Workspaces,currencies,and care: Prison labor dynamics in a women's prison in Peru

Prison labor from a gender perspective

Feminist criminology in both the Global North (Buck, 2004; Rafter, 1983) and South (Bracco, 2021; Cárdenas and Undurraga, 2014; Méndez, 2024; Neira, 2024) views prisons as patriarchal institutions that impose traditional gender norms, seeking to re-feminize incarcerated women through caregiving roles and ideals of “true femininity” (Greene, 2023). This is reflected in prison labor focused on domestic skills aimed at molding women into ideal housewives (Carlen, 1983; Leotti, 2022; Richmond, 2014).

In contrast, men's prisons promote skills aligned with high-demand labor markets, such as carpentry and welding, reinforcing the societal value of masculine-coded work (Lankenau, 2001). These environments foster economic independence through formal and informal economies, enabling men to reinvest in post-prison life (Reich, 2024). Men's prisons tend to follow individual economic logics and lack care-based practices, with exchanges framed as transactions rather than mutual aid (Gibson-Light, 2018; Reich, 2024). Women's prison labor, however, reinforces economic subordination by offering roles tied to private-sphere tasks with limited financial return (Bracco, 2022, 2023; Buck, 2004; Sánchez and Morad, 2019). It also reflects gendered expectations linking labor to emotional ties and caregiving—inside and outside prison—forming a relational logic distinct from men's prisons (Davis, 2003; Fayter, 2024).

While patriarchal structures are global, Latin America's regional specificities are key to understanding local prison dynamics. Historically, female prisons in the region were run by religious congregations like the Good Shepherd (Aguirre, 2019). Although these prisons are now state-administered, re-feminizing mandates rooted in Catholic ideals persist, particularly the image of the “Marianist woman” (Bracco, 2022; Guala, 2016). ² This legacy shapes current expectations: women must be self-sacrificing, affectionate, and docile mothers, aligned with bourgeois-modern femininity (Bracco, 2022; Romero, 2022; Silvestrini, 2022). Additionally, Latin America's colonial history intertwines racial and gender oppression, historically positioning incarcerated women as ideal domestic workers for middle- and upper-class families (Aguirre, 2019; Bello Ramírez, 2015; Constant, 2011; Pontón, 2008).

Despite broader recognition of these dynamics, research on the labor experiences of incarcerated women in Latin America remains limited. This under-researched group continually develops survival strategies under precarious conditions. Some studies examine how incarceration disrupts employment trajectories (Cárdenas and Undurraga, 2014; Chan, 2016; Medeiros, 2015). Before prison, many women—though in precarious contexts—had some autonomy (Arriagada, 2013; Cárdenas, 2010). In prison, however, they are subject to institutional norms, routines, and schedules that standardize behavior (Ariza and Iturralde, 2017; Sánchez, 2013). Paradoxically, labor conditions and inequalities are often so severe that some women experience prison as a space of labor protection (Larroulet et al., 2023). Many access paid work for the first time and, especially those with children, may even prefer prison to life outside, perceiving it as safer or more stable. Other studies examine labor dynamics within prison walls. Arriagada (2013) shows how patriarchal power and limited financial access for women are reproduced in prison, where labor access depends on decisions by authorities and private company involvement. Wages are often far below minimum standards and used to meet basic needs.

Additionally, labor opportunities also shape interpersonal dynamics. Participation fosters groups with shared interests, building trust, mutual support, and a sense of belonging (Medina, 2019). These relationships help women cope with confinement and play a key role in prison power structures (Paredes et al., 2018), while also fostering affective bonds of care that constitute a form of resistance to the punitive logic (Bracco, 2024; Ojeda, 2013). However, Integration into prison labor also creates hierarchies. Depending on their circumstances, women access different types of work—formal, informal, or illegal (Bracco, 2022, 2023). Furthermore, access often depends on intra- and extramural networks, as outside connections facilitate the sale of goods and services across all labor types (Bracco, 2021; Chan, 2016).

Despite its challenges, many women view prison labor as a survival strategy requiring significant effort (Chan, 2016; Cárdenas and Undurraga, 2014). Some studies focus on the benefits of work inside prison. Ariza and Iturralde (2017) argue that prison labor, within its institutional framework, mirrors outside employment—offering payment for valued work (Arriagada, 2013). For women without family support, this income covers essential expenses (Cárdenas and Undurraga, 2014; Chan, 2016; Guala, 2016). Labor can also bring prison benefits (Bracco, 2022), as well as symbolic privileges like more visits or increased trust from peers and staff (Chan, 2016; Guala, 2016; Richmond and Groder, 2018). Additionally, it offers a quasi-therapeutic escape from punishment, keeping women active and distracted (Buck, 2004; Cárdenas and Undurraga, 2014; Guala, 2016).

