Abstract
Prison violence is often managed through staff-led strategies, yet little research examines incarcerated people's role in prevention. This study explores peer-driven violence interruption in a high-security prison after a major disturbance. Drawing on interviews with 24 incarcerated men and ethnographic observation, findings highlight four themes: creation of an alternative unit, continuous “temperature checks,” credibility-based intervention, and structural constraints such as lockdowns and staff mistrust. Violence interruption emerged as a staged, situational process requiring judgment about engagement and withdrawal. The research underscores incarcerated persons as active agents in co-producing safety, and offers implications for correctional policy and peer-led prevention.
Introduction
Violence remains a persistent and destabilizing feature of prison life, shaping institutional order, health outcomes, and perceptions of legitimacy among both staff and incarcerated people. Decades of research have shown that prison violence is not the product of individual pathology alone, but develops from the interaction of organizational conditions, social relationships, and situational pressures (Crewe, 2024; Toch & Kupers, 2007). In response, correctional systems have relied heavily on institutional and staff-driven strategies—segregation, use of force, disciplinary sanctions, and formal programs—to manage risk and restore control. As a result, systematic reviews consistently conclude that the empirical evidence supporting in-prison violence-prevention interventions remains limited, fragmented, and largely oriented toward top-down approaches (Day et al., 2022).
What remains comparatively under-examined is how violence is actively interrupted inside prisons by incarcerated people themselves. Ethnographic and sociological studies have long documented the role of informal inmate governance, peer influence, and everyday negotiation in maintaining order (Irwin, 1980; Toch, 2017). However, this literature has focused primarily on explaining why violence occurs or how it is normalized, rather than on the micro-processes through which developing conflicts are de-escalated before they become assaults, stabbings, or collective disturbances. As a result, incarcerated individuals who routinely step into volatile situations to calm disputes, mediate conflicts, and prevent escalation remain largely invisible in criminological theory and empirical research.
Parallel research literature on violence interruption outside prison walls offers a useful starting point to explore this topic. Here, community-based models such as CeaseFire emphasize conflict mediation, credibility, and the strategic deployment of individuals with lived experience of violence to interrupt retaliatory cycles (Whitehill et al., 2014). CeaseFire (now commonly referred to as Cure Violence) is a community-based violence interruption model that employs “credible messengers”—individuals with lived experience of violence—to mediate conflicts, prevent retaliation, and disrupt cycles of interpersonal harm. These approaches challenge a simplistic dichotomy between criminal justice and public health by highlighting that interruption, mediation, and prevention have long been part of criminal justice practice—albeit unevenly recognized or evaluated (Day et al., 2022). Inside prisons, where incarcerated individuals live in constant proximity and possess intimate knowledge of local dynamics, the potential for peer-led interruption may be especially pronounced. Yet, little empirical work has examined how such roles operate under conditions of surveillance, stigma, and the ever-present risk of being labeled a “snitch.”
This article addresses that gap by examining incarcerated violence interrupters as a form of embedded inmate governance. Drawing on in-depth interviews with 24 men housed in a post-riot leadership unit at the Lee Correctional Institution located in South Carolina, along with ethnographic field notes from de-escalation episodes, the study explores how these men understand their role, what they actually do when conflicts arise, and how they navigate the risks of intervention. Rather than treating violence interruption as a formal program outcome, the analysis focuses on practice: reading “the temperature” of a dorm, approaching high-status actors, reframing conflicts, and deciding when intervention is possible—or when it is not.
By foregrounding incarcerated violence interrupters, this investigation contributes to criminological debates about prison violence, informal control, and institutional legitimacy. It argues that interruption inside prison is neither accidental nor heroic, but a patterned, risky, and relational form of work that operates in the shadows of formal authority. Understanding these practices not only deepens theoretical accounts of prison order but also raises important questions about how correctional systems might recognize, support, or inadvertently undermine the very actors who are already doing the work of preventing violence.
Literature Review
Prison Violence, Safety, and Institutional Interventions
Prison violence remains a persistent and consequential feature of carceral life, with implications for physical safety, mental health, institutional legitimacy, and long-term outcomes for incarcerated people and staff alike. Classic and contemporary scholarship has demonstrated that violence in prison is rarely the product of individual pathology alone; instead, it emerges from the interaction of organizational conditions, situational pressures, group dynamics, and informal systems of governance (Bowker, 1983; Byrne & Hummer, 2007; Toch & Kupers, 2007). Further, research on prison climate illustrates that safety is not simply the absence of victimization, but a relational and contingent state shaped by trust in staff, predictability of rules, legitimacy of authority, and the everyday social practices through which order is maintained (Liebling, 2004; Liebling & Arnold, 2004).
