The Nation: War at Attica: Was There No Other Way?

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guards demanded assurance that the state would move swiftly to quell any similar rebellion at their prison — even if they were held as hostages and their own lives were threatened.

The convulsion of conflicting values and emotions put in question the future of a penal system that most responsible authorities consider a dismal failure (see story, page 26). Many officials, including President Nixon, hoped that the tragedy would give a sorely needed impetus to prison reform. Others worried about the danger of a new rush toward repression that would make prisons even more inhumane.

Volatile Incident The eventual course will depend upon how the events at Attica are understood and evaluated. The precise origin of the uprising is still not clear; what is obvious is that the prisoners have long had so many grievances that a volatile incident could have touched off a rebellion at almost any time. Attica houses some of the state's most hardened criminals. But it is also an admission facility for new convicts, who are convinced that their lesser crimes do not warrant the prison's harsh treatment.

At the time of the uprising, at least 75% of the 2,250 prisoners were black or Puerto Rican. All of the 383 guards —too few for that number of inmates, in the opinion of most experts — were white. Blacks resented the racism shown by guards, who gave easier prison jobs to white inmates and openly referred to their clubs as "nigger sticks."

The convicts also complained about the stern discipline of Superintendent Vincent Mancusi, an unimaginative, old-school warden who seldom spoke to his prisoners and apparently resented the heat he was getting from his superiors, mainly Oswald, to loosen his reins. This pressure was also resented by veteran guards, mostly country folk from upstate New York, who felt that they were losing control over the prison population. In particular, they found it hard to cope with the new breed of hip, street-wise young criminals from the ghettos of Harlem and Bedford-Stuyvesant, who spouted revolutionary rhetoric. Almost the only communication between kept and keeper was the banging of clubs against prison walls, signaling orders to line up or move.

Former inmates of Attica contend that solitary confinement was frequently imposed for minor infractions, and that beatings in the elevator en route to "the box" were common. The box is conveniently located over the prison hospital. Inmates are allowed only one shower a week, even though many work (for as little as 25¢ a day) in the metal shop, known as "the black hole of Calcutta," where temperatures exceed 100°. Former inmates claim that one bar of soap and one roll of toilet paper is the maximum monthly allotment. There is little useful vocational training.

At Attica, protests against such conditions have been simmering for some time. Many of the self-styled revolutionaries—transferred to Attica from other prisons because of their militancy —smuggled banned books by such writers as Malcolm X and Bobby Seale into their cells, and held secret political meetings when pretending to be at chapel or engaged in intramural athletics. They passed around clandestine writings of their own; among them was a poem written by an unknown prisoner, crude but touching in its would-be heroic style (see cut for the first