By Darius Spearman (africanelements)

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A federal judge recently decided that a major lawsuit against the Virginia Department of Corrections (VADOC) can move to trial. This decision is a massive moment for people who have spent years fighting for basic human rights behind bars. The case focuses on how the state treats people in long-term isolation. It asks deep questions about how much power the state should have over those it locks away. This legal battle did not appear out of thin air. It is part of a long and painful story about race, power, and the law in Virginia (researchgate.net).

The case is known as Thorpe v. VADOC. It targets the "Step Down" program at Red Onion and Wallens Ridge state prisons. Critics argue this program is just another name for solitary confinement. For years, the state claimed these programs were helpful. However, the people living inside them say they are tools of psychological harm. Now, the courts are finally looking past the official labels to see the reality of life in a cell (aclu.org, acluva.org).

To understand why these lawsuits are happening today, one must look back to 1871. In the case of Ruffin v. Commonwealth, the Virginia Supreme Court made a chilling declaration. It stated that a prisoner was a "slave of the state." This meant that once a person was convicted, they lost all their civil rights. They only had the rights the state decided to give them out of "humanity." This ruling came just a few years after the end of the Civil War (justia.com).

This legal view allowed the state to treat incarcerated people as property. It directly supported the rise of involuntary servitude through convict leasing. Black men were often arrested for minor things and then leased out to work on railroads and in mines. The Ruffin decision created a "hands-off" era for courts. Judges refused to listen to complaints about prison conditions for nearly a hundred years. They believed the management of prisons was strictly the job of the executive branch (researchgate.net, justia.com).

This historical period shows how the law was used to maintain control over Black bodies even after slavery ended. This system of federalism allowed Virginia to run its prisons without any outside oversight. For decades, what happened inside those stone walls stayed inside those walls. The legal status of the prisoner as a "slave" meant there was no way to challenge abuse or neglect. This created a culture of secrecy that still haunts the department today (researchgate.net).

The "hands-off" era finally began to crumble in 1971. A group of men at the Virginia State Penitentiary filed a class-action lawsuit. The case, Landman v. Royster, exposed the absolute horrors of the Virginia prison system. The evidence showed that guards were tear-gassing inmates in their cells. They were also chaining men to walls and keeping them in solitary confinement for months without any hearing. A federal judge finally said enough is enough (researchgate.net).

The judge ruled that these practices violated the Eighth Amendment against cruel and unusual punishment. He also said the state violated the Fourteenth Amendment by not providing due process. This was a turning point. It proved that the Constitution follows a person through the prison gates. After a century of being "slaves," incarcerated people were recognized as human beings with rights. This case opened the door for all the civil rights litigation that followed in the state (researchgate.net).

However, the victory in Landman was not a permanent fix. History shows that when court oversight ends, old habits often return. The Landman case forced the state to create rules for discipline and isolation. Yet, the current lawsuits suggest that the VADOC has found new ways to hide these same old practices. Instead of calling it solitary confinement, they now use terms that sound more like therapy (researchgate.net, aclu.org).

General Population

Prison Population

By the 1990s, the political winds in Virginia changed. There was a strong move away from rehabilitation and toward punishment. In 1995, under Governor George Allen, the state abolished parole. This was part of a larger shift in the narrative across the country. Lawmakers passed "truth-in-sentencing" laws. These rules required people to serve at least 85% of their time, no matter how much they changed or improved (brennancenter.org, justicereinvestmentinitiative.org).

This policy had a massive impact on the Black community. Because of existing disparities in arrests and sentencing, Black men were the ones most likely to be "stacked" in the system for decades. The prison population exploded, growing by nearly 240% between 1980 and 2013. This created a system filled with aging people. These individuals now face serious medical issues that the state is often unprepared to handle. When people cannot get out on parole, the prison becomes a high-cost nursing home (justicereinvestmentinitiative.org, justicepolicy.org).

The lack of parole also removed the main incentive for good behavior. When people know they are staying for 30 years regardless of their actions, it changes the atmosphere of the prison. This led the state to rely more on high-security "supermax" prisons like Red Onion. These facilities were built specifically to keep people in deep isolation. They are the primary setting for the lawsuits that Donald Trump, as the current president, and other federal leaders must eventually address in terms of national standards (brennancenter.org, justicereinvestmentinitiative.org).

The "Step Down" program is the central issue in the Thorpe lawsuit. VADOC describes it as a way for people in solitary confinement to work their way back to the general population. It involves completing workbooks and showing "pro-social" behavior. On paper, it sounds like a good path. However, the lawsuit alleges that the program is actually a maze with no exit (aclu.org, acluva.org).