Empirical work has increasingly emphasized that incarcerated people themselves play a central, if often unacknowledged, role in shaping safety and order. Informal leadership, peer regulation, and inmate-driven norms have long been recognized as powerful forces in everyday prison life (Irwin, 1980; Toch, 2017). Even formal legal and policy interventions implicitly rely on incarcerated people's participation. For example, implementation of the Prison Rape Elimination Act routinely incorporates incarcerated peer educators to provide orientation, prevention education, and informal monitoring related to sexual safety and institutional culture (Smith & Ferdik, 2025). Similarly, suicide prevention practices in many jurisdictions explicitly authorize trained incarcerated people to serve as companions or peer observers for individuals on suicide watch, providing supervision, emotional support, and early warning of acute risk in accordance with American Correctional Association standards (American Correctional Association, 2018). These practices reflect institutional recognition—however partial—that incarcerated people may be uniquely positioned to observe, interpret, and respond to impending risks.
Despite this recognition, rigorous evaluation of violence-prevention interventions inside prisons remains limited. In their scoping review of experimental and quasi-experimental studies, Day et al. (2022) identified only 18 evaluations worldwide and concluded that the evidence base is “limited and fragmented” (p. 7), with most interventions targeting individual-level behavior or staff-designed security measures rather than social or organizational dynamics. Notably, Day and colleagues observe that models emphasizing mediation, norm change, and relational engagement—common in community-based violence prevention—are rarely implemented or evaluated in custodial settings. This gap is striking given that incarcerated persons, by definition, share space continuously, possess insider knowledge of institutional culture, and are often the first to detect shifts in tension, grievance, or risk.
Peer Support, Credible Messengers, and the “Wounded Healer”
Research on peer support and credible messengers in criminal justice shows that individuals with lived experience of violence, marginalization, and system involvement can serve as influential helpers across community and institutional settings, a finding supported by work on credible messenger models and relationship-based supervision (Skeem & Manchak, 2008). Prison-based peer programs, including listener schemes, peer health educators, and peer-led support groups, have been associated with reduced distress, improved access to services, and the creation of localized zones of trust within otherwise coercive environments (Dhaliwal & Harrower, 2009; Nixon, 2023). These initiatives are typically framed as supplements to formal services, offering emotional support and translation of institutional processes rather than direct intervention in violence.
The concept of the “wounded healer” provides a theoretical lens for understanding why such roles may be effective. Originally developed in psychology and social work, the wounded healer refers to individuals whose own experiences of trauma, harm, or isolation become a source of credibility, empathy, and moral authority when assisting others (Heidemann et al., 2016; Herman, 1992). In correctional contexts, helping roles can allow incarcerated people to rework stigmatized identities into prosocial ones, reinforcing leadership, responsibility, and emerging desistance narratives (Cesaroni et al., 2023; Maruna, 2001). Healing, in this sense, is relational rather than clinical: it unfolds through shared experience, mutual recognition, and practical support rather than formal treatment.
Concomitant research on prison masculinities complicates this picture. High-security men's prisons are often structured around norms of toughness, emotional suppression, and strategic distance, making overt care work risky or suspect (Butler, 2008). Yet, recent studies show that incarcerated men routinely engage in conditional and situational forms of care—checking on cellmates, sharing resources, and intervening quietly in disputes—especially when such practices can be framed as leadership, mentorship, or moral responsibility rather than vulnerability (Cesaroni et al., 2023; Nixon, 2023). Moreover, men are significantly less likely than women to seek formal mental-health services in custody, increasing the importance of peer-based avenues for support and early intervention (Kupers, 2005).
Outside of prison settings, community-based violence interruption and credible messenger models draw on similar dynamics, relying on individuals with histories of violence or gang involvement to mediate conflicts, discourage retaliation, and model alternative norms (Whitehill et al., 2014). Although these approaches are often framed as a public-health alternative to criminal justice, criminological research demonstrates that justice systems have long employed relational, preventive, and therapeutic strategies alongside punitive ones (Toch & Kupers, 2007). What continues to be underexplored is how analogous practices operate when they are led by incarcerated people themselves and embedded within the prison's everyday social ecology.
