Image credit: Angola Prison Rodeo. (2024, July 5). In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angola_Prison_Rodeo
Editor’s note: This article is adapted from a longer version written by Adam Mahoney, climate and environment reporter at Capital B, a nonprofit news organization dedicated to uncovering essential stories about how black people experience America.
Every Sunday in October, thousands flock to Louisiana’s Angola Prison for the “wildest show in the South.” The Angola Prison Rodeo is a unique cultural phenomenon, offering a mix of spectacle, history, and controversy. Set on the grounds of a former slave plantation, now the nation’s largest maximum-security prison, the event highlights glaring contradictions in American culture and justice. While spectators enjoy cowboy-themed entertainment, the incarcerated individuals who perform as “convict cowboys” face immense risks for minimal rewards.
A Look at the Rodeo’s Appeal
Incarcerated performers engage in dangerous events like bull riding and bareback horse riding, often suffering injuries for the amusement of the crowd. Broken bones and concussions are common, and yet, for many incarcerated individuals, the rodeo remains one of the highlights of the year. It’s a rare opportunity for them to earn money, connect with loved ones, and interact with the outside world. Some report making up to $2,000 annually from the event, although the prison takes a 22% cut of their earnings.
Outside the arena, incarcerated individuals sell handmade goods like art and leatherwork, with booths offering a more personal connection to attendees. For some performers, this interaction offers a fleeting sense of humanity in a system that often strips them of it. “It brings back a familiar feeling of being free to exist,” one incarcerated person told Capital B.
A History Rooted in Oppression
Angola’s history as a former plantation echoes through its present-day operations. The prison primarily houses Black men, who make up 80% of its population, despite constituting only a third of Louisiana’s demographic. Many incarcerated individuals work on the prison’s vast farmland for as little as two cents per hour, continuing a legacy of exploitation akin to slavery. The prison’s agricultural output, including products used by major brands like Coca-Cola and Kellogg’s, generates millions in revenue.
The rodeo, founded in 1965, brings in roughly $2 million annually. The state claims this revenue funds educational and rehabilitative programs for incarcerated individuals, but critics argue the benefits are minimal compared to the risks and exploitation involved.
(Editor’s note: The title of Mahoney’s expanded article for Captial B is “The Wildest Show in the South…,” a reference to the eponymous 1999 short documentary directed by Simeon Soffer, who received an Academy Award nomination for Best Documentary Short.)
The Racial and Cultural Divide
The rodeo underscores deep racial tensions. Predominantly white audiences, often donning cowboy hats and MAGA shirts, cheer for events on land historically worked by enslaved Black people and now maintained by incarcerated labor. “It’s hard for it not to feel racist,” said Joseph Bagnerise, a first-time attendee who noted the discomfort of watching predominantly Black men risk their lives for entertainment.
Some Black attendees, however, see the rodeo as a connection to their cultural roots. Michelle Clark, who has attended for nearly a decade, said the event resonates with the broader historical narratives of Black Americans in agriculture and rodeo sports. Still, she acknowledges the racial tensions that pervade the event. “There are some people that come for the rodeo with different intentions than what we came for – to laugh and mock,” she said.
A Double-Edged Sword
The Angola Rodeo encapsulates a painful paradox. For incarcerated individuals, it offers a rare glimpse of freedom, interaction, and income. Yet, the spectacle perpetuates the normalization of mass incarceration and the exploitation of incarcerated labor. Some attendees grapple with the ethics of supporting the event. “I feel guilt, I really do,” admitted Candice Sims, who attended with Clark. “They’re not trained, and they’re out there doing dangerous events. I do feel like they are taking advantage of people’s situations in a racist way.”
The rodeo’s cultural significance cannot be ignored. It ties into a larger narrative of how America defines heroism, with cowboys embodying rugged individualism while “convicts” are stripped of their humanity. For some incarcerated individuals, however, the event is a rare opportunity to assert their individuality. As one attendee noted, “In these passing moments, they’re not merely objects or ‘convicts,’ but creators and providers.”
Looking Ahead
The Angola Prison Rodeo remains deeply divisive. While it provides incarcerated individuals with rare opportunities, it also highlights systemic inequalities and exploitation. As public scrutiny of prison practices grows, the rodeo serves as a stark reminder of the contradictions and complexities of America’s criminal justice system. For both participants and spectators, it raises questions about cultural ownership, humanity, and what it means to truly be free.
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