Canadian Provincial Correctional Officers

Abstract

Prison environments are structured by hierarchical relations of power and real, or perceived, risk. I use data derived from in-depth semi-structured interviews with 44 male correctional officers (COs) employed or previously employed in Canadian provincial prisons to reveal how their work environment shapes their masculinities and understandings of vulnerabilities—risk perceptions, insecurities, and uncertainties. I argue that the processes of self-regulation used by COs to construct strategies of risk avoidance also achieve and affirm masculinities. As such, I explore COs’ understandings of masculinities in light of culturally, politically, or societally induced vulnerabilities and how they reestablish their masculinities as they engage in processes of risk avoidance. Findings are discussed in relation to how constructions of masculinities and the mitigation of vulnerability and risk are symbiotic processes, where COs appropriate strategies of risk negation.

Keywords

correctional officers masculinities gender prisons risk self-regulation

Risk potential—physical and emotional threats—shapes the maximum-security prison environment internationally. Correctional officers (COs) employed in Canadian provincial and territorial prisons “secure” people sentenced to 2 years less a day or those awaiting trial and sentencing. In doing so, they maintain the safety of the public, prisoners, and fellow officers while playing a central role in shaping the lives of prisoners (see, inter alia, Crewe, 2011; Crewe & Liebling, 2012; Kauffman, 1988; Liebling, Crewe, & Hulley, 2011). COs are the “invisible ghosts of penality” (Liebling, 2000, p. 337) who remain understudied and unrecognized in prison research, despite more people working in the occupation in response to increasing or high rates of incarceration in many countries (i.e., the United States, Canada). And yet, COs must adapt to new vulnerabilities that emerge with changing practices and technologies. As such, I examine how masculinities established within the context of the high-risk occupation, in light of COs’ perceived vulnerabilities, shape the strategies COs use to navigate their occupational space. I argue that COs’ successful negotiation of vulnerabilities reinforce positions of privilege and power.

Masculinities

Connell (1987, 1995, 2002) posited that masculinities are always precarious as masculinity as a gender performance is responding to changes in gender attitudes and social practices as well as structural and cultural changes in society to maintain a patriarchal system of gender relations that places men (as a group) on top. For individual men, perceived or actual vulnerabilities shape understandings of masculinities by exposing weaknesses. As a result, some masculinities are inferiorly repositioned in the gender order. The idea here is that if a man’s gender status is easily threatened (e.g., Vandello, Bosson, Cohen, Burnaford, & Weaver, 2008), he is then prone to threats to and doubts about his masculinity, all attributable to a “narrow definition” of what constitutes masculinity (Willer, Rogalin, Conlon, & Wojnowicz, 2012). In response, “men are highly responsive to their masculine status . . . [and] motivated to reclaim a masculine gender identity, due to the prestige attached to it” (Willer et al., 2012, p. 9). With evolving cultural realities, what constitutes status, power, and privilege may change. However, as Thomas (1990) and Kaufman (1994) explained, nonnormative masculinities may always be experienced as “private dissatisfaction” or irregularities, rather than as a basis for questioning the social construction of gender. Said another way, the hierarchy of masculinities (the idea that some masculinities are “better” or more “dominant” than others) is part of how hegemonic masculinity maintains the power of men as a group. Men compete with one another for the privilege of dominating other men and women. No individual man, however, can be fully secure in his masculinity. That uncertainty keeps him motivated to repeatedly shore up and defend his manhood. Hegemonic masculinity, the idealized masculinity within any social or structural context, is unachievable yet always symbolic and reproduced within the context of patriarchal relationships and structures (Messerschmidt, 2012).

To this end, Beasley (2008) articulated that common or dominant forms of masculinity may not be hegemonic (i.e., they fail to cultivate patriarchy) where masculinities that do legitimate men’s power are culturally marginalized. Gender—and gendered relations—is constructed in light of what Hannah-Moffat and O’Malley (2007, p. 6) called “the gender-risk nexus,” which “is capable of considerable complexity and variability.” Given human existence can be understood as constant risk negotiation and management, I seek to reveal how vulnerabilities rooted in the CO occupation play into their creation of masculinities.

Risk and Self-Regulation

Stanko (1997) argued, in reference to women, that people need to engage in gendered processes of self-regulation to mitigate risk. She explained that for women “anticipating risk and danger is an active feature of self-regulation. What is essential is that safety itself, [in this case] for Woman/Women is embedded within and through femininities—socially-located, fluid, idealized, seemingly removed from any particular Woman/Women’s circumstances” (Stanko, 1997, p. 488). Thus, “safekeeping,” the ongoing processes of assessing risk, includes interactional, mediated, and regulated displays of resistance to perceived risk (in the case of violence against women, the dangerous male “other” represents such risk). Always embedded in respectable gender ideals, archetypes of dominating masculinities structure self-regulation or the “performative” practice of safekeeping (Butler, 1990). Recognizing how self is gendered reveals how options and venues of gender exploration shape it, including those tied to risk regimes, such as systems of punishment (e.g., correctional services).

