It was 1990. Curtis Davis surveyed the cotton field miles from Angola Prison. He’d trudged alongside other shackled men to the worksite under the hot Louisiana sun.
But he refused to work. Slavery was over. What about his rights?
A shotgun was pointed at him. He could either get back to work, or be forced. But Davis had another tactic in mind. Doctors had to clear the incarcerated for these grueling, 12-hour workdays. So, one day, he dropped a weight on his foot.
Prison officials were so enraged that not only did they throw him in solitary — they also charged him with “damaging state property.”
Perhaps the weight was state property. But, according to the state, so was Davis. And his resistance followed that of generations of enslaved people.
Some “put on ole massa” by doing slow and sloppy work. Others pretended that their tools had broken by accident — after breaking them themselves. Stealing crops, setting fires, feigning illness, and disappearing for hours during the day were all attributed to laziness, irresponsibility, and stupidity.
From enslaved ancestors sabotaging the plantations to incarcerated workers like Davis rejecting exploitation, that resistance reaffirms our humanity and delegitimizes the system.
Refusing to work on our oppressors’ terms is practicing a liberated world where we won’t have to.