Gaps and the Present Study
The existing literature suggests that incarcerated people possess a significant but under-examined capacity to function as peer supporters, informal mediators, and frontline safety actors. However, most empirical research focuses on tightly bounded programs, staff-designed interventions, or post-release outcomes. There is little qualitative work examining organized, prisoner-led practices that move across multiple housing units, engage directly with volatile populations, and aim explicitly to prevent harm in real time—particularly in high-security prisons and post-disturbance environments.
The present study addresses this gap by examining incarcerated men's participation in violence interruption work inside a Southern maximum-security prison following a major riot. Rather than evaluating program outcomes, the investigation adopts an exploratory, practice-centered approach, focusing on how incarcerated violence interrupters understand their role, what they do in moments of impending risk, and how they navigate credibility, masculinity, and institutional constraint. In doing so, the study contributes to criminological debates on prison violence, peer governance, and institutional safety by foregrounding incarcerated people not only as subjects of control, but as active participants in producing—or interrupting—harm within contemporary prisons.
Method
This study employs a qualitative design, combining semi-structured interviews and sustained ethnographic observation to examine prisoner-led violence interruption practices within a high-security prison. The analytic focus is on everyday practices—how incarcerated men recognize escalating conflict, intervene, and negotiate credibility, risk, and institutional constraint—rather than on formal program outcomes. This approach is consistent with qualitative criminological research emphasizing informal governance, relational order, and the situational production of safety in prisons (Crewe, 2014; Liebling, 2004; Toch & Kupers, 2007).
The research was conducted at Lee Correctional Institution, a Southern maximum-security prison that experienced a large-scale riot in 2018. Given the scale and public visibility of the 2018 riot, complete institutional anonymization was not feasible; the facility is therefore identified to preserve contextual accuracy. In the aftermath of the disturbance, prison administrators created a special post-riot housing unit intended to stabilize the institution by concentrating men viewed by staff and peers as informal leaders, conflict mediators, or “right guys.” In prison sociology, “right guys” refers to individuals who possess credibility, influence, and informal authority within inmate social hierarchies—often because of their institutional experience, demeanor, or demonstrated capacity to manage conflict rather than escalate it (Irwin, 1980; Sykes, 1958; Toch, 2017).
Placement in the special unit was selective and relational rather than purely programmatic. Many residents were long-term incarcerated men, including individuals serving decades-long or life sentences, with extensive experience across multiple facilities. Consistent with prior research on prison leadership and violence (Bowker, 1983; Byrne & Hummer, 2007; Toch & Kupers, 2007), these men were recognized as high-status prisoners capable of influencing others’ behavior. Markedly, several participants reported that they had never previously participated in formal rehabilitative programming, and their engagement in violence interruption emerged primarily in response to the extreme exposure of the riot and the continuation of daily violence in its aftermath. Motivation was described less in therapeutic terms than as a pragmatic effort to prevent further loss of life and institutional collapse.
Participants and Sampling
The sample consisted of 24 incarcerated men residing in the facility's special unit at the time of data collection. Participants ranged in age from their mid-20s to early 60s (approximately 25–61 years), with a median age in the late 30s. Nearly all identified as African American/Black, with one participant identifying as White, reflecting the broader demographic composition of long-term, high-security custody in the region. All were incarcerated for violent index offenses, including murder, attempted murder, armed robbery, aggravated assault, and kidnapping, and most also carried additional non-violent convictions such as burglary or drug-related offenses. Participants’ lengths of incarceration ranged from roughly 3 to nearly 40 years (mean = 14.7 years), indicating substantial and sustained exposure to carceral environments. Most were serving life or de facto life sentences, while the remainder had projected release dates extending from the late 2020s through the mid-2050s. All were housed in medium or close custody, and many were listed on the state's victim/witness notification registry, underscoring both the severity of their offenses and their heightened public safety profile.
Sampling was purposive, guided by established research demonstrating that informal leadership, peer status, and cultural credibility are central to the production of order and violence in prisons. Participants were selected because they were widely recognized by staff, peers, or both as individuals who intervened in conflicts, discouraged violence, or exercised influence over others. This approach aligns with prior research that treats inmate culture and peer authority as analytically central rather than peripheral (Bowker, 1983; Byrne & Hummer, 2007).