Risk regimes serve to discipline and protect citizens from additional threat as long as they conform to these rules—rule-breakers are then punished accordingly (Hannah-Moffat & O’Malley, 2007). Hannah-Moffat (1999) explained that

risk is a fractured, fluid and flexible category that can be linked to a wide range of strategies and techniques aimed at governing offenders as well as the wider law-abiding population. The impact and meaning of risk is often contingent upon the objective of governing. (p. 89)

Personal knowledge of these risks coupled with patterns of risk management (e.g., seemingly objective categories too often based on actuarial data) structure individual agency such that individuals become responsible for the gendered, culturally specific, and subjective management of their self and risk (Hannah-Moffat, 2004a, 2004b). Madriz (1997), for example, used women’s narratives to discuss their shared “fear” of violent encounters with the “other,” arguing that women consciously locate themselves according to their structural vulnerabilities, which are tied to fears of being exploited or abused by the “other.” COs work in an environment structured by the risk posed by prisoners to prisoners, staff, and society. As a result, officers need engage in gendered processes of self-regulation to mitigate risk—the gendered practice of safekeeping (Stanko, 1997). In this context, the assumption is that prisoners represent the dangerous other (Drake, 2011). According to Drake (2011), in her study of maximum-security prisons in England, COs within the confines of the prison environment tend to see the prisoners as essentialized “dangerous others”—different from citizens—which is reinforced in mainstream society through media and, further, limits the opportunities or “trust” COs award to those in custody. Revealing how male COs navigate the risky penal environment, then, would reveal how their masculinities are achieved and affirmed within their occupational space and in light of their predisposition to view prisoners as this “other.”

COs Engaging With Gendered Risk

COs spend 12 hr a day, 4 days a week in prison (plus overtime), and are socialized within the prison environment, yet there is a scarcity of research on COs in Canada, and the studies available focus on COs working in the federal system (see, inter alia, N. Boyd, 2011; Lambert, Hogan, & Barton, 2002; Light, 1991). International scholars have examined the relationship between officers and prisoners in the context of maintaining order and securing legitimacy (see Crewe, 2009; Liebling, 2004; Liebling et al., 2011; Phillips, 2012) and how organizational factors, such as occupational responsibilities, work conditions, and environments, and years of employment as an officer (Jacobs & Kraft, 1978; Jurik, 1985; Larivière & Robinson, 1996), impact attitudes toward prisoners. Occupational security, satisfaction, and responsibilities, as well as role conflict, have also been linked to officers supporting different correctional philosophies (see Crawley, 2004; Haney, 2011; Jacobs & Retsky, 1980; Jurik, 1985; Liebling, 2007; Skolnick, 1966). In this sense, Liebling (2007) found that prison officers develop a “working personality” that emphasizes being suspicious, macho, and pragmatic to deal with the demands of working in prison (p. 106). Variations in prison cultures, institutional security levels, and occupational autonomy impact to what degree individual COs take on this “working personality,” though to some degree all COs must embody these qualities (Liebling, 2007). Because prisons involuntarily cage people, COs must maintain security and order in abrasive, low-trust spaces (Crewe, 2011).

Corrections scholars also document the hypermasculine nature of the male prison context, where prisoners prize “dominating” masculine features, such as aggression, strength, and physical prowess (Haney, 2011; J. Phillips, 2001; Ricciardelli, 2015; Toch, 1998). The select international researchers who look at gender among COs largely recognize this hypermasculine work environment in their examinations of how CO competence is mediated by gender (E. Boyd & Grant, 2005; Britton, 2003; Farnworth, 1992). Others note the gendered “organizational logic” (Britton, 1997, 1999), experiences of female officers (Farnworth, 1992; Jurik, 1985; Rader, 2005; Zimmer, 1987), or the relationship between gender and work stress in prisons (Dial, Downey, & Goodlin, 2010; Hurst & Hurst, 1997; Lovrich & Stohr, 1993). Britton (2003), focusing on gender inequality in the penal workplace, found that gender shapes the daily work experiences of male and female COs (see also Griffin, Armstrong, & Hepburn, 2005; Parisi, 1984). Most recently, Bosworth and Slade (2014) analyzed accounts from both staff and prisoners in a British immigration removal center. Although focused on the affective nature of detention—how gender mediates “emotional responses to misrecognition and status subordination” (p. 171)—they described the prison environment as “hyper-diverse,” where “status-insecurity” (p. 2) marks staff and prisoners as they struggle for status recognition (cf. Bosworth & Slade, 2014; Fraser, 1997; see Fraser, 2007; Honneth, 1996). They found that male, as well as female, officers negotiate cultural and professional understandings of their gender in their interactions with prisoners, while detainees assert a dominant masculinity that, although undermined by restrictions in their prison environment, was designed to resist subordination and misrecognition (e.g., as not-citizens given their custodial positioning).

Current Study

In discussing the concept of risk in criminology more generally, Walklate (1997) argued that employing a gendered conceptualization of risk allows criminological preoccupations with risk avoidance to be critiqued and calls for an “explanation of risk as a gendered concept subjectively experienced” (p. 44). Moreover, Stanko (1997) put forth, in her analyses of “women’s safety talk” around violence against women, that inherent to women’s “strategies of safekeeping” is effective self-regulation (p. 479). Prisons are settings ripe with the potential for risk in interactions that can be negotiated in gendered ways. Furthermore, how officers interpret risk may be directly connected to vulnerabilities—inherent to their gender position—they experience and may necessitate achieving a dominating masculinity that promotes “safekeeping” and effective self-regulation. Thus, the overarching questions directing this research concern the relationship between gendered understandings, perceived vulnerabilities, and masculinities; specifically, how COs achieve their gender position in light of perceived, experienced, or understood vulnerabilities.

