Voices from High Desert
High Desert State Prison (HDSP) and Ely State Prison (ESP) are two of Nevada’s most well-known correctional facilities, each carrying a heavy reputation within the state prison system.
Ely State Prison (ESP), opened in 1989, is Nevada’s maximum-security prison, located in a remote desert town.
Known for its isolation, ESP houses individuals serving long sentences, often under some of the most restrictive conditions in the country. The prison has been the subject of scrutiny for its extensive use of solitary confinement—sometimes referred to as “the hole”—where people can spend years, even decades, locked in small cells with little to no human contact.
High Desert State Prison (HDSP), located in Indian Springs, Nevada, is the largest correctional facility in the state. Opened in 2000, it was built to ease overcrowding and has since become home to thousands of incarcerated men. While not a maximum-security facility like Ely, HDSP has also faced criticism for its conditions, lack of rehabilitative programming, and use of segregation housing.
Together, Ely and High Desert form the backdrop of countless untold stories of survival, trauma, resilience, and transformation. The following testimony, written by Gilbert Paliotta, brings readers into the lived reality of solitary confinement and what it means to endure decades within Nevada’s prison system.
16 YEARS IN SOLITARY
Testimony of Gilbert Paliotta
Tick…tick…tick… Time. It never stops for anyone or anything. Kind to some, cruel to others. The one thing in the entire universe that is constant. Never compromises. If only I could go back in time, knowing the things that I know now. How much different I would be. If only… As I stand at my makeshift desk (a cardboard box sitting atop the sink in my cage), no lights on, the sun slowly creeping up over the mountains to light up these gloomy prison walls, I attempt to go back in time. Wishing and praying that some time portal would open up to me so that I could go back and make changes so as not to end up in this cage. My head bowed, my eyes closed, my hands clasped behind my back; I am lost in thoughts. Exhausted. Why am I so mentally and physically exhausted right now? Tick…tick…tick… I am thinking back in time: 2022…2014…2000…1998. Twenty-six years ago, I was in solitary confinement (segregation, the “hole”) at Ely State Prison in Nevada. Not just ordinary solitary confinement, but “secured housing” confinement in solitary confinement. Classified as HRP (High Potential Risk), sanctioned to 46 months in “the hole.” My heart was empty. Circumstance and consequences had little to no effect on me. It takes very little effort to embrace negativity, to be disconnected from reality and loved ones, and allow myself to react to any and all challenges the only way I knew how to at that age. Scarily enough, I got very comfortable with that mindset, that attitude. How was it so easy to embrace being emotionless about things…about everything? About life? I felt like something must be seriously wrong with me. Tick…tick…tick… 1998…2002…2005…I am still in “secured housing.” How is this possible? The sanction was for 46 months, not seven years. 2006. No longer in “sanctioned housing,” but still in solitary confinement. Tick…tick…tick…2009…2011…2014… I am finally released from solitary confinement after sixteen total years spent. Time had continued to pass me by, leaving me stagnant. I was twenty-four years old when I got put into solitary confinement, where I remained until I was forty years old. Thinking back on it, that is a lifetime. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about. But how can I not think about it? Every year that went by, I wanted to die. Every night I would fall asleep hoping and praying that I wouldn’t wake up in the morning. Each month that went by, I didn’t even know who I was, or even who I wanted to be. My mornings were met with anger because I kept waking up. The anger would change to energy-draining sadness as I did not know how to change my circumstances. I did not know how to change myself. As the years went by, I began to notice that I was no longer the same person I was six years ago…eleven years ago… tick…tick…tick… My beliefs changed, my values changed. Even my role in life and my identity changed. There was a time I had thought myself invincible, an exception to the rule, and immune to society’s laws. I thought I was the center of attention and that everyone turned their heads in my direction when I entered a room. I even thought the world was “mine,” and that it owed me. Naivety? Not even close. Idiocy? That would be putting it kindly. For sixteen years prison administration found every excuse to keep me buried in “the hole.” Stagnant. No evolution. No growth. No progression. I was miserable but tried to mask it, fronting as if I didn’t care. Solitary confinement at ESP during those years did not provide programs for offenders or have a step-down system. That is when an offender remains disciplinary free for a certain length of time and is then allowed to “step down” a level in their custody, potentially earning their way out of solitary confinement and back into the general population. From 1998 to 2012, mental health assistance was not available. When it finally was implemented, mental health staff walked through the units of solitary confinement about every 90 days. The only thing they would do was ask through the cell doors if you were feeling suicidal. If someone said “yes,” they would remove that person from the cell (often by force) and place them on a “suicide watch” for 72 hours. The person would be stripped naked and “four-pointed” to the bed by their arms and legs. There was no behavioral health programming, no transitional programming for offenders in confinement, no educational programming, and no group programming. The staff working in the solitary confinement units received no training, and no de-escalation training. This was evidenced by the outrageous number of assaults by staff members on offenders, as well as the suicidal offenders only being placed on psych medications while not receiving any other mental help. To add to this, there were no daily out-of-cell activities or even structured activities of any kind. In 1998, I was only twenty-four years old. I had not the slightest idea that I would remain in “the hole” until I was forty years old. Tick…tick…tick… The rest of my twenties, gone. My entire thirties, gone. All spent in solitary confinement. Even as I stand here at my makeshift desk in the present, I can’t stop the tears of frustration that overtake me as I think back on a wasted life. Was I really that bad? That terrible of a person?
Isolation and Inhumane Treatment:
Gilbert’s story is not an isolated one. The conditions he describes mirror the experiences of countless other men housed at Ely State Prison (ESP) and High Desert State Prison (HDSP). Across Nevada, these facilities have become synonymous with extreme isolation, limited human contact, and a lack of meaningful rehabilitation opportunities.
In ESP, solitary confinement, often called “the hole,” is not merely a temporary disciplinary measure but, for many, a years-long existence. People are held in cells roughly the size of a parking space, with no regular access to educational or therapeutic programming. The constant deprivation of sunlight, fresh air, and social interaction corrodes mental health and fosters despair. Without a structured “step-down” process or trauma-informed care, individuals can remain buried in segregation indefinitely, their identities eroding with every passing year.
HDSP, though technically a lower security facility, has also drawn criticism for its use of segregation units and for failing to provide consistent rehabilitative programming. For many incarcerated there, time is spent in prolonged confinement with minimal movement, little meaningful human interaction, and scarce access to mental health care.
These conditions violate not only basic standards of decency but also the principles of effective rehabilitation. Studies consistently show that prolonged solitary confinement leads to severe psychological harm such as anxiety, depression, hallucinations, self-harm, and suicidality. Yet despite decades of research and reform recommendations, Nevada’s most notorious facilities remain emblematic of an outdated and damaging approach to corrections.
Voices like Gilbert Paliotta’s reveal the human cost of these policies. His testimony, echoed in letters, grievances, and quiet conversations across ESP and HDSP, serves as a reminder that behind every statistic about solitary confinement lies a living person whose potential, family connections, and sense of self are slowly being stripped away. It is not only a story of punishment but also of survival, resilience, and the ongoing struggle for dignity in the face of systemic neglect.