Prison Letters Expose Underground Prison Torture, Modern Day Slavery All Around Us, Justice Department Withholds Epstein Files, Restorative Justice for Sex Offenders
August 1, 2026

Down here in the tombs, there aren’t any windows,” writes Tremane Wood from inside his cell. Wood, 46, spent 17 years incarcerated in H Unit – the underground cells at the state prison in the rural town of McAlester, Oklahoma, where no natural light ever reaches. According to prisoner letters seen by the Guardian and published here for the first time, H Unit – also known by the prisoners as the “tombs” – features a series of windowless cells that are built banked into the earth. The letters also tell of infestations of vermin, unsanitary conditions, and frequent instances of physical and sexual violence. The lack of sunlight is a matter of particular concern to the prisoners. Dr Sondra Crosby, an expert in torture survivors and a public health professor at Boston University and Physicians for Human Rights, calls it “a form of cruel, inhuman, and degrading treatment and torture”. Crosby, who has worked with people imprisoned after 9/11 in CIA “black sites”, says lack of sunlight was “used to punish people in the darkness of the prisons in Afghanistan”. The letters from H Unit offer a glimpse into this sunless world. The prisoners – of whom there are currently 248 in total, according to prison authorities – write of living in squalor, and frequent violence and rape. Many are held in solitary confinement, with almost no human contact. Others stay in two-person cells, where they say violence is common because the space is not large enough for two men. “I’ve heard men scream and yell and seen them pulled out of cells with blood and waste running down their leg from sexual assault … maybe 5 times,” [inmate Edward Sparks III] wrote. [Another prisoner] wrote that “the guards are putting chilli pepper symbols on their vest as a badge for every inmate that they are spraying with mace and the pepper ball gun."

A freshman’s dorm mattress at Mississippi State University. A Georgia Medicaid patient’s eyeglasses. The goalpost padding at Bauxite High School in Arkansas. The burn ban flag at the Boerne Fire Department in Texas Hill Country. All of them were made by people incarcerated in American prisons. In the United States, prison labor is everywhere, a practice nearly as old as our nation itself. Incarcerated workers are responsible for producing over $2 billion in goods annually, much of which is sold via federal and state prison industries to public institutions. Incarcerated workers make between 33 cents and $1.41 per hour working for state-owned businesses — though in six states, prison workers aren’t paid for their labor at all. Proponents of prison labor argue that these work programs are designed to be rehabilitative and beneficial for incarcerated people. But Carla Laroche, Felder-Fayard associate professor of law at Tulane University and the Murphy Institute, says it’s more complicated. “Prison labor goes back to enslavement,” she said. “Someone is being held in a facility, a prison, and told, ‘You must work.’ They don’t have a choice whether they work or not, what skills they want to learn, or what kind of job they have. And some people might say, great — everybody has to work. Everybody has to pay their bills. But we have the ability to leave. We have the ability to choose. And we can work for ourselves. In some prisons, if you do not work, you will be held in solitary confinement.”

News reports have historically allowed us as a society to monitor our government when it exercises its greatest power: ending a person’s life. But the state of Indiana has decided to inhibit that public access by banning members of the media from attending executions — unless the condemned person chooses to give a reporter a spot that could instead have gone to their relatives or friends. An appellate court upheld the ban this week. Perhaps the media ban has nothing to do with preserving the dignity of the condemned and is instead about obstructing government accountability and public oversight. Executions in this country were once highly public affairs. Often held in town squares, any member of the public could attend. In the 1830s, government officials began to enact laws that made executions private events. According to the Death Penalty Information Center, support for capital punishment in America has decreased from 80 percent in 1994 to 52 percent in 2026. This division necessitates transparency — otherwise, the only nongovernment actors able to tell the public the truth are dead. As a result of restrictions placed on media access to prisons, prisons have become unjustifiably cruel, less humane and more difficult to monitor. Restricting press freedom erodes human rights and constitutional safeguards and blinds the public to the kinds of cruelty and abuse depicted in HBO’s Oscar-nominated documentary “The Alabama Solution.”

The Department of Justice (DOJ) declined Thursday to release additional unredacted records from its investigation into convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein, telling a federal judge that it has already adequately complied with the law. The DOJ’s response came in the final hours of a court-ordered deadline to remove redactions in at least a dozen documents or “show cause” why it could not. Those documents included “at least eight email exchanges with Mr. Epstein regarding a ‘torture video’ and sexual activity with young women, including minors” and interviews with a woman who claims she was abused by President Trump as a minor. The filing pointed to exemptions in the law that allowed the DOJ to withhold or redact records that contained victims’ identities and information that could jeopardize a federal investigation, among a few other exceptions. The Justice Department argued that it should not be forced to release any further records to the public but offered to share additional details with the judge in closed-door proceedings. It also asked for a 60-day extension so that the solicitor general can consider a possible appeal, if further action is demanded. The filing comes in a lawsuit from attorney and independent journalist Katie Phang, in which she alleged that the DOJ has violated the transparency law by withholding information. [Attorney General Todd] Blanche has repeatedly defended the administration’s handling and rollout of the files.