Method

The data presented draw from a larger sample of semi-structured in-depth interviews with male and female COs. Men (n = 44) with experience working as COs in Canadian provincial or territorial prisons voluntarily participated in interviews conducted by the author. Participants had worked in facilities across the country (e.g., New Brunswick, Ontario, Alberta, Nunavut), ranged in age from 23 to more than 65 years (M = 34, missing data = 2), and self-identified as White. Most hold a college diploma (n = 30) or university degree (n = 11), although three reported “high school” as their highest level of education. Interviewees had worked as COs for anywhere from 1 to 27 years and had experience in adult male facilities with a security classification of maximum. However, 10 participants had also worked with youth or female prisoner populations or in lower security or federal prisons. Some had experience in occupations outside of corrections (n = 31).

Interviews averaged 1 hr in length (some lasted upward of 3 hr) and occurred between October 2011 and December 2012 either on-site at a prison (n = 37), in the community (e.g., over coffee or in private locations; n = 3), or by phone (n = 4). No discernible differences exist between interviews conducted by phone or in person, as assessed in analyses of the scope of topics covered across the different types of interviews as well as the revelations put forth and comfort of dialogue. Each interview concluded with a short demographic survey used to gather information on participant employment history, age, marital status, income, ethnicity, and religiosity, followed by field notes. Participant recruitment included circulating notification about the study to staff working in prisons with supportive ministries and word-of-mouth recruitment both when the interviewer was on-site (e.g., as she became familiar with the staff) and in the community by COs who became informed about the study from their colleagues. In this sense, this study uses a purposive snowball sample with a vast sampling frame.

Although more than 130 interviews with male and female COs have been conducted to date, data analyses, for the purposes of the current study, are restricted to male COs with experience working with adult male prisoners in maximum-security facilities. Male COs without experience working with adult men in maximum security were excluded from the analyses because of differences in prison structures (e.g., tied to prison/prisoner security classification), governing policies and practices (e.g., eligibility for double bunking), environments (e.g., degree of freedom to move), and context (e.g., variations in informal prisoner norms) that change the dynamics of their occupational role. For example, in minimum-security facilities, COs have different experiences given they engage more (e.g., some play cards, talk, or interact) and are then more likely to develop relationships with prisoners, and the behaviors of prisoners are more controlled (e.g., nonviolent and conformist) due to a desire to remain in minimum security with its associated freedoms (see Ricciardelli, 2014, 2015).

Interviews were semi-structured such that an interview guide, consisting of open-ended items, was used to start the interview but abandoned once conversation flowed. The interviewer followed the conversational path determined by the participant—always probing for particular topics of interest when possible. For example, interviewees were asked about their gender (e.g., Does your gender influence your performance as an officer? How? What traits do you value in male/female COs? What types of male officers do you most respect in prison?). Interviewing continued until theme saturation occurred. Each interview was conducted in English, voice recorded, and then transcribed verbatim. This interviewing style allowed their stories to shape the emergent theme analyses. The coding strategy used can be understood as drawing from grounded theory (e.g., Glaser & Strauss, 1967; Strauss & Corbin, 1990) where themes first emerged in the data. However, the author remained attentive to existing theory (Charmaz, 2006)—recognizing that when doing research, previous knowledge cannot be ignored.

Codes were assigned to emergent themes constituted by multiple respondents’ expressing similar feelings, actions, or experiences in relation to specific topics. Next, these emergent themes were “broken” down (e.g., reflected on and organized by patterns and relationships) into subthemes within the greater categories (consistent with Strauss and Corbin’s axial coding). Central themes were constituted by multiple respondents reporting similar experiences, views, and feelings on a topic. Analyses included a hermeneutical interpretive approach (Bauman, 1992; Freeman, 2011; Schwandt, 1998, 1999) that was used to prioritize the real world, first person, and subjective experiences of COs. This approach enabled a rigorous process of systematic data analysis designed to reveal emergent conceptual themes—always within the context of the participant’s discourse and narrative.

Data were coded by multiple student research assistants and the author and then analyzed by the author; comparisons of coding schematics between research assistants were used to ensure consistent interpretations and thematic organization. To further verify the trustworthiness of the findings, member checks were conducted during interviews, where I would summarize the information presented and ask the interviewee to speak to its accuracy (Creswell, 2007), and again as some interviewees reviewed the analyzed data (Lincoln & Guba, 1985). All excerpts from transcripts presented are edited for speech fillers and grammar to assist with comprehensibility (profanity and slang were not edited) and pseudonyms used to protect the identities of respondents and correctional facilities.¹

Results

For the purpose of this study, vulnerabilities represent the physical, emotional, and cognitive (e.g., physical or vocal altercations, lack of agency, concern for well-being) uncertainties and insecurities—the risks—COs experience as they navigate prison work. Such vulnerabilities are a derivative of the risk context in which they live and work, a context that further shapes their masculinities. Emergent themes first reveal how the occupational environment is constructed as “risky” by officers—how gendered understandings are rooted in perceptions of vulnerabilities—followed by three self-regulative strategies officers use to achieve masculinity while negotiating risk: first, that of self-presentation (e.g., muscularity); second, occupational positioning and responsibilities (e.g., the area one works); and third, practices, intellect, and agency (e.g., thinking before acting). These diverse risk management practices have the latent function of constructing and/or affirming masculinity(ies) and are contextualized around perceptions of vulnerability versus invulnerability.

