Abstract
In her fascinating paper, Ruth Armstrong offers an appreciative account of the potential for trust and change in post-prison supervision and support. This transformative potential is seen not only in prisoners, or ex-prisoners, but also within the criminal justice system and those working within the system. In this response I focus on the issue of staff and occupational cultures, drawing upon both my own experience as a prison manager and my research into the working lives of prison managers.1
Just as Armstrong presents the idea of practitioners as transformational, moral agents, so historically prison managers have been presented in such terms. In his book on prison managers, Shane Bryans offers half a dozen official and academic publications that attest to the central importance of the prison governor. 2 It has been argued that prison management requires a unique set of competences that involve the blending of the culture and various demands placed upon the prison into a morally coherent whole, 3 where managers have been required to ‘fashion and re-shape an essentially punitive structure into one that was positive and optimistic’. 4 However, I have argued that this account can no longer be considered an adequate representation of the prison manager, if indeed it ever was.
I have suggested that occupational culture in contemporary prisons is shaped by two dominant issues. The first is ‘managerialism’, a globalised form of organisation which includes increased competition for services, greater use of commercial management techniques such as performance monitoring, and attempts to enlist employees so that it is not only their actions that are the subject of control but also their thinking and identity. The second issue is the continuing relevance of traditional prison culture encompassing a particular perception of staff−prisoner relationships as being distant, with the prisoner cast as the ‘other’, insularity from those outside of prisons, and machismo. I have argued that contemporary prison management is best characterised by the intersection and duality between these two forces and that prison managers have to negotiate and navigate an accommodation between them. I have termed this as prison managerialism in an attempt to capture a sense of the dialectical relationship between a globalised pattern of practice and elements of localised culture.
In this response I will focus on three issues that arise from comparing and contrasting the contemporary prison manager with the religious volunteers described by Armstrong. Those issues are trust, occupational culture and moral values.
Trust
The central concern of Armstrong’s study is the nature of trust. In contemporary organisations, managerialism is a response to the problem of trust or mistrust; it is one of the means through which attempts are made to realise the ‘fantasy of total control’ envisaged by Onora O’Neill. 5
In prisons, there have grown a plethora of targets and audits as a means of reducing risk, increasing predictability and enhancing management control. Far from reflecting a culture of trust, this reflects a culture of mistrust. As one manager in my study said, ‘trusting is good, but checking is better’.
The depth of this control can be profound. Many managers described how the attainment of targets became part of their identity. Phrases such as ‘I guard them with my life’ were not uncommon, whilst when the prospect of not meeting a target was discussed with one manager, the colour drained from their face and they stated that it ‘makes me feel ill thinking about it’.
The development of managerialism and the use of targets have been criticised from a number of perspectives. Within prisons it has been argued that the focus on achieving organisational objectives distracts from the human experience of incarceration and that what is created is a ‘virtual’ or ‘imaginary’ prison. 6 It has also been noted that performance data can be manipulated or misreported and that this is a chronic feature of this approach. 7 Further, there can emerge a sense of self-preservation, where managers focus on their own targets, increasing atomisation and breaking down a more collegiate disposition. Managers are generally aware of these limitations and flaws but that does not reduce their commitment to their attainment. However, this scepticism about managerialism from above and below means that managerialism, to a degree, creates the mistrust in purports to address. 8
Reading Armstrong’s work, the culture of managerialism was conspicuous by its absence. This may reflect the voluntary nature of the activity described and its limited scale. However, this is important given that in England and Wales a significant expansion of post-prison supervision has been announced, drawing upon voluntary, community and commercial organisations. 9 This raises questions of how, if at all, the trust described by Armstrong could be replicated or sustained within a larger and more commercial context, and how the nature of the relationship between ex-prisoner and supporter may be altered by more intensive management and monitoring. By raising the question of trust, this study also leads to questions about the nature of managerialism itself, a low trust and remote form of control, and whether alternatives could be fostered that rehabilitate the idea of professional trust and responsibility within organisations and individual practice.
Occupational Culture
In her study, Armstrong describes the induction training provided to volunteers. She illustrates how this emphasised the prisoner as ‘other’, highlighting the risks to safety and the importance of relational distance. In this vignette, the importance of localised prison occupational cultures comes to the fore. However, Armstrong goes on to say that volunteers resist this and instead practice ‘subversive altruism’.
