Prisoner of Love

“He is a prisoner for me, and I am a prisoner for Him!” — St. Elizabeth of the Trinity

In October 2020 multiple pro-life rescuers staged an old-school sit-in at Washington Surgi-Clinic, a notorious abortion facility in Washington, D.C., run by Cesare Santangelo, who was known to perform late-term abortions. Some rescuers chained themselves to the furniture in an attempt to block the door, some prayed in the hallway, and some roamed around trying to talk to patients or staff. None of the rescuers was charged with a state crime for their sit-in that month, but in February 2022 several were hit with federal indictments, courtesy of Joe Biden’s Department of Justice, and faced up to 11 years in prison and $300,000 in fines. In May 2024 they were sentenced to prison terms of various lengths plus strict probation upon release. But then, in January 2025, Donald Trump issued a sweeping pardon, freeing all unjustly convicted pro-lifers, some of whom had been languishing in prison for almost two years. One of those pro-lifers was William Goodman.

Now free, Goodman plans to continue advocating for the unborn in a peaceful, prayerful manner. To learn more about his experience of political persecution for his faith and opposition to abortion, I interviewed him shortly after his release.

NOR: When you got to prison, how did other inmates react to the reason you were there?

William Goodman: By and large, they were shocked. They could not believe that I and the other rescuers were getting two to five years in federal prison for essentially doing a sit-in, handing out brochures in a hallway, livestreaming a sit-in, or planning a sit-in. They thought it was outrageous. A lot of the inmates had never heard of conspiracy against rights; most of them had never heard of FACE [the Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances Act, signed by Bill Clinton in 1994 — Ed.].

A lot of the guys had personally experienced some of the injustices of federal conspiracy charges, so I think they could sympathize on a certain level. The inmates — and even some guards — showed us a lot of compassion.

Inmates in a federal prison are already critical of the Department of Justice and maybe angry at how the FBI raided them. They would say things like, “Well, I was dealing fentanyl, but you guys were just trying to save lives,” or “I was doing a big online financial scam, but you were just sitting in a chair.” Even people who were in favor of abortion said we shouldn’t have been getting this kind of mistreatment.

By and large, many of the people in prison, at least among the men, who were willing to say something often said they’re pro-life. There were exceptions, obviously, but almost everyone agreed that what we were going through was unjust.

NOR: Has your experience changed the way you view the criminal-justice system?

Goodman: Absolutely. Every time I rescue, and every time I have to go through incarceration, I see another dimension of the injustice in our system. The American judiciary and penal systems are probably better than those in most countries, but we have a long way to go. There are a lot of nonviolent criminals in our federal prisons who are serving pretty long sentences. Some have addiction issues or mental-health problems, and incarceration really isn’t the answer for them. Some need medical help and would be better served by home confinement and a strict probation. That would allow them to stay with their families so their spouses and children aren’t punished as well.

A lot of the men in prison are working age, so there’s this huge workforce that’s unable to work. With home confinement, they could go to work, to church, and maybe to an AA meeting or a support group, but otherwise they couldn’t leave their homes. That way they could be with their families. That’s a reform we need. Now, clearly there are people who are a real threat to society, and they need to be incarcerated. But for most nonviolent criminals, I think the best option is home confinement. Now, if they violate their probation and continue committing crimes, then they’ve made their decision, and they’re going to punish their family with their incarceration.

Another reform I’d like to see is the abolishment of pornography. So many sex offenders are in prison because of porn addiction. Of course, there are rapists and other violent sex offenders, but porn is often an aggravating factor. Porn is a terrible plague in our culture, and men, in particular, are victims of it. Many choose to view it but then get addicted, so at first there’s culpability on their part, but over time pornography severely affects their brain chemistry. Internet pornography is so pervasive, and it leads people down these rabbit holes until they end up viewing content they’re not even aware is illegal, such as the kind involving minors. These guys need help beating addiction to porn, which is like a drug.

So I would say: reduce incarceration, ban pornography, and make sure public defenders are adequately funded and have sufficient time in their schedules. Most poor defendants don’t get a fair trial because they don’t have an attorney who can give them the time they need.

NOR: Many movies depict prison life, such as The Shawshank Redemption, The Green Mile, and Cool Hand Luke, among others. What does Hollywood get right about prison and what does it get wrong?

Goodman: I haven’t seen Cool Hand Luke, but I’ve seen The Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile. I think those two movies get a lot right. Prison is dirty, dark, and isolating; you’re forced to eat institutionalized food that’s not fit for human consumption; and you don’t have freedom of movement. One thing depicted in movies that I didn’t witness was intense brutality by the guards. I saw only minor incidents, but I heard stories from guys who were seriously brutalized by guards. Also, I didn’t see or experience any rapes. However, at the federal prison in Danbury, Connecticut, I did see consensual homosexual behavior. That was disturbing.

One aspect of prison life that movies do capture accurately is that prison is a dangerous place, a place where you always have to look over your shoulder for bad guards or bad inmates. And the movies do get right that the prison administrations don’t always show great care or concern for the inmates. The Shawshank Redemption realistically portrays the ominous nature of a huge maximum-security prison. I was in a big prison for a few days, and when the doors shut behind me, it was a very dark and foreboding experience. Hollywood has gotten the ambience and aesthetics of prison right.

NOR: How did you deal with violent or mentally unstable inmates?