Prison Work: Contextualizing Vulnerabilities

Most interviewees were quick to construct their occupational environment as laced with potential threat from prisoners, management, and tied to their occupational duties (e.g., cell searches could reveal needles that if touched by accident could lead to transmitted infections); or reveal the high-risk nature of their work in their gendered narratives. The emergent theme is simply that working in confined spaces and in direct contact with “caged” men—convicted of or awaiting trial for a crime(s)—made each officer susceptible to harm and victimization. All officers reported a gendered strategy of risk avoidance, in essence, being part of de-escalating situations, regaining control of a rioting prisoner population, or when they were attacked or harmed by a prisoner(s). When asked about their concerns, COs responded:

Oh God yeah, I was in a riot here. The fire and the whole 9 yards!

Safety of me, and the officers around me. Piss bombs, shit bombs, stabbing, [the] overall safety of the facility.

. . . [the stab vest] it’s not gonna save me. It wouldn’t have saved me in my attack . . . If they’re gonna stab me, they’re not gonna aim for the vest . . . [The stab vests came shortly after] our Captain got stabbed with a pen, that’s pretty much what brought those around. My incident was just before that probably . . .

Others, like in the third excerpt, discussed the value of stab vests (vests that homemade weapons are unable to penetrate) for COs. Indeed, in multiple institutions across provinces, I witnessed extensive lockdowns, irate prisoners, attacks on officers and attacks between prisoners, COs being required to stay past shift end due to contraband in circulation, the use of bodily fluids as weapons, as well as the confiscation of shanks—all intensified by an inadequate supply of human (i.e., staff) or material (e.g., prison issued clothing, mattresses) resources. As a result, not surprisingly, a general aura of risk prevailed:

The 30-to-1 [prisoner-to-officer] ratio, that’s basically one of my biggest concerns . . .

You’re [working] in special handling, well if you [the prisoner] completely screw up that’s where you’re at, they’re only out an hour a day, basically . . . he’s that kind of person who’s gonna hurt other inmates, or guards.

These excerpts show, albeit in different ways, that COs experience the penal environment as dangerous and do not feel safe at work. As a corrections researcher, I have been obligated to wear a stab vest in specific prisons due to increasing rates of prisoner attacks on officers. These experiences indicate the threat posed in such environments to the well-being and safety of the staff is an undeniable occupational hazard. Of course, the degree of risk varies with the security classification of the prison and prisoners, the structure of the prison, officer personalities, and overall penal climate, among other factors.

The dangerous nature of the CO occupation is intensified in how most, but not all, interviewees felt it was their occupational responsibility to ensure the safety of their colleagues, the public, and the prisoners:

My main goal is safety and to secure the staff. More than that, I know my job is the safety of the community and the institution and the inmates. But my main goal is . . . to leave healthy and my co-workers [to leave] healthy and not hurt. I know there [have] been situations; I don’t want to see an inmate get hurt either.

As articulated in this excerpt, officers prioritize the safety of their colleagues and report some occupational obligation toward keeping prisoners safe—neither self-harming nor harming others. Such realities would and did further increase the riskiness of their occupation given COs have to intervene and physically enter high-risk situations. An officer explained,

We’ve got to make sure they’re [prisoners] not killing each other. We’ve also got to make sure that society kind of feels safe.

Further intensifying this risk is their knowledge of which prisoners engage in disturbingly criminal acts and/or have a history of such criminality. Nonetheless, not all COs explicitly focus on such individuals in their accounts or mention them to intensify their experience of risk; instead, such prisoners—including those with more notoriety—are highlighted to emphasize the overall dangerousness of the occupation.

In discussing the “dangerous other” (Drake, 2011), COs expose potential vulnerability. Their cautioning about prisoners serves the latent function of highlighting their self-perceived “weaknesses” or “inferiorities”—the nuanced realities shaping CO vulnerabilities—that may intensify in direct encounters with prisoners thought to be engaged in misconduct. For a CO, then, feeling “vulnerable” challenges masculine self-identification and presentation. Thus, COs must solidify the risky nature of their occupation and, simultaneously, offer an overt invulnerable gender positioning—vulnerability is not permitted—presented as necessitated by their job. This is particularly important as they must try to remain cognizant of their greater public image and gender position. Some interviewees mention generalized or specific times where they were concerned for their safety, and were asked about what potential risk concerned them at work:

. . . it’s always there in the back of your head. If you’re not concerned about your safety you’re not paying attention to your job . . .

. . . at any given moment something could happen where a riot breaks out or another guy punches another guy in the face. You just have to have faith in your partner. That they’re going to be there and protect you if it’s needed. And you just have to constantly have your guard up whenever there’s somebody behind you. Always be prepared for the worst.

Death. . . . It can happen any time.

Despite the extensive discussion of threat, no CO ever admitted being afraid. Instead, these men frame the risks they face as part of the job and articulate gendered management strategies.

Gendered Strategies of Embodiment

Youthfulness and strength form the foundations for body ideals in all societies (see, for example, Wacquant, 1995; Wolf, 1991). Furthermore, well over half of the interviewed COs referenced muscularity and the gym. I anticipated that younger officers would be dedicated to muscular and fit bodily presentations.² Although some older male officers emphasize muscularity, this was most common among younger officers who often felt the use of a “fit and firm” bodily presentation (e.g., muscularity) was necessary to ensure prisoners recognize their authority and “invulnerability.” Many officers report adhering to extensive exercise regimes, “training” with cardio, and weightlifting:

[I’m] going to the gym a lot . . . I’m big and. Yeah, so you see that.

I always stop at the gym before I go home and all that.