Data Collection
Semi-structured interviews were conducted between 2022 and 2024. Interviews lasted between 60 and 150 min, were audio-recorded with consent, and transcribed verbatim. The interview guide focused on respondents’ institutional histories, informal leadership roles, experiences of prison violence before and after the riot, every day practices of violence interruption, and perceptions of legitimacy, risk, and responsibility associated with intervening in others’ conflicts. Emphasis was placed on concrete practices—what participants did, how they recognized escalation, whom they approached, and how they decided whether and when to intervene—rather than abstract beliefs or self-assessments.
Interview data were supplemented by sustained ethnographic observation over approximately 18 months. The researcher observed daily life in the special unit, attended preparatory meetings, accompanied participants during sanctioned movement through housing units, and documented informal interactions related to conflict mediation and violence prevention. Field notes captured spatial dynamics, nonverbal cues, interactional patterns, and moments of tension or de-escalation that were not always articulated in interviews.
Analytic Approach
Data were analyzed using thematic analysis informed by interpretive phenomenological principles, with attention to meaning-making and practice rather than trauma phenomenology or program evaluation. The analytic process followed established qualitative procedures of iterative coding, constant comparison, and analytic memoing (Braun & Clarke, 2006; Smith et al., 2009). As a methodological step, all transcripts and field notes were imported into NVivo qualitative analysis software to support systematic coding, data organization, and the development of thematic relationships (Richards, 2009). Coding proceeded in multiple cycles to identify recurring patterns related to recognition of imminent violence, intervention strategies, credibility and status, moral reasoning, risk management, and institutional constraint. Analytic saturation was assessed throughout this process, and no substantively new themes emerged in the final rounds of coding, indicating that core patterns were well developed and conceptually stable.
Rather than treating violence interruption as a discrete program, the analysis conceptualizes it as a set of relational practices embedded in everyday prison life, shaped by institutional structure, inmate culture, and situational demands. This practice-oriented analytic frame is consistent with prior work on prison violence that emphasizes careers, trajectories, and interactional dynamics over isolated incidents (Toch & Kupers, 2007).
The researcher maintained a reflexive journal throughout the study to document positionality, access, and interpretive decisions (Malterud, 2001). The research was reviewed and approved by the University of South Carolina Institutional Review Board and by the South Carolina Department of Corrections Research and Evaluation Unit. Participation was voluntary, pseudonyms were used, and interviews were conducted in private settings. Given the risks associated with discussing violence and informal authority, care was taken to avoid identifying specific incidents or individuals that could expose participants to retaliation.
Findings
Analysis of interviews and field observations identified four interrelated themes describing how incarcerated men at Lee Correctional Institution functioned as violence interrupters in a high-risk carceral environment: (1) violence as normalized context and the emergence of interrupters as “thinkers”; (2) reading and managing the “temperature” of housing units; (3) credibility, masculinity, and the wounded-healer role; and (4) constraints, risk, and institutional limits on interruption. Across themes, violence interruption appeared not as a formalized programmatic task but as continuous, relational labor embedded in everyday prison life.
Theme 1: Violence as the Baseline: “This is the Trenches”
Participants consistently described Lee as an institution where violence was routine rather than exceptional. Men referred to the prison as “the trenches,” emphasizing that stabbings, fights, and threats were part of everyday survival well before the 2018 riot. Terrence explained that when he first arrived at Lee, his immediate mindset was defensive: “Soon as I got there, my first instinct was, now I need a knife, I need this, I need that.” For him and others, preparedness for violence was not aggression but survival.
Jeremiah described the banality of brutality through a vivid example: “It was a stabbing and a riot over 50 cents… one dude had his guts hanging out.” Such incidents were narrated without surprise, underscoring how normalized extreme harm had become. Monty similarly recalled that violence was often triggered by “stupid stuff”—small debts, drugs, gambling—but carried disproportionate consequences. In this context, violence served as a means to assert masculinity, deter victimization, and maintain standing within gangs or informal hierarchies.