As I have described, in my own work on prison managers, local culture held a powerful sway upon them. This was sometimes because they had worked as prison officers and therefore were part of that culture and imported it into their management role; however, even those who were not part of the culture had to reflect and participate in order to enlist the support of the staff group. It was therefore common for managers to talk about prisoners and staff in ways that reinforced the power differential, and to use macho language. Many would also enact cultural displays such as: carrying out officer duties, e.g. locking and unlocking doors or searching prisoners; being present at times when prisoners were most visible, e.g. mealtimes; and intervening to speak directly to disruptive prisoners (often flanked by several officers). Such displays affirmed the affinity of managers with the prison officer occupational culture. In these ways prison managers either were part of the culture or were implicated in it for instrumental reasons.
In contrast, Armstrong depicts the volunteers as standing in splendid isolation, insulated from this culture. Where they are exposed to this, they resist it. However, I was led to question whether the occupational culture would seep in over time, and whether, with expansion and closer integration between the voluntary service and the prison, the extent of enculturation might intensify.
Moral Values
In accounting for the distinctive practice of the volunteers, Armstrong argues that they draw upon a wider set of values, which she encapsulates as: ‘serving God – not serving man’.
Prison managers also drew upon an explicit set of articulated wider values. These included terms that carried particular organisational currency, including ‘decency’ and ‘reducing reoffending’. However, these terms were flexible and were used by individuals in an elastic way. For example, ‘decency’ could be used to mean a liberal-humanitarian approach in which the rights of prisoners were recognised and interactions had a human, affective quality. However, the term ‘decency’ could also be used in the sense that prisoners who were impolite could be challenged and staff could ‘instil’ and ‘insist’ upon ‘proper respect’. Such a concept of ‘decency’ was more punitive, painting prisoners as feral and legitimising hierarchical control.
I would suggest that the concept of ‘serving God’ is equally elusive; its meaning is not self-evident or uncontested. Just as with prison managers, such phrases carry hidden meanings and may encompass a range of different values and beliefs. These may include those related to power and inequality, including: gender; race and ethnicity; sexual orientation; or wealth and poverty.
The idea of ‘serving God’ is presented in Armstrong’s study in appreciative terms, promoting a liberal humanitarian approach to relationships between ex-prisoners and volunteers. However, such relationships are part of the micro-processes that reproduce and maintain the power structures of society. Were these relationships all pure and benevolent? Is it not more realistic and more human to locate them with what Primo Levi described as the ‘grey zone’, 10 where those who intend to do good also import values that sustain power structures?
Conclusion
Ruth Armstrong’s study is one that offers an appreciative account of the potential for those working within the criminal justice system to act with moral agency. It also offers an exploration of the nature and role of trust. There is much to learn from this. In particular, it provides a model for an intimate, affective form of support for people who are often at the margins of society. The rich humanity described is in stark contrast to the constraints of managerialism, and this exposes some of the limitations of contemporary organisations. These are lessons that are particularly relevant in England and Wales and have implications for the planned expansion and diversification in post-prison supervision.
In responding to this study, I have suggested some questions. In particular, I have questioned whether the representation of a benevolent, liberal-humanitarian volunteer is really sustainable. I have suggested that they may become enmeshed in occupational cultures from within the criminal justice system and that they may themselves promote a wider set of values that are implicated in social power structures. Seeking change from within the criminal justice system can be a complicated, messy and uncomfortable endeavour in which the practitioner may be constrained as well as enabled to do good. I offer these questions in a spirit of inquiry and in response to a thought-provoking study.
Footnotes
1.
J. Bennett, ‘The Working Lives of Prison Managers: Exploring Agency and Structure in the Late Modern Prison’ (PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 2012).
2.
S. Bryans, Prison Governors: Managing Prisons in a Time of Change (Cullompton: Willan, 2007), p. 2.
3.
S. Bryans and D. Wilson, The Prison Governor: Theory and Practice (Leyhill: Prison Service Journal, 2nd edn, 2000).
4.
D. Wilson, ‘Whatever Happened to “The Governor”’, Criminal Justice Matters 40 (2000), pp. 11−12.
6.
A. Owers, ‘Imprisonment in the Twenty-First Century: A View from the Inspectorate’, in Y. Jewkes (ed.), Handbook on Prisons (Cullompton: Willan, 2007), pp. 1−21; P. Carlen, ‘Imaginary Penalities and Risk-Crazed Governance’, in P. Carlen (ed.), Imaginary Penalities (Cullompton: Willan, 2008), pp. 1−25.
7.
HM Chief Inspector of Prisons, Time Out of Cell: A Short Thematic Review (London: HMCIP, 2008).
8.
M. Power, The Audit Explosion (London: Demos, 1996).
9.
Ministry of Justice, Transforming Rehabilitation: A Revolution in the Way We Manage Offenders (London: The Stationary Office, 2013).
10.
P. Levi, The Drowned and the Saved (London: Abacus, 1988), p. 22.