Furthermore, when spending long days and nights in prisons with fully equipped gyms for employees, I witnessed the vast self-regulation and dedication of many COs to their physical appearance and fitness. The average age of the officers I witnessed regularly (e.g., multiple visits) using the gym facilities was 24. These interviewees came in early for their shifts to “work out”; they “hit” the gym on breaks and engaged in frequent casual conversations—among themselves and while interviewing—about fitness and physical ability (e.g., what men could bench or their stamina). The fact that such a performance of masculinity is desirable indicates that COs value the appearance of embodied power (muscularity) and engage in self-regulatory practices strategically to demonstrate their determination, dedication, and hard work. This push for muscularity can also be understood as a means of compensation among COs, a strategy of striving toward embodying traits tied to hegemonic ideals when they feel less barred from achieving such gender positioning otherwise:

It’s, when I was at the gym the last 5 years, when I was competing in body building, was probably my most popular time amongst the inmates because they all want to be, buff and fit and muscular. It’s like a cobra, when a cobra stands up and flares out its neck to intimidate and that’s what the prisoners are like in jail.

As evidenced in this CO’s words, muscularity here was thought to garner the respect of prisoners. Furthermore, as an interviewer, I was made aware of specific COs with respected physical abilities across different shifts or prisons—men who all share a common muscular appearance. COs lacking muscularity strive to obtain it because muscularity represents an officer’s ability, or at least perceived ability, to physically handle and de-escalate concerning situations.

Personal need and dedication to physicality is further tied to officer occupational demands rather than presented as a personal lifestyle choice or bodily desire. An interviewee, for example, explains that he did cardio regularly as well as lift weights because he needed to be able to respond to incidents, when required, as quickly as possible and with energy:

I’m not a big guy myself. But I’ve been around enough incidents. . . . Obviously physical shape is definitely [important].

This excerpt demonstrates how physical ability is gendered and constructed in light of occupational realities required for the “safety” of staff and prisoners. The need, not desire, to use the body for intervention then affirms masculinity:

It helps because we’re males. They [prisoners] know we’re more physically active, physically strong so some of them will think twice about what they say or [if they] try to wrestle or fight because they know we don’t back out from a fight . . .

As this quote demonstrates, officers associate a lessening of vulnerability with being “male” that is affirmed by being, or at least being perceived as, able to “hold their own,” something they feel is essential for being accomplished as “men.” Their gender positioning is a way of affirming their social position and, even, representative of hegemonic ideals that indicate “empowerment” and “strength”—“the cobra.” It is a response to the vulnerability generated by feeling insufficiently strong in body around the, perhaps stronger, dangerous other—prisoners.

In a complicating manner, dedication to physical fitness and muscularity is evinced among, yet also expected between, officers. For some, it was insufficient to embody physical prowess alone, it was demanded of other officers to further ensure safety. For example,

If I’m going to grab hold of a guy I want somebody with me that’s in decent shape. To me, you gotta be somewhat physically fit to be good at this job. [If] I gotta run to an incident from one end of the jail to other, I’m no good to nobody if I get to the top tier, unit one and I can’t even move; if I’m gassed and my legs are cramping up . . .

This quote confirms how the physicality of all officers working side-by-side together shapes vulnerability; being weak is then disappointing to the others on staff. Esteemed masculinities in prison are reflective of the embodiment of physicality, despite not all COs being able to achieve such a gendered presentation. As Connell first put forth, hegemonic masculinity does not represent the most common form, instead it is the most revered from of masculinity—which in prison includes the embodiment of “power” via physicality. Personal muscularity and physical ability alone are not sufficient to achieve a masculine subject position that conquers the full scope of vulnerabilities in the context of risk avoidance; it is only an essential starting point. A group component exists such that constructing safety requires others in proximity to also embody strength and prowess.

Select men describe needing to be in top physical form because they work alongside female officers, including specific females recognized as less physically adept. This further links muscularity to an achievement of masculinities, as working with women increased their on-duty stresses given they feel additional obligations toward ensuring the safety of female officers. Thus, some COs felt less safe working when partnered with a woman:

I’d rather work with two guys than a woman but that’s really safety wise . . . Like I don’t want you [notions toward the female interviewer] to get hurt. Even though I don’t want my other partner, if it’s a male, to get hurt; for me a female is . . . more stressful. I feel, too, like I train weights and it helps me [so] I don’t have problems doing my job.

As this excerpt shows, for some officers, there exists a dualism based on a perceived gender binary; however, it is not overly common. Instead, and more commonly, is a hierarchical positioning of select masculine qualities (e.g., muscularity) over feminine qualities—not necessarily men over women. For example, some females were thought to be as tough as any male and others were deemed weak:

She’s [female officer] here tonight. She’s bigger than I am . . . anybody’s who’s been an inmate that’s been around our shift . . . they know that they don’t screw around with her. She’ll put them in her place. And even come to the physical part if she has to.

They’re [female COs] not useful enough to benefit me, they’re taking space away from someone that could protect me. Don’t get me wrong! There are some girls here that can keep up with the best, but there’s parts of the job they can’t do . . . And they got no intimidation . . . The respect’s not there.

Such quotes explain that “toughness” (i.e., a gendered quality), not biological sex, is valued—the perceived position of superiority of masculinities over femininities is evident in correctional work. Officers’ placing greater value on masculine positioning results in male and female officers who are unable to embody masculine qualities to be viewed as inferior; these COs did not self-regulate to ensure a “masculine” presentation.