Against this backdrop, participants drew a sharp distinction between “reactors” and “thinkers.” As a recurring theme, men emphasized that they were fully capable of engaging in violence when necessary, citing physical strength, access to improvised weapons, and longstanding gang affiliations as sources of confidence in one-on-one or small-scale confrontations. Yet, they also recognized the limits of these tools in situations of group or mass violence, where individual prowess mattered far less than the ability to read a crowd, anticipate shifts in collective behavior, and manage rapidly escalating tensions. In this context, they praised the qualities associated with being a “thinker” or possessing “prison skills”—a form of strategic, situational intelligence distinct from “street thinking”—as essential for predicting, de-escalating, or avoiding violence when possible.
Lester explained that a series of poor classification decisions had transferred several senior, high-ranking gang leaders out of Lee, removing individuals who typically exercised influence and restraint. In their absence, he said, violent incidents escalated, ultimately contributing to the riot because “the thinkers wasn’t around—just the reactors.” Violence interrupters positioned themselves explicitly as thinkers: individuals who could slow situations down, anticipate consequences, and intervene before impulsive action took over. This distinction was central to how they understood their role and legitimacy inside the prison.
Theme 2: “Feeling the Temperature”: Situational Awareness and Early Intervention
A defining feature of violence interruption was what participants repeatedly described as “feeling the temperature” of a dorm. This involved rapid, embodied assessments of social and physical cues that signaled escalating risk. Keith explained, “You can feel when something's about to happen. The dorm get quiet. Guys start putting on jackets even during warmer weather. People stand with their backs to the wall. Groups happening in the corners of the dorms.” These cues—silence, clustering, changes in movement, stiff body language, altered eye contact—were immediately recognizable to men with long institutional experience.
Julius elaborated on this sensory expertise: “You walk in and you already know if it's hot. You see how they standing, how they looking. You see who ain’t talking, that usually talk.” Men emphasized that silence signaled danger, whereas the normal hum of talking and social noise indicated that a dorm was stable and safe. Violence interrupters described scanning for men taping books around their torsos as makeshift body armor or wearing jackets indoors to conceal weapons—alongside other warning signs such as sudden quiet, clustering in corners, men physically readying themselves, or ducking in and out of cells to retrieve additional weapons—all of which signaled that an assault was imminent.
Intervention strategies varied depending on how far a situation had progressed. When conflict was still verbal or symbolic, interrupters attempted direct mediation. Antwan described stepping in when he saw older men being extorted: “That's when I’ll say something, like nah, that ain’t right.” In more volatile moments, interrupters focused on removal and cooling off. Willis explained that he had “stopped a few situations” by physically pulling someone away and talking privately before others could join in. Participants emphasized that timing was critical. If weapons were already drawn or the situation had already turned physical, intervention became far riskier, because once these shifts occurred, the escalation toward violence was rapid, and group involvement meant that tensions could intensify very quickly.
Theme 3: Credibility, Masculinity, and the Wounded-Healer Role
Violence interruption depended fundamentally on credibility. Participants stressed that only men with established reputations—often tied to past violence, gang involvement, or long sentences—could safely intervene. Tyree warned that men who tried to interrupt without credibility put themselves in danger: “If you pretending, they don’t know you, they’re going to hit you. They’re going to stab you.” Alongside this emphasis on legitimacy, the respondents expressed deep contempt for what they called “imposter” interrupters—individuals who adopted the language of intervention but lacked the history, respect, or embodied knowledge required to do the work. These men were viewed as exploiting the genuine goodwill and expertise of credible interrupters for personal gain, thereby corrupting the process and jeopardizing the very goals of violence interruption. Their presence, participants argued, not only undermined trust but also heightened the risk of harm by inserting unqualified actors into volatile situations.
Credibility allowed interrupters to engage directly with gang leadership when necessary. Several men described approaching high-ranking members to de-escalate conflicts. Russell explained that he could enter these conversations assertively: “I’m going down there aggressive to make sure my homie is straight. And we don’t have another 2018 [riot].” This approach relied on shared histories and mutual recognition rather than institutional authority.
Many participants framed their role through what can be understood as a wounded healer identity. Israel, who worked in hospice and provided medical assistance as well as took part in the post-mortem handling of victims during the riot, described how those experiences motivated him to intervene later: “I seen what happens when nobody step in.” Rodney linked his interruption work to a promise he made to his daughter after recognizing the harm his violence had caused his family: “I promised myself I wouldn’t hurt nobody.”
