Model Prisons, an “unmitigated disaster”?

Grégory Salle. It is true that this term is used in many ways – this being said, without having read Thomas Bouchet’s “Utopie”. In this case, the word “utopia” seemed to be the right word to use for several reasons.

The first thing that came to mind was the possibility of highlighting a contrasting effect. Even if the pejorative connotation of the word is firmly embedded (it is even the one stressed in the dictionary, in contrast to realism), it points, nevertheless, to a desirable outcome, the total opposite of prison, which is a synonym for decay and deadlock. Without being a perfect oxymoron, the expression “prison utopia” combines two seemingly opposing words, which may lead to some confusion, but which, by their nature, catch our attention.

This superficial reason also comes with a profound one. Historically, combining two terms is not as rare as it seems. Up until the middle of the XIXth century, the prison was not only endowed with utopia, but it actually embodied it. This is well-documented in historical writings.

What I mean by that is, in the minds of philanthropists, prisons were designed to be sites of “reform” in the sense meant at that time, to change the supposedly perverted ways of criminals and, more generally, the poor.

This meant making them into upstanding workers who conformed to industrial-bourgeoisie norms. Moreover, it made it easier to deal with the two opposing facets of utopia in terms of “model prisons”: that of dystopia and heterotopia.

In retrospect, I think the term “utopia” could have been better defined. I think the introduction contains a good description of the subject, especially around the definition proposed by Norbert Elias, “entre illusion et réalité, entre souhait et analyse” (between illusion and reality, between hope and analysis).

GS. We can say that they boil down to one: the idea that the reality of “model prisons”, the way they operate, is not in keeping with, or even violently contradicts their stated mission, their project “on paper”. To demonstrate this is anything but arduous: it is difficult to find even one example of a prison of which we can say, after several years of operation, that it achieved its initial goals –unless it was meant to destroy lives, in which case it would, unfortunately, be considered a success. This is the gap, or rather the gulf, between standards and practices, between claims and realities. A current interpretation sees the history of model prisons as one long series of failures, an unmitigated disaster. A disaster that is unfolding here and elsewhere, as described in the book, in France, but also in China, India, Spain…

As tempting as it is, this interpretation seems to be incorrect or at least to not go far enough. This is the basis of the book’s argument. Without inventing anything, I was only following the reversed argument to that in “Surveiller et punir”, where Michel Foucault invited us to see success in what is seen at first light as dismal failure. This success is that of the pivotal role played by the prison in what he called differential management (or differential control) of illegalities. Contrary to popular belief, Foucault does not support the notion that prisons ultimately “cause” delinquency (according to the worn-out notion of prisons being schools of crime and recidivism, such as he draws from his sources), but create society’s understanding of what constitutes delinquency.

Prisons serve to separate and stigmatise only certain wrongdoings (and these are then associated with an imagined underworld studied by Dominique Kalifa[^khal]). At the same time, they exonerate other unsavoury practices, particularly those committed by the dominant classes.

They still effectively play this role today, through some adaptations. Along the same lines, and using the same reversal, we can view the model prison through a lens of success: in their proven capacity to prevent mass revolts, for example. Or even in its contribution to overshadowing the essential issue, what in sociology we call the social construction of crime: whether an act is criminal or not is determined by social processes.

[^khal] : Dominique Kalifa, Les bas-fonds. Histoire d’un imaginaire, Seuil Editions, 2013.

GS. It all depends on what is meant by that. If the construct suggests that in the end, we will see a “veritable” model prison, that is, a lock-up facility that is finally faithful to the noble promise that anything beyond temporary neutralisation could be achieved, (such as is spoken of in the area of reintegration, de la resocialisation, rehabilitation, etc.), I am more than sceptical.

It is primarily in the social realm that prisons are more and more problematic, with extremely unequal social relations, from school to work, to dealing with the legal and justice system.

In this sense, we will not have “good prisons” tomorrow, or ever. To pretend that we can create “prison-schools” while we mistreat, or even sabotage the school system: well, one can see the problem. On the other hand, if we mean that model-prisons are not perfectly monolithic and condemned to their constant repetition, despite more or less stable logics that incarceration adapts ─even if only marginally─ to the societies in which they are established, leaving open the possibility that partially new methods of incarceration could be developed, particularly under the effect of sophisticated technology (“passive security”, using prison jargon), then, why not.

The global picture depicted in the book shows that, despite recurring issues, there is no lack of ingenuity, especially architectural. So, perhaps we are still in for some surprises. But to tell the truth, I truly fear it will not be good news.