The perceived ability to physically manage risk achieves a more secure masculine subject position. The best COs, from this perspective, embody muscularity, physical ability, and, therefore, power and dominance. In many ways, the emphasis on physical prowess echoes the value prisoners place on similar qualities. Or, at least, that some COs believe being more muscular will garner the respect and obedience of prisoners. This strategy, however, is not available to all COs. As officers become more experienced and seasoned, their need to express invulnerability through their body may dissipate slightly in light of other available strategies. This, however, is not to suggest that muscularity is unrelated to the strategies that follow, as in some cases, it remains central however may change form.

Gendered Strategies of Positioning

COs also manage occupational risk by working a particular job when on duty that they believe offers some added degree of protection by having either control over or minimal contact with prisoners. Such occupational positioning places an officer in a position far removed from subordinate forms of masculinity because of the established authority inherent to occupying the position. Generally, such positions are higher risk occupational roles such as a place on the Emergency Response Team (ERT), also known as Institution (IERT) or Correctional (CERT) Emergency Response Team or the “Codes” team. Generally, the ERT is a unit of officers or team members—the word choice of “member” demonstrates the exclusivity, prestige, and status tied to the position in many (not all) institutions—with specialized training and access to equipment (e.g., body armor, prisoner restraints, weapons) who are called upon in potential high-risk situations (e.g., during riots, cell extractions, altercations, hostage situations). Recognizing that in most adult male prisons women are not eligible for ERT placement, ERT membership is linked to muscularity. Men who join the ERTs are assured that the COs on their team are strong and muscular men who can pull their weight in the event of an issue—all part of what makes members of the ERT feel less vulnerable even when entering into escalated situations. For officers, securing such positions resolves some element of uncertainty as their colleagues and management confirm, by awarding the officer the position, that the CO is competent and can be trusted in such an important role. For example, in discussing a particularly volatile riot-type situation, one CO explained with reference to a particular, now experienced although not as much at the time of the incident, ERT member:

. . . he’d have my back. He could take that shit [an incident] down, so I’d want him on [duty] if that was going down again.

While another noted,

. . . I feel quite comfortable with my coworkers now. And I know anytime I’m in a situation within 10 seconds I’m going to have someone come through that door and help me out.

The elected CO for the ERT then holds a more empowering position. These diverse jobs, however, create additional modes of self-regulation to which officers must adhere to achieve their desired masculinity; they must successfully self-regulate their conduct in line with the expected behavior norms tied to their position.

Team members are able to showcase their masculinity by “suiting up,” putting on protective gear, becoming “armed,” and facing head on the perils of their occupational work. They are successful if their self-regulated behavior does not expose vulnerability and, instead, they perform as fearless and security-oriented; asserting an empowered position over prisoners. These men embody, in many prisons, an admirable position in the hierarchy of CO occupational roles and responsibility that translates to an equally superior role on the hierarchy of occupational masculinities. Many interviewees aspire to such positions, “I applied for the ERT, more or less to keep everything in order,” as being the man who responds to crises, which encourages the construction of a powerful heroic masculinity, where officers create an illusion of safety or being untouchable—they enhance their masculinity.

Some interviewees also discuss who they want, or more specifically who they do not want to see on this team. They construct an image of the empowered CO that reinforces the dominating status of specific masculinities in prisons while making it clear that only male COs should have such opportunities:

Definitely you get different opportunities [being a guy] . . . especially when it comes to emergency response type stuff. If you’re going to do a cell extraction, normally you’d suit up all the guys so you [the guys] get different opportunities.

As evidenced again here, some officers view the privileging of masculinities—and even men—as necessitated in qualities culturally read as masculine. This reveals the superordinate positioning of masculinity—as a sex and gender—in male prisoner facilities. The fact that ERT membership is largely awarded to men reinforces patriarchal empowerment among those holding such ideologies. This enables ERT membership to represent a successful performance of masculinity and, thus, members to occupy a masculine subject position that, if successful in their self-regulation, is more dominating than dominant.

ERT membership, however, is not only about physicality and strength; these COs also possess a “savior” type quality in that they respond to calls for assistance—they deal with prisoners deemed volatile or engaging in misconduct—from other officers:

They’re only two of my partners in there and the way it’s supposed to work is that they’re supposed to be unbiased in fights. That’s why the Codes teams gotta go in there, and deal with the fight instead of those two officers, that’re gonna have a hands’ off [policy].

The assumed physical power inherent to the ERT member—the protector or “backup” for his colleagues—is positioned against other more vulnerable forms of masculinity. Their successful self-regulation, suggestive of “fearlessness” and “ability,” is further juxtaposed against qualities (e.g., communication, caring, empathy) that more traditionally are culturally read as feminine. Yet, it must be recognized, protecting fellow colleagues from violent prisoners or volatile situations is highly masculine—particularly when officers use largely aggressive means to offer help to those in need. ERT members protect society and other (mostly) male COs, which further allows the ERT members to climb the hierarchy of masculinity. Nonetheless, masculinity is achieved here in a process that includes evoking select assumed femininities alongside masculinities while reinforcing the gender position of the empowered heroic CO.

Officers, in their occupational role, achieve masculinity and negate risk by internalizing their personal responsibility, via their occupational duty, to assist, de-escalate, and end conflict. Their “specialized training” represents a gender strategy for risk navigation largely based on being prepared for aggression that correspondingly achieves a dominating, even for some hegemonic, masculine gender position. The CO’s job puts a male officer in a position of status over other COs that recognize they may face a precarious situation requiring intervention (e.g., needing to be rescued) and over prisoners who know his occupational responsibility is to neutralize any potentially hostile situations. In occupying the position, the specific COs who are trusted in such capacities are recognized.

