Breaking Women: Gender, Race, and the New Politics of Imprisonment

Conclusion: What If the Cure Is Worse Than the Disease?

>> 213 Conclusion What If the Cure Is Worse Than the Disease? The new penology is neither about punishing nor about rehabilitating individuals. It is about identifying and managing unruly groups. —Malcolm Feeley and Jonathan Simon, “The New Penology” I ain’t no princess, not a superstar, not going to make it big, you know? I’m an addict, nothing changes that. —PWH graduate, on why she relapsed following her release from prison When I returned to East State Women’s Correctional Institution two years after the conclusion of my original study, I was greeted at the front gate by Lil’ Toya, a prisoner who was still there serving time on her conviction for possession of crack cocaine. “Welcome to hell,” she said. Then, rolling her eyes and nodding in the direction of a security camera lodged in the corner of the ceiling, she commented, “You in prison now, Jill. They made it for real since you been gone.” The prison was a different place than when it had opened its doors in 1992. Some of the changes to the physical appearance of the facility had been implemented during the latter half of my fieldwork. Others, like security modifications to the housing unit designated for “dangerous” prisoners and the installation of additional layers of razor wire along perimeter fencing, were new. Deputy Warden Pearson had retired and Warden Richardson was promoted to a prestigious position within the Department of Correction. His replacement was a former deputy warden from the second-largest men’s prison in the state. When the new warden introduced himself to me, he observed, “[East State Prison] has really come up. In the past it might have been thought of as a bad career move to be warden of a woman’s prison, now it’s a way into a leadership position with the DOC.” 214 > 215 Correction’s lexicon, nor was the term used in men’s prisons throughout the state. This was directly imported from PHW, as were terms like “queening,” “pull-up,” and “stern concern.” In fact, PHW’s, and by extension, the Company ’s, leverage within the prison was considerable. By the time of the followup study, two Company employees were regulars at the warden’s accountability meetings and had a vote on policies that affected not just PHW but prison policy more generally. PHW was in charge of 25% of the prisoner population and had ambitions to “habilitate” many more. Cross-training sessions run by the Company were part of the training all incoming correctional officers received. Among other things, new officers learned that up to 90% of women prisoners had drug problems serious enough to warrant placement in PHW’s program and that their crimes were a function of “disordered selves.” All of this had ramifications for the prison’s control structure. In the era of rehabilitative paternalism, a prisoner who engaged in a rule violation might find herself having a heart-to-heart talk with the warden or his deputy regarding what caused her misbehavior. Depending on what the staff member felt she “needed,” the prisoner may have been sent to Bible study, to a private session with a counselor, or to the nurse’s office for medication. Alternatively, her offense may have been overlooked entirely. In the wake of “get tough,” this kind informality and discretion diminished considerably. However, correctional officers did not merely file a disciplinary report on a prisoner accused of a rule violation. They “pulled her up” in order to express their “stern concern .” In other words, they engaged in a similar set of confrontation and humiliation tactics that PHW counselors used during encounter groups. On my first day back in the prison, I watched a male and a female correctional officer huddle over a prisoner whose back was literally pressed against the wall of the main hallway. Their faces were inches from hers as they loudly admonished her for leaving her cell block without permission. As I walked by I overheard the female CO say to the prisoner, “That was a real dopefiend move.” It was a phase I’d heard hundreds of times before within PHW. However, an interaction like this, in the prison’s main hallway, would have been unthinkable just five years earlier.2 Indeed, it was the use of derogatory names like “dope fiend” and “crack ho” that had fomented much of the prison staff’s initial ire toward PHW. I later remarked on this to the new warden and he responded...