso, 41
Idaho State Correctional Center, Boise, Idaho
Fireworks, hamburgers, watermelon and sack lunches — oh, and no mail, work or school. No matter what prison I have been to, these seem to be the common themes for the Fourth of July.
You wake up and get breakfast, maybe a little later or earlier than usual. Nothing is open except recreation, if you have it scheduled. There may even be a special event, like lawn games or a concert.
If you don’t have recreation that day, you twiddle your thumbs until your lunch of hamburgers and hotdogs. You also get a sack lunch to eat for dinner so the kitchen staff can leave early.
After that, you find something to do in your cell or housing pod until that night, when the fireworks start on television.
But more important than food and activities, I think the Fourth of July reminds us that the United States has a history that is both a story of horror and a story of redemption when it comes to its prisons. Despite all the problems with the U.S. justice system, I am still included in celebrating the day we declared our freedom from England and its taxation without representation.
17. Jonathan Vargas, 37
Ohio State Penitentiary, Youngstown, Ohio
My first response: My Independence Day will come when I’m released from prison. But when I look deeper into myself, I can say that it came the day I stopped beating myself up, forgave myself, and became the man I always wanted to be. Regardless of whether I’m in prison, I can still be free in my mind, in my heart and in my soul.
18. Imhotep H’Shaka, 53
Wende Correctional Facility, Alden, New York
As a Black prisoner, I once thought my Independence Day would be the day my appeal was heard. My mistake! I never knew that the federal funding the state received to house me would be more important than my freedom.
Then, after 24 and a half years straight in solitary confinement, I thought my Independence Day would be when I was released to the general population. But nah, because the staffing shortages caused by this year’s unsanctioned and illegal corrections officer strike meant losing access to therapeutic programs that I’ll need when I’m up for parole in 2028. And even if I get parole, I’ll still be enslaved by fees, check-ins, travel restrictions and background checks for housing and jobs.
So, as a Black prisoner, my Independence Day will likely be the date on my death certificate! Still, with all this known, I will say, “Rise up,” and my brethren will reply, “Freedom is a must.”
19. Jason West, 52
Lorain Correctional Facility, Grafton, Ohio
I think it’s fair to say most people in this country, both native and naturalized citizens, are proud to be Americans. We are brought up to believe that the United States is the land of the free and home of the brave.
But in reality, freedom is an illusion that America broadcasts all over the world. How can we be the greatest country on earth when we keep millions of people locked in cages?
When I see little Johnny on TV waving his American flag at the Fourth of July parade, I know the indoctrination process has begun. But we are only as free as the powers that be let us be. Cross that line, break that rule, speak truth to power, and watch your so-called freedom vanish.
20. LeShunta Sanders, 50
Harlem, New York
As a formerly incarcerated woman of color, the Fourth of July feels hollow, like a celebration that overlooks the millions of people locked away and the many more of us still carrying the weight of that experience long after release.
When I was incarcerated, July 4th came and went like any other day. The fireworks we couldn’t see, the music we couldn’t dance to, the family barbecues we couldn’t join, they all served as reminders of how far we were from the freedoms being celebrated. The country’s declaration of liberty rang loud, but it never included us.
Even now, so-called “freedom” is complicated. The system didn’t just punish me; it tried to brand me. I’ve had to fight to be seen as more than my past — to be treated with dignity, to be given opportunity, to be heard. Independence feels like a right for some, but a privilege others must earn over and over again.
Still, I reclaim this day in my own way. I think of the women still confined, the ones who taught me resilience and sisterhood in the darkest places. I think of all of us building new lives despite the barriers. July 4th isn’t my Independence Day — but it is a reminder that the struggle for real freedom is still alive. That we still have stories to tell. That we’re still here.
And we will not be silent.
Kiki Dunston is a strategic visionary and a dedicated advocate for justice-impacted individuals, committed to transforming systems and creating opportunities for those affected by the criminal legal system. She has spearheaded numerous initiatives that provide support, resources and pathways to reintegration for formerly incarcerated individuals. Kiki remains inspired by the anonymous quote: “A successful woman is one who can build a firm foundation with the bricks others have thrown at her.”