All officers negotiate risk and gender, often simultaneously and in seemingly contradictory ways. For instance, putting oneself in the path of greater harm appears to achieve masculinity and negate risk—a seeming contradiction. The view of the officer as a problem-solver, even lifesaver, is “purchased into” by most, if not all, officers who believe they create safety and conquer vulnerabilities by responding to requests for help put forth by their colleagues; confronting risk by responding to the most “dangerous” of circumstances. Indeed, in narrating the risk they face, COs enhance, rather than threaten, their masculinity (see Scott & Trethewey, 2008; Tracy, 2013, for more information on strategic communication). For example, interviewees reveal pride in their role in conflict situations, evidenced in the videos played of a recent riot they assisted in resolving and images of the different shanks or contraband they confiscated, as they detail the threat averted by removing weapons from circulation. These men openly discuss incidents of prisoner misconduct, where they subdued the perpetrator, and acknowledged the status of ERT members:

. . . I ran, trying to see what was going on, and I notice he’s [a prisoner] hitting the cell door window with something. The window was coming at me, so I called a code and the codes team gets there and locks all the inmates up and we had to deal with this guy, and take him down to segregation. He was looking to kill the young guy. That’s what he was yelling.

Although such incidents, as evidenced above, are common for men working on a range, those in the position of floaters (e.g., officers who “float” between positions and provide support when called upon) or on the ERT have more exposure to such “risky” incidents. Their ease of access to equipment combined with their occupational role signify status as these men achieve a dominating masculine subject position by actively shaping the outcome of misconduct. In this sense, a CO explains, the “good guys who get the bad guys.” They create and negate risk in the process, while further reinforcing their masculinity by being courageous.

Officers are creative and flexible in developing approaches for managing risk and performing gender. Select interviewees, often those with more occupational experience, elect to use a less visible occupational role, rather than desiring an ERT position or floating, to construct safety.³ In this sense, non-ERT officers were not lacking in instinct or muscularity, although those striving toward such positions often feel inadequate if they were not chosen for them, which could motivate strategies of compensation or accommodation (such as striving for muscularity). Of course, some officers do take on occupational roles that do not include direct contact with prisoners (e.g., working in the control centers). They rely on being consistent and doing their job, albeit a less glamorous occupation and lower profile position. Rather than seeking to intensify risk to negate risk, they work behind the scenes in valued positions that are inherent to the successful functioning of the institution.

Thinking Fast and Risk Management

Officers describe mitigating risk by relying on their intellectual capacity and “gut feeling”—the seeming involuntary and instinctive process of, as an interviewee notes, “feel[ing] tension in the air when something is going to happen.” Yet, the feeling of being physically vulnerable (e.g., an instinctive read of possible threat that is a driving force behind said “gut feeling”), seemingly indicative of an inferior masculine position for the officer who is scared or concerned about being victimized (culturally read as nonmasculine qualities), is a marker of invulnerability rather than vulnerability. Men, rather than reveal their vulnerabilities, use “gut feelings” and environmental awareness to put forth a gendered strategy of instinct and quick thinking that they employ to mitigate risk. For example, officers spoke of thinking fast and acting quickly, in essence their effective self-regulation, when prisoners appear to be “too quiet.” They discuss the importance of always having “your back to the wall” for facilitating informed preparedness—in light of their observatory knowledge of what every actor in the area is doing—toward preventing victimization:

We all watch each other. We all watch each other’s performance, so we’re all here to work . . .

. . . it’s just not safe . . . You gotta watch them, so that would be the big thing here.

Know your surroundings; know what’s going on around you at all times. But you never actually know . . . have your back to the wall. Watching who’s [around] . . .

Examples here demonstrate how this vigilance entails COs positioning themselves on a range in an area where they have a clear view of all prisoners, constant eye contact with their coworker(s), and easy access to a doorway while also ensuring it be near impossible for anyone to “sneak up” on them. The interviewees achieve masculine gender positions by disengaging with the notion of fear—a feminine quality—of the “dangerous other” (Drake, 2011) by, instead, self-regulating their presentation to indicate they need not fear. Their instinctive abilities trigger an even more vigilant awareness of their surroundings as they engage in a self-reported, thought-out process of strategic awareness and “smart” actions to negate any threat posed. These men pride themselves on their attention to detail and even traits, such as “paranoia,” that could be viewed as fear-based and unfavorable yet become redefined by intellectual reasoning—a gendered strategy—that provides safety:

I’ve talked to guards that do things and you’re like “Whoa, paranoia!” A lot of paranoia . . . [I] go to a restaurant, I’m facing myself to look at the door; [my] back to the wall. Same thing when I go to the unit, safety-wise, you turn that [vigilance] on and you think a lot.

[Even outside of work, I’m always] watching who’s behind me when I’m driving. If someone’s behind me and they’re following me too much I tend to take detours.

These quotes show how strategies of constructing safety are presented to “show off” each officer’s adept observational skills, memory, and that, as a CO explains, “nothing could get by them.” They are based in self-regulation, not simply routinized behaviors, as these officers had agency. Their actions were structured and cautious, geared toward ensuring their safety and that of their partner, staff, prisoners, and society. Even when drawing on what could be read as less favorable qualities, like paranoia, the associations with and meaning of the quality are redefined; paranoia becomes a positive motivator to ensure officers are constantly heedful—never letting down their guard—a shared marker of a quality employee. They report qualities (e.g., intuition and/or emotionality), often culturally read as feminine and maternal, in a masculine manner. Officers are able to redefine a stereotypically feminine behavior as indicative of a powerful masculine performance, which further illuminates the fluidity of gender. In this sense, intuition, then, is established to enhance their masculinity as a developed skill or instinct based on the “gut feelings” they use to determine whether the environment is safe or whether they are vulnerable:

[If the environment is tense] . . . you feel it. If you walk into a unit with 30, 40, 50 guys where there’s tension, it’s pretty evident. I focus; get ready to go, for whatever’s next.