Helping others was also described as personally transformative. Several men said that violence interruption gave meaning to long sentences and allowed them to model alternative masculinities grounded in restraint and responsibility. As Antwan put it, “If I can stop it in here, maybe I can stop it out there.”
Theme 4: Constraints, Risk, and Institutional Barriers
Despite a strong commitment to violence interruption, participants described substantial structural, cultural, and organizational barriers that constrained their effectiveness and exposed them to personal risk. A central tension involved the prison code against “snitching.” Interrupters frequently needed staff assistance to access housing units or move between dorms; yet they could not disclose specific details without jeopardizing their standing and safety among peers. At the same time, staff often requested concrete information to justify access or to demonstrate the program's value and their own effectiveness in managing the incarcerated population. Julius captured this dilemma succinctly: “Don’t ask me what's going on, because I’m not telling you. I just need to go.” Leland echoed this constraint, explaining, “The minute you start giving names, you can’t do this work no more. You lose everybody.” When access was denied, the men reported that conflicts sometimes escalated unchecked, producing frustration and resentment among interrupters who believed violence might have been prevented. As Gerard put it, “You know it's coming, and you just got to sit there and wait for it to happen.”
Respondents also expressed frustration with inconsistent institutional support. Chronic understaffing and frequent lockdowns sharply limited movement and made sustained interruption difficult. These restrictions often confined interrupters to their own cells or units for unpredictable and extended periods, disrupting continuity and undermining credibility with the broader population. Lockdowns were also described as intensifying anger and volatility across the prison. Brian noted, “Every lockdown just makes people hotter. You lock them in with nothing, and then you expect peace.” Several men described being authorized to intervene only after violence had already occurred, which they felt undermined the preventive logic of their role. As Russell explained, “By the time they call us, it's already over. Somebody already hurt.”
Structural and physical conditions within the housing units further complicated interruption efforts. Michael emphasized that “dungeon-like” environments—characterized by mold, broken showers, dark paint, poor ventilation, and extreme heat—actively fueled aggression and despair. He argued that improving physical conditions was itself a form of violence prevention: “If you treat a person like an animal, they’re going to act like an animal.” Other participants reinforced this point, describing how oppressive physical settings communicated neglect and disposability. Lester observed, “You go in those dorms and everything is broke, everything is dirty. That alone makes people feel like nobody care.” For participants, administrative attention to the physical plant—cleanliness, light, functioning showers, basic amenities—was viewed as a concrete signal of humanity, wellness, and institutional respect, and therefore as a foundational step toward reducing violence.
Finally, participants reported resentment and skepticism from both peers and staff. Some incarcerated men joined the special unit primarily for improved living conditions without committing to interruption work, which participants felt diluted credibility and strained internal accountability. As Jeremiah noted, “Everybody not here to do the work. Some just want the room.” Others described administrators who were openly ambivalent or opposed to the program, viewing increased movement and improved living conditions as undeserved rewards following a riot rather than as tools for stabilization. This tension reinforced the precarious position of violence interrupters—highly visible and informally held responsible for outcomes, yet lacking formal authority or consistent backing.
These perceptions were reinforced by a mixed-methods effort by the research team to assess staff understanding of the violence-interruption role. Despite repeated recruitment attempts, response rates were insufficient to protect staff anonymity or allow systematic analysis. However, informal conversations suggested confusion about the special unit's goals, reservations about expanded prisoner mobility, and concerns that improved living conditions symbolically rewarded misconduct rather than accountability. Darrel summarized this disconnect plainly: “They want us to stop the violence, but they don’t really trust how we do it.”
These constraints highlight the fragile institutional position of prisoner-led violence interruption. Participants described being visible enough to absorb blame when violence occurred, yet lacking the authority, resources, or consistent institutional alignment necessary to operate preventively. As Jeremiah reflected, “We trying to keep people alive, but at the end of the day, we still just inmates.”
Summary of Findings
Across themes, violence interruption at Lee emerged as continuous, relational labor grounded in experiential knowledge, credibility, and situational awareness. Interrupters functioned as informal governance actors who read dorm dynamics, mediated disputes, and attempted to prevent escalation in an environment where staff capacity was limited. Their work was effective precisely because it was embedded in prisoner culture—but that same embeddedness exposed them to risk, suspicion, and institutional constraint.