These studies underscore the need to examine female prison labor in Latin America through Southern and feminist criminologies. Southern criminology highlights localized imprisonment dynamics and offers a nuanced view of power relations within and beyond prison walls. Feminist criminology has long explored the intersections of gender, power, and institutional control. Together, they reveal that prisons in the Global South are not just sites of punishment but also spaces where power, resistance, and survival converge in complex, intersecting ways.

Participants

The study was conducted in Anexo Chorrillos, a maximum-security prison where there are 576 female prisoners for a capacity of 288. ³ There were 21 participants in the group discussions. Table 1 summarizes participants’ socio demographic data:

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Table 1.

Sociodemographic data of the participants.

Participant	Age	Place of birth	Ethnic self- identification	Educational level	Relationship status	Number of children	Sentence duration in months	Time in custody in months	Offenses
Maria	24	Bolivia	Mestiza	Completed technical education	Single	0	80	9	Illicit Drug Trafficking
Jessica	30	Lima	Mestiza	Completed secondary education	Single	2	72	24	Illicit Drug Trafficking
Mariana	30	Venezuela	Mestiza	Completed secondary education	Single	2	60	30	Illegal Possession of Weapons
Andrea	30	Trujillo	Mestiza	Completed technical education	Single	2	72	36	Illegal Possession of Weapons
Lupe	32	Lima	Mestiza	Incomplete secondary education	Single	4	48	21	Theft
Cintia	36	Lima	Mestiza	Completed secondary education	Cohabitating	1	66	18	Illicit Drug Trafficking
Roxana	36	Amazonas	Mestiza	Completed secondary education	Widowed	2	300	24	Parricide
Paty	36	Lima	Mestiza	Incomplete technical education	Cohabitating	3	88	26	Illicit Drug Trafficking
Flaca	38	Lima	Mestiza	Incomplete secondary education	Cohabitating	2	60	20	Illicit Drug Trafficking
Evelyn	38	Callao	Mestiza	Incomplete secondary education	Single	5	72	33	Illicit Drug Trafficking
Li	39	Huánuco	White	Completed higher education	Divorced	2	120	27	Forgery of Documents in the State
Cleni	40	Huánuco	Mestiza	Incomplete secondary education	Married	1	192	180	Terrorism
Melba	41	Callao	Mestiza	Incomplete secondary education	Cohabitating	3	84	6	Extortion
Rosa	42	Lima	Mestiza	Incomplete secondary education	Cohabitating	4	96	12	Illicit Drug Trafficking
Clau	46	Lima	Afro-Peruvian	Completed secondary education	Divorced	4	72	21	Illicit Drug Trafficking
Lucecita	47	Lima	Mestiza	Completed secondary education	Single	3	80	21	Illicit Drug Trafficking
Olinda	49	Huaral	Mestiza	Completed secondary education	Single	2	144	27	Illicit Drug Trafficking
Graciela	49	Lima	Mestiza	Incomplete secondary education	Single	4	90	32	Illicit Drug Trafficking
Edith	52	Lima	White	Completed secondary education	Single	3	48	15	Illicit Drug Trafficking
Isaros	53	Chiclayo	Mestiza	Incomplete higher education	Single	4	80	18	Illicit Drug Trafficking
Sara	59	Callao	Mestiza	Completed secondary education	Married	2	144	16	Illicit Drug Trafficking

In summary, the participants range in age from 24 to 59, with most being Peruvian and self-identifying as mestiza. The majority are single and have completed some secondary education, and most of them have children. As is common in the region, the primary reason for incarceration is related to drug trafficking offenses, with sentences ranging from 4 to 25 years and time served ranging from 6 months to 15 years.

Participant selection was coordinated with the prison's Psychology Office. Psychologists introduced the research to women in various pavilions and encouraged voluntary registration. Eligibility required a formal sentence and a commitment to attend all sessions, which typically indicates a longer duration of imprisonment and a better understanding of prison dynamics. While the process followed institutional protocols, we emphasized that participation was entirely voluntary. After initial registration, we held a group meeting