[I can feel it, so] then you wait all day for it to happen. It’s when [not if] and you know [from] just the way they act too. You can feel [the tension] so it’s when it’s gonna happen, what’s gonna happen . . . And everyone’s anticipating it because everyone knows but no one knows what exactly and [get ready for] what’s [coming] . . .

When asked if the anticipation of an incident is intimidating, some COs explain that, instead, it was exhilarating. Thus, this instinct serves as a status marker, indicative of a gendered strategy used to surpass uncertainty by establishing security in some form. Officers, to achieve their masculine gender position, when participating in male-dominated activities, can and do express femininity alongside their masculinity. They redefine characteristics often tied to femininity to intensify their risk negation as a strategy to achieve and affirm a desired masculine subject position in their gendered performance. Self-regulated performances of masculinity(ies) seek to claim a gender position that suppresses vulnerabilities—an arguably discouraged trait for any officer—by employing practices deemed appropriate within the boundaries of their occupational role.

Discussion

How are gendered understandings of vulnerabilities tied to the strategies COs use to self-regulate and enact masculinities? The findings presented in this article suggest COs develop strategies of risk negation that are designed to ensure they remain in a position of dominance (as individuals and a group) over prisoners. Across COs’ reports, the common emergent theme remains centered on the gendered strategies COs use to negate risk while affirming masculinities. Thus, COs achieve their gender position in light of perceived, experienced, or understood vulnerabilities that impact their well-being, identity, and agency. Risk is fueled by the perceived threats inherent to the occupation, and, in turn, perceived risk impacts gendered identity, perhaps even under the guise of self-protection from risk. Officers achieve their masculinity in the process of negotiating risk; masculinity must be both constructed and affirmed. COs’ gendered self-presentations allow them to feel they are in control of the risk and danger underlying their occupational role. Privilege and power, always contextualized within the prison environment, is reinforced via the successful negotiation of vulnerabilities that would otherwise reduce one’s status to some lesser position on the gendered hierarchy. Bosworth and Slade’s (2014) findings emphasize that both prisoners and staff experience “status insecurity” that directly impacts the struggle for respect inside prison. Gender performances are challenged, reproduced, and (re)negotiated by COs in the risky context of correctional work. All of these officers spoke easily of the different gendered strategies they used to navigate threats in the high-risk “unpredictable” penal environment.

Some COs used strategies that showcased muscularity, prowess, and agility—the physical embodiment of strength to perform dominance and affirm a masculine subject position structured to negate risk by intimidation and prowess. Others used their occupational positioning (e.g., ERT member) as a strategy for demonstrating control over prisoners, and to further affirm a gender position via a masculine performance that ensured respect and status. Still others discuss practices, intellect, and agency (e.g., thinking before acting) as strategies of a masculine performance that also serve to illuminate the fluidity of gender. Furthermore, inherent in gendered strategies of risk avoidance were expressions of qualities (e.g., “gut instincts” or “intuition” about safety and well-being) that are culturally read as feminine outside. Inside prison, however, these become masculine qualities. Although a CO may try to compensate (e.g., strive toward increasing muscularity in response to their perceived inadequacy), it is in these instances that masculinities are constructed. This demonstrates how vulnerabilities reinforce, restructure, redefine, and legitimize hierarchical gender relations, understandings, and achievements of masculinities (and femininities). Because vulnerability is an inescapable part of the job and undermines masculinity, COs used and manipulated this aspect of the work into practices that supported their identity as strong, worthy men who protect each other, prisoners, and society.

These gendered strategies of risk management impact inequality in the workplace. Although women are increasingly valued in the occupation, the emphases on muscularity and other such strategies ensure that, at least in maximum-security institutions, men remain in positions of superiority in correctional work. Women cannot even serve on the ERT and are restricted from some occupational duties. In the current study, female COs were excluded from the analyses because fewer females work in maximum-security men’s facilities, and those who do are restricted in their responsibilities because of their gender (e.g., they cannot perform strip searches). Future research focused on how female COs navigate risk and construct their gender in the maximum-security male prison environment may shed more light on the current occupation climate, culture, and the positioning of masculinities and risk within that context. This study reveals how new variations of hegemonic and dominating masculinities are achieved in correctional work via gendered strategies of risk avoidance and the gendering of risk. Specifically, how COs turned weaknesses such as vulnerability into dominant/respected forms of masculine practice. This provides insight into the informal realities that impede the creation of a rehabilitation-oriented prison environment in maximum-security men’s prisons, given risk negation trumps connecting or relationship building with prisoners.

Footnotes

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: The author received financial support from the Social Science and Humanities Council of Canada (Insight Development Grant) for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Notes

Author Biography

Rosemary Ricciardelli is an assistant professor in the Department of Sociology, at Memorial University. Her primary research interests include evolving conceptualizations of masculinity, and experiences and issues within different facets of the criminal justice system. Her current research looks at prison culture, desistance, and the coping strategies, risk perception and lived experiences of prisoners, correctional officers and police officers.

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