Discussion
This study contributes to the research on prison violence by shifting analytic attention from formal control mechanisms and staff-driven interventions to the everyday, prisoner-led practices through which violence is anticipated, mediated, and sometimes prevented. While criminological inquiry has long emphasized organizational breakdowns, deprivation, and social order as drivers of prison violence (Bowker, 1983; Byrne & Hummer, 2007; Toch & Kupers, 2007), comparatively little attention has been paid to how incarcerated people themselves actively work to interrupt violence under conditions of chronic risk. The findings presented here demonstrate that violence interruption inside prison is not an episodic or program-bound activity, but an ongoing form of relational labor embedded in prisoner culture, informal governance, and lived experience.
Consistent with classic accounts of prison social organization, violence at Lee Correctional Institution was described as normalized rather than exceptional, resulting from everyday interactions, resource scarcity, and status dynamics rather than from isolated “bad actors” (Irwin, 1980; Toch & Kupers, 2007). What this study adds is a detailed account of how certain incarcerated men—often described by peers as “right guys,” informal leaders, or “thinkers”—position themselves as buffers within this environment. Their work was not oriented toward enforcing rules or imposing discipline, but toward slowing escalation, redirecting emotion, and creating space for reflection before violence became irreversible. This finding complicates dominant portrayals of prisoner culture as uniformly criminogenic and instead aligns with ethnographic work documenting informal order maintenance, moral reasoning, and peer governance among incarcerated populations (Crewe, 2024; Liebling, 2004).
The findings also extend existing research on prison violence prevention, which remains limited in scope and heavily skewed toward staff-designed, individual-level interventions. As mentioned, Day et al.’s (2022) scoping review identified only 18 evaluated prison violence prevention initiatives worldwide, most of which focused on behavioral programs, situational controls, or clinical treatment. Few addressed social dynamics, and even fewer examined interventions led by incarcerated people themselves. The present study helps fill this gap by demonstrating that prisoner-led violence interruption is already occurring in high-security settings, albeit informally and without systematic recognition or evaluation. These practices were not imported wholesale from community models or public health frameworks, but appeared organically from prison conditions, histories of violence, and the credibility structures of inmate society.
Credibility was central to violence interruption. Participants consistently emphasized that intervention was only possible because they were known entities—men with long sentences, histories of violence, or prior gang involvement who could speak directly to others without being dismissed as naïve or weak. This aligns with research on credible messengers and wounded healers, which shows that individuals with lived experience of harm are often uniquely positioned to intervene because they command respect and trust that formal authorities lack (Maruna, 2001; Nixon, 2023). However, unlike community-based credible messenger models, credibility in prison was tightly constrained by the politics of visibility, suspicion of “snitching,” and the absence of formal authority. Interrupters operated in a narrow space between influence and vulnerability, where missteps could result in retaliation or loss of standing.
The findings further highlight the importance of situational awareness as a core violence interruption skill. Participants described highly refined capacities to “feel the temperature” of a housing unit by reading physical, social, and environmental cues—body positioning, clustering patterns, clothing choices, eye contact, and changes in noise or movement. These observations echo Toch and Kupers’ (2007) emphasis on the situational nature of prison violence and support arguments that violence prevention must attend to micro-dynamics rather than relying solely on macro-level controls. In this sense, incarcerated interrupters functioned as real-time sensors of institutional risk, detecting early warning signs that are often invisible to staff constrained by limited presence and high caseloads.
Despite these potentially beneficial outcomes, the findings also highlight the limits of prisoner-led violence interruption. Participants were acutely aware that not all violence could be stopped and that timing mattered. Once key gang leaders had made decisive moves, alliances shifted, or a situation crossed a recognizable tipping point of escalation, intervention became dangerous or impossible. Moreover, institutional constraints—chronic understaffing, lockdowns, inconsistent access to housing units, and administrative mistrust—often undermined preventive efforts. These findings resonate with scholarship on institutional legitimacy and procedural justice, which shows that when incarcerated people perceive authorities as inconsistent or unresponsive, informal governance fills the gap but remains fragile (Liebling, 2004; Tyler, 1990).
This study points toward the value of a more nuanced theoretical framework for understanding violence interruption in prison. It suggests a staged model of interruption grounded in empirical observation, beginning with (1) ambient monitoring, in which interrupters continuously read social and environmental cues; (2) early engagement, involving informal check-ins and conversational de-escalation; (3) targeted mediation, when interrupters intervene directly with individuals or groups at risk; (4) containment or withdrawal, when a situation has advanced beyond safe intervention; and (5) post-incident sense making, where interrupters interpret events, reinforce norms, and work to prevent retaliation.