Goodman: The same as in the outside world: I tried to avoid them. In prison, however, you’re in a confined area — the county jail was actually worse than the Danbury prison because it’s a smaller area — and, in some cases, you’re locked in a cell with an angry or violent person. When that happens, you have to pray for him, you have to ask God for the grace to share Christ’s love with him, to speak words of peace, to realize that God is present in the room. But the Devil is also very involved in prisons and revels in making people upset, angry, and violent, so you enter into spiritual combat. You pray for peace, for Christ’s light to enter. When things do kind of simmer down later, there might be an opportunity to talk. Some inmates who lose their patience will feel bad about it later, and then you can talk to them in a subtle way about practicing the virtues or ask them to join your Bible study, things like that.

As for the people who suffer from mental illness, you can show them compassion, listen to them, and spend time with them. That can work if they understand that you’re not going to attack them, because the mentally unstable are outcasts in jail, kind of like lepers. People abuse them, laugh at them, and make fun of them, and for those who are both violent and mentally unstable, that can be a volatile situation. Again, I think it’s a matter of trying to share Christ’s love, to be Jesus for the mentally unstable, to be Jesus for the violent, to try, if you can, to speak some words of reason to help them not think in such a muddled way. The truth has power and can help people with mental illness have some awareness of their problem and encourage them to get treatment. The problem is that there isn’t good mental health care in prison. That’s something that needs to be addressed.

NOR: Some of the prisons also housed people who protested the results of the 2020 presidential election at the U.S. Capitol on January 6, 2021. Were there any “J6ers” in the prison where you were? If so, was there a special bond because you were both political prisoners?

Goodman: There were a handful of them in Danbury, and there was definitely a connection because we both were suffering from the Biden regime’s weaponization of the law. In both cases, the Department of Justice sent the FBI to raid homes, spent millions of dollars to round up peaceful people, and then handed them lengthy sentences out of sheer political motivation.

On one hand, I wish none of the J6ers were in prison, but that they were was a consolation, and we became good friends. They were sort of like the “normal people” in jail, so to speak, and not hardened criminals, so we were able to get to know them and have Bible studies together and form Rosary groups and the like. I think almost all of them were pro-life, and we would talk about the abortion holocaust and the need to end it. The J6ers were, for the most part, men of strong Christian faith, so it was great having them as allies.

One particular J6er, a guy named Ezekiel, may have helped save my life when I fell off the top bunk one morning. He’s a farmer and an early riser, so he was up before dawn while the rest of the guys were snoring in the big dorm. My head had landed on the concrete, and I fractured my skull. Zeke heard me, knew there was a problem, and sprang into action. He and my bunkie at the time, Big Nick (who was more of a gangster than a J6er), probably saved my life by getting me the help I needed in time.

NOR: Has the transition from prison to the regular world been difficult?

Goodman: Well, for one thing, after you’ve been inside for a long time, and then you get out, you have a million and one things you want to do. And then you have a million and one things you need to do, and it’s hard to balance those.

There are daily distractions that were taken away in prison and were difficult habits to break, like social media. You become at peace with not having those things in your life. At first it’s great — I’m not getting texts, I’m not getting instant messages, I’m not getting phone calls, I’m not burdened by excessive communication and demands — but then it becomes difficult because you miss your family and loved ones. So you use the time you have in prison to read and pray and interact with those who are present.

But when I got back on the outside, suddenly there were millions of messages, millions of demands, a lot of people who wanted to talk to me, and people I wanted to talk to. It was overwhelming. I’m a skier and outdoorsman, and I found myself watching videos of skiers and mountain climbers and scuba divers and stuff like that, and now I have to deal with fighting those distractions because a lot of the things in the world I was denied in prison are very attractive now. That includes things like candy and junk food. So you’ve got to learn to practice moderation again, which is imposed on you in prison. You’ve got to relearn the virtues of temperance and discipline. You’ve got to stay focused and on schedule, whereas in prison your schedule is forced on you.

One of the biggest challenges has been managing digital media after I’d been separated from it because of the demands it makes and the distractions and temptations it offers.

NOR: What are some of the shocks you’ve experienced after spending almost two years behind bars?

Goodman: When the raids happened, the FBI stormed my friends’ places and kicked down their doors. Then we had this bogus federal indictment. And then we had a show trial with a bogus judge, a bogus jury, and a bogus conviction. How many times can I use the word bogus? [Laughs.] We were living in a world where our freedoms had been curtailed. We’d come out of the authoritarian excesses and nonsense of the COVID-19 lockdowns and mandates. And yet, as that was beginning to ease, the Biden administration was still exercising authoritarian rule through the weaponization of the Department of Justice. We went to prison in that kind of world. And we’ve come out on the other side, into a more refreshing world, where it seems like the First Amendment and religious liberties are being protected, and practicing Christians are no longer being targeted, as exemplified by the presidential pardon.

There’s a greater respect for life and freedoms now, though not everything is perfect. There are still lots of problems, politically and culturally. But there has been a shift. It’s like the air is fresher, the sky is brighter, and there’s hope. I guess that’s one of the biggest things now: there’s hope.

NOR: Any final comments?

Goodman: I would like to thank everyone who prayed for me, who wrote me letters or sent me messages and books through the prison system. I thank everyone who had Masses offered for me and the other rescuers, or who offered their Holy Communions or Rosaries, chaplets, or Holy Hours for us, and who performed little acts of charity like putting money in our commissary accounts. I just want to thank everyone who kept us in mind and in heart while we were away for those 17 months.

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