"If we cannot live as people, we will at least try to die like men."
—Attica Prisoner Charles Horatio Crowley ("Brother Flip")
AT 9:44 on a drizzly overcast morning last week, a radio loudspeaker snapped out the order to attack. Through the stinging mist of CS pepper gas dropped by Viet Nam-style helicopters, yellow-clad troopers set off a barrage of rifle fire from atop 30-ft. prison walls. More than 500 officers—armed with shotguns, rifles, pistols and clubs —charged into the crowded compound, shooting as they ran. Sporadic firing continued for nearly an hour. When the onesided battle was over, lawmen representing the State of New York had killed 26 convicts and nine of 38 hostages that the inmates had seized in the four-day prison riot. At least 83 prisoners were hurt seriously enough to require surgery.
That was Attica. For some time to come in the U.S., that word will not be primarily identified with the plain upon which ancient Athens nurtured philosophy and democracy. Nor will it simply stand for the bucolic little town that gave its name to a turreted prison, mislabeled a "correctional facility." Attica will evoke the bloodiest prison rebellion in U.S. history. It will take its place alongside Kent State, Jackson State, My Lai and other traumatic events that have shaken the American conscience and incited searing controversy over the application of force—and the pressures that provoke it.
With the riot and its aftermath still shrouded by secrecy, rumor, half-truths and untruths, the nation was sorely split in trying to decide just why it happened and who was to blame. Since most of Attica's prisoners are black, many blacks saw the event as yet another manifestation of America's deep-rooted racism. Newark Mayor Kenneth Gibson termed it "one of the most callous and blatantly repressive acts ever carried out by a supposedly civilized society." White liberals —and not liberals alone—interpreted Attica as, at the very least, a measure of the bankruptcy of the U.S. prison system. Yet many if not most Americans seemed to feel that the attack was legally and morally justified. The Atlanta Constitution, in a singularly savage editorial, suggested execution of "the animals of Attica" for trying to impose "kangaroo justice" on the hostages.
New York Governor Nelson Rockefeller, who had approved subordinates' decision to storm the prison, was defended by President Nixon, who said that the "painful, excruciating" action was "the only thing he could possibly do . . ." At the same time, Rockefeller was also widely denounced for needlessly risking lives by using so much firepower, and derided for initially being too soft on the prisoners.
The violence at Attica sent tremors throughout U.S. prisons. The FBI warned many institutions to prepare for similar uprisings, and security was increased. But there were surprisingly few incidents. One uprising took place at Baltimore city jail, where some 200 prisoners (nearly all were unconvicted blacks awaiting trial) rioted in the mess hall, overturning tables and smashing 120 windowpanes. Eight guards fled to safety, and officers armed with tear gas promptly restored order. There were also protests from police and prison guards. At New York's Green Haven Correctional Facility, 390