When elite Swiss banker Ariane de Rothschild sought to extract her company from the teeth of a federal investigation into its role in helping high-end customers hide potentially billions from the IRS, documents show she turned to an unexpected American businessman for help: convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein. In this new role, Epstein appears to have helped Edmond de Rothschild, one of Europe's largest private banks, resolve a menacing Justice Department investigation, garnering him a $25 million fee. And in doing so, he displayed another facet of his ability to tap his network of wealthy and powerful patrons for his personal gain. As Epstein himself explained it in a Dec. 11, 2015, email to Rothschild, he had helped negotiate a deal for the bank to pay $45.5 million to the IRS, $10 million in legal fees, and $25 million to him. "All less than 80 [million dollars] pretty good," he wrote. The Swiss bank's American lawyer on that matter, Kathy Ruemmler, a former Obama White House attorney, will be appearing before the House Oversight Committee to answer questions about her documented longstanding ties with Epstein. In June of 2014, Epstein sent an email to Rothschild, saying, "If I can be helpful, I would be glad to, I expect no, nor do I want any financial relationship of any kind. I am doing this as my way to do good. and to repay a deep debt that i feel I owe to edmonde." This appears to be a reference to her father-in-law Edmond Adolphe de Rothschild, the bank's founder, who died in 1997.

Circles South West uses a network of volunteers to monitor, support and hold sex offenders to account after they have been released from prison. "For every man that is in a circle of support and accountability, they are being supported, monitored and held to account; and, if they don't receive that, it's possible they could go on to re-offend," said Circles South West co-ordinator Jamie Stephenson. A circle involves four volunteers who meet with a convicted sex offender once a week at the same time and location for a period of 12 to 18 months. The charity works with a range of people from those who commit sexual harm online or other non-contact sexual offences, to those who have committed acts of sexual murder. The process is voluntary and the core member, as the offender is called by the charity, is referred by the police or the probation service. Stephenson said: "Protecting victims is our strapline, and the way Circles does that is by targeting the risk factors, which are things like social isolation, loneliness, substance misuse, lack of constructive use of time, sexual preoccupation and using pornography. "There is empirical evidence that circles makes a difference by reducing the risk that someone could potentially re-offend and, if someone re-offends, then a new victim is created and we are all about no more victims." Since Circles South West formed in 2010, its network of volunteers has worked with about 400 convicted sex offenders in circles of support.

Rachel was only a teenager when she was raped, and has now lived half of her life as a survivor. Despite being robbed of her virginity, and living in fear of being controlled, she backs a charity that tries to prevent attacks and save victims by forming support networks around those who have offended. The charity is called Circles of Support and Accountability (often shortened to Circles). A charity which aims to prevent sexual re-offending should surely be lauded and supported by all, no? How could anyone take a dim view of a group of people who devote their time to preventing sexual re-offending? Lots of people do, however, take a dim view of Circles' work, and it is because of the first two parts of the sentence above, describing their aim: working with sex offenders to minimise alienation, and support reintegration. The trouble is, very few people want sexual offences to be committed, but very few people want to take any responsibility for helping the people who commit the offences. I fully support the work that Circles does, because I strongly believe that people who are supported, who aren't treated like slugs on a rose, and who are made to face up to the consequences of their actions (remember the accountability part of the charity's name) are much less likely to re-offend on release from prison. It feels like our world is lacking in compassion, empathy and support right now.

In 1996, Marcus Cheffen robbed Don Allison at gunpoint, shooting him in the leg and narrowly missing a critical artery. At the time, Allison believed Cheffen deserved to spend his entire life behind bars, and Cheffen was sentenced to 95 years in prison. Cheffen spent 24 years in prison, including 13 years at Louisiana State Penitentiary, known as Angola. During his incarceration, he said he made a conscious decision to change, learning a trade as a barber and working as a hospice worker. He began writing letters to Allison from prison to express remorse. Allison's spoke out against Cheffen's release at his first parole hearing, but a conversation with his wife that same day made him begin to change his mind. The Louisiana Department of Corrections Victim-Offender Dialogue Program ... allowed him to meet the man who nearly killed him. During an eight-hour conversation, Cheffen admitted everything and shared how his work in hospice care had humbled him. "He said, 'Mr. Allison, I change men's diapers. It is a humbling experience,'" Allison said. At Cheffen's 2020 parole hearing, Allison spoke in his favor. "I have forgiven Marcus. I'm very confident in telling you that Mr. Cheffen is a different man. He clearly deserves a second chance," Allison testified. Today, the two are more than just acquaintances. They are friends and advocates, working together with the Louisiana Parole Project to provide legal aid, education, and housing to formerly incarcerated individuals.

After a decade behind bars, it wasn’t the fields that stretched for kilometers around him that struck Nicolas when he first set foot on the farm. It was the smell. “I’ve been through six different jails and they all reeked. But you get used to it and forget it ever smelled bad — until you get out. Here, you can breathe in and out fully,” he says, gesturing to the light-stone buildings and tractor parked in the courtyard. Located in Coucy-le-Château-Auffrique, a small village in the north of France, the Moyembrie farm hosts inmates through a detention program run by a small nonprofit. Along with nine others, Nicolas came to spend the last stretch of his sentence beyond prison walls. At Moyembrie, time is served differently. There are no bars, no cells, and inmates can go into town during their time off. All staff are social workers directly employed by the farm — the first facility of its kind to receive a contract from the Ministry of Justice to host inmates. Residents work four hours each morning. They tend to vegetable plots, lead goats from the barn to the field, or cook meals shared in the common room. All inmates at the farm are able to pursue classes and training programs. Some are even run on-site by volunteers, like lessons for the driver’s license written exam. Nicolas, who has never had his driver’s licence, attends these every week, hoping it will help him secure a job. Over half of the inmates who go there are working or in training three months after release and all leave with stable accommodation.

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