If it’s the 23rd of the month, you’ll find a small group quietly advocating one phrase at a time on the steps of the Wisconsin State Capitol and at times inside, speaking at hearings and lobbying legislators.

“Use parole and compassionate release,” chanted the demonstrators.

“Stop, stop, stop, the torture,” chanted Talib Akbar through a megaphone.

Akbar, with the statewide faith-based group WISDOM, is one of those people.

“No more funds for solitary confinement,” he said. “No money for torture.”

The message here is clear — and they’re allowed only 30 minutes to deliver it.

“In 30 minutes, you can do a lot — visually, mentally, physically,” said Akbar. “Use parole and compassionate release.”

To this small group, 23 isn’t just another number. For them, it’s symbolic and personal.

“Overall goal was to make people aware people are locked down 23 hours a day,” he said. “We’ve chosen this day to represent these people, to stand up for them.”

Akbar speaks from experience.

“I went in for assault,” he said.

Out of 17 years of incarceration, Akbar estimates three-and-a-half to four of it was spent alone and isolated in a cell.

“I spent 10 stints in solitary confinement — anywhere from 360 days to 60 days. I never would get out of here in less than 30 days,” he said. “They call it the hole. They call it solitary confinement. They call it disciplinary separation. And, overall, is all of the above.”

The sounds inside an actual disciplinary wing of a prison echo.

“The dimensions of the space here is like 10 feet by six,” said Akbar. “They’ll place you this and you have no other clothes on.”

Ten years since his release, Akbar remembers this space well.

“These are the clothes that the prison guards wear,” he said.

“You’ll get soft-bottomed shoes. They would consider this to be a weapon,” Akbar added, pointing to a pair of leather dress shoes.

“You might be able to see the clock from where you are from the outside, but you have no clock in here — the light stays on 24/7,” he explained. “I’ve seen them strap them down, take off all their clothes and just leave him there. Just let them wild out — defecate on themselves right there on the table. That’s wrong.”

The cell is defined by a concrete block bed and 2-inch mattress and blanket, a cold concrete floor and walls.

“It stays cold in here because of the conditions of the brick,” Akbar said. “But this is not the place to punish a person.”

Akbar tells his story of incarceration and efforts to change how people are punished from the foot of a bed inside what is not actually a real prison cell.

“This is an exact replica, pretty much,” he said.

It’s a replica of one he built almost 10 years after his release from Waupun Correctional Institution.

“It’s an educational experience for anyone who hasn’t been in a solitary confinement cell,” said Akbar.

Drawing from memory using a plain piece of paper, he hand-sketched every detail and dimension of a solitary prison cell. Akbar took this drawing to Edgewood College in Madison, where students helped him build it.

“There’s a whole entire list of things right there that can land you in solitary confinement. It could be disobeying an order, disrespect, not obeying an order,” he noted. “The purpose of the exhibit, you know, is to make people aware of solitary confinement, what it’s like.”

Akbar reflected on what the exhibit is meant to convey.

“This is the box, you know what I mean, this is the hole. It is mentally affecting people, not only the person who’s in it, but their family also,” he said.”This is an unwanted place for any human being.”

Akbar urged a halt to the use of this type of space and punishment.

“People who are mentally ill should not be placed in solitary confinement, because that’s a condition that solitary confinement can’t solve,” he said. “There are other soft ways to discipline a person — you can take some of the privileges that they have.”

A man on a mission, Akbar travels Wisconsin and beyond, educating anyone who will listen about the impact of solitary confinement.

“Lean it up against there, see if we can put it forward — no, no, no, no! ” he said during one setup. “We’re moving this part right here.”

On that day at The Crossing campus ministry that sits in the heart of the University of Wisconsin-Madison, Akbar and a few friends piece the cell together like a jigsaw puzzle.

“OK, one, two , three!” he said. “My heart is just in this.”

Akbar emphasized the impact of the cell model.

“People can understand where I’m coming from when they see this project,” he said.

Once erected, the project will sit in place for months to give anyone who walks in off the street a tiny taste of what it’s like to be confined in a space like this.

“Part of it’s like, it’s really peaceful,” said visitor Ayman Kalada, who is torn upon viewing it.

“The other part of it’s like, is it peaceful or is it leaning more towards like torture, you know what I mean? I feel like it can be a mixture of both,” he said. “We’re made to interact with other humans and be around other people, be strong enough to be able to share ideas, and be vulnerable and create things.”

CeCe Babat, a UW-Madison student, plans to work in social services once she graduates.

“That it was a visceral experience being in there. Something that really stuck out to me was just the clothing items on the bed,” said Babat. “You really can just feel, like, the anxiety within the tight space.”

With support from Rev. Michael Burch at The Crossing, Babat advocated for this exhibit to be brought there. She said its presence has her thinking about the future of punishment.

“It definitely makes me think that we need to look into other alternatives,” said Babat. “If we are able to repose our criminal justice system as rehabilitative rather than punitive, that might then open conversations within the communities for just supporting those who are impacted by our criminal justice system and incarceration.”

A spokesperson for the Wisconsin Department of Corrections said most people in state prisons have full privileges for recreation and programming. There is a designation called “disciplinary separation” for conduct violations. The agency said it is not “solitary confinement,” and inmates under the designation have access to visits, recreation, therapy and programming, and their cells have windows.

No matter what this practice is called, Akbar said “solitary confinement is a big deal in prison.”

His efforts don’t stop with the portable cell.

“It’s a moving billboard,” Akbar said.

Near Madison’s south side sits a nearly 30-year-old box truck that he has transformed and repurposed.

“And it had nothing in it,” said Akbar. “But it runs like a Sears sewing machine.”

This old delivery truck now delivers his message and makes his mobile exhibit even more mobile.

“It’s the solitary conditions of confinement cell, or replica cell of solitary confinement, that’s been built in a truck,” Akbar explained.

He described the model.

“Recently, I went to Detroit, which is 433 miles,” he said. “It’s made out of wood, but it’s to emulate what is in the actual cell, which is steel.”

Akbar went into greater detail.

“That camera stays on 24/7 so they can watch you 24/7 and give you directions from the intercom,” he said, pointing to one corner of the model. “People see that door, and most solitary confinement cell doors are red, and it grabs their attention.”

Getting people’s attention is key to the project

“We’ve had dignitaries come in here just to spend a couple of hours,” said Akbar.

As is changing the future of punishment.

“They can’t do it, and then they write about it,” he said about those visits.

That’s the goal of showcasing this roaming prison cell.

“It’s a battle that’s going to take a long time,” said Akbar. “Stop, stop, stop the torture.”

Akbar acknowledged this campaign will be long.

“I’m committed to this. It’s my lifelong journey, he said.” “It’s like building a cathedral one brick at a time.”