Across these stages, the capacity of credible messengers—particularly incarcerated men with the reputational authority and experiential knowledge to de-escalate volatile situations—remains central, aligning with theoretical work on the social processes that underpin credible messenger effectiveness (Brotherton, 2025). While analogous to community-based violence interruption frameworks such as CeaseFire, this model reflects the distinct constraints of carceral environments, including restricted movement, the politics of credibility, and the risks associated with perceived collaboration with staff. Conceptualizing violence interruption as a staged, situational process rather than a singular act provides a foundation for future empirical testing and the development of prison-specific intervention strategies.
From a policy perspective, this work challenges the common tendency to frame violence interruption as a simple dichotomy between public health and criminal justice approaches. While public health models emphasize prevention and norm change, criminal justice institutions have long engaged in their own forms of violence interruption through informal mechanisms such as prisoner leadership, peer mediation, and restorative or mediation-based practices facilitated by incarcerated people themselves (Millana et al., 2020). Recognizing and supporting prisoner-led interruption does not require abandoning security priorities; rather, it involves acknowledging that safety is co-produced through relationships, credibility, and everyday interaction. Carefully structured support—clear role boundaries, consistent access, and protection from retaliation—could strengthen the effectiveness of these practices without undermining institutional authority.
The implications extend beyond rare or extreme cases. Although large-scale disturbances make violence interruption visible, the same mechanisms—anticipation, credibility, situational awareness, and relational intervention—are likely operating in attenuated form throughout routine prison life. Everyday harms such as assaults, bullying, extortion, and self-injury were frequently produced from the same micro-dynamics described above, a pattern consistent with research documenting the relational and situational roots of self-harm in custody (Smith et al., 2019) as well as studies showing that interpersonal violence in prisons frequently arises from cumulative tensions and informal social ordering (Bottoms, 1999). Treating violence interruption as an endogenous feature of prison social life rather than an external add-on allows criminology to better understand how violence, mental health, and institutional order intersect in everyday custody.
In sum, this study advances the literature by documenting how incarcerated men actively interrupt violence under conditions of chronic risk, demonstrating that such work is already occurring but remains largely invisible to research and policy. By grounding theory in lived practice, it opens new avenues for empirical evaluation, institutional design, and a more realistic understanding of how safety is produced—and precariously maintained—inside contemporary prisons.
Conclusion
This study documents how violence interruption operates as an endogenous, peer-driven practice within a high-security prison, extending criminological understandings of violence prevention beyond formal programs and staff-centered control strategies. Drawing on interviews and ethnographic observation, the findings show that incarcerated men engage in continuous, situational violence interruption by reading social cues, engaging credible actors, and intervening at moments of escalation. These practices are grounded in experiential authority, relational proximity, and insider knowledge of prison culture—resources that external interventions and formal surveillance mechanisms cannot easily replicate (Irwin, 1980; Toch & Kupers, 2007).
This research contributes to scholarship on prison violence by demonstrating that interruption is not a discrete event but a staged, contingent process shaped by timing, legitimacy, and institutional constraint. Participants identified clear thresholds at which intervention was possible and moments when violence had progressed beyond their capacity to redirect it, underscoring the limits of informal authority in coercive environments. Their accounts illustrate how peer-based intervention can prevent harm, particularly when institutional conditions allow consistency, movement, and minimal trust.
These findings challenge dichotomous portrayals of violence interruption as either a public-health alternative to criminal justice or an external import into carceral spaces. Correctional systems have long relied—often implicitly—on incarcerated people to manage risk, monitor distress, and stabilize housing units (Byrne & Hummer, 2007; Liebling, 2004). What has been missing is systematic attention to how such roles function, the risks they entail, and the conditions under which they succeed or fail.
Future investigations should examine violence interruption across custody levels, gendered institutions, and post-incident contexts, and should test staged models of interruption identified here. For policy, the findings suggest that violence prevention in prison requires not only staffing and security measures, but evidence-based engagement with the informal, relational practices through which incarcerated people already work to interrupt violence and maintain order.
Footnotes
Funding
The author received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.