In practice, people have spent anywhere from 2 to 24 years in isolation through this program. The reviews of their progress were often "secretive" and "arbitrary." Inmates were not told exactly why they failed to progress. They were often held back for reasons they could not control or challenge. This lack of a clear pathway is what Judge James P. Jones found so troubling. He noted that the state has a right to maintain security, but it cannot be done in a way that ignores due process (aclu.org, acluva.org).

The psychological toll of this isolation is extreme. Spending 22 or more hours a day in a small cell for years causes lasting damage. This is why many call it "solitary by another name." Even as the state changed the name to "restorative housing," the conditions remained the same. In 2024, a settlement was reached where VADOC agreed to dismantle this version of the program and pay millions in damages. But the recent ruling shows that the legal fight to ensure these changes actually happen is still very much alive (aclu.org, acluva.org).

! 85% Cited as "Natural Causes" !

Bringing a lawsuit from inside a prison is incredibly difficult. In 2002, Virginia passed its own version of the Prisoner Litigation Reform Act (PLRA). This law was designed to stop what the state called "frivolous" lawsuits. However, it created massive hurdles for people with real grievances. One of the biggest hurdles is the "three-strikes" rule (brennancenter.org).

This rule says that if a prisoner has three cases dismissed for being "frivolous," they cannot file any more cases without paying the full fee upfront. For someone who earns pennies a day in a prison job, a $400 fee is impossible. Most inmates do not have lawyers to help them. If they make a technical mistake in their paperwork, their case might be dismissed. Those dismissals count as "strikes." This system effectively silences people who are being abused but do not know how to navigate complex legal language (brennancenter.org).

This law creates a cycle where the most vulnerable people have the least access to the courts. The only exception is if a person is in "imminent danger." Proving this is very hard when you are locked in a cell and have no way to gather evidence. These legislative hurdles were part of the reason it took so many years for cases like Thorpe to reach a trial. The legal system often values efficiency over justice for the incarcerated (brennancenter.org).

In 2024, Virginia took a rare step toward transparency. The General Assembly created the position of Corrections Ombudsman. This official is independent and has the power to inspect prisons without warning. They can also investigate complaints from inmates and their families. For a long time, VADOC was one of the most closed-off agencies in the state. This new office is supposed to change that (royalexaminer.com).

The Ombudsman has already been busy. There have been reports of men at Red Onion setting themselves on fire to protest their treatment. These desperate acts show that even with new laws, the situation on the ground remains critical. The Ombudsman provides a way for the public and lawmakers to know what is actually happening behind the bars. This is a far cry from the "hands-off" era when judges would not even look at a petition from a prisoner (royalexaminer.com).

Transparency is the enemy of abuse. When guards and administrators know that someone is watching, they are less likely to violate rights. The Ombudsman can issue public reports that force the state to act. While this office cannot win a lawsuit, it can provide the evidence that lawyers need to hold the department accountable in court. It represents a shift from total state control toward a system of checks and balances (royalexaminer.com).

The Thorpe case is more than just a fight about workbooks and cell time. It is a challenge to the idea that some people are beyond the protection of the law. The history of Virginia's prisons shows a constant struggle between those who want total control and those who believe in human dignity. The recent ruling by Judge Jones shows that the judiciary is becoming more skeptical of the department’s promises to "reform" itself (aclu.org, acluva.org).

The state continues to argue that it needs these programs for safety. They point to the high-risk nature of the people at Red Onion. However, the law says that security cannot come at the cost of constitutional rights. If a program keeps someone in a cell for 24 years without a clear way out, it is no longer about safety. It becomes a form of psychological torture. The court is now asking the state to prove that its "restorative" programs are actually restorative (aclu.org, acluva.org).

This legal journey from 1871 to 2026 is a mirror of the larger fight for Black liberation. The struggle moved from fighting chattel slavery to fighting the "slave of the state" doctrine. Then, it moved to fighting for due process and against mass incarceration. Each win in court is a step toward making the promise of "equal justice under law" a reality for everyone, even those who have been forgotten by society. The final outcome of these cases will decide what kind of "humanity" the state of Virginia truly possesses (researchgate.net, justia.com).

Darius Spearman is a professor of Black Studies at San Diego City College, where he has been teaching for over 20 years. He is the founder of African Elements, a media platform dedicated to providing educational resources on the history and culture of the African diaspora. Through his work, Spearman aims to empower and educate by bringing historical context to contemporary issues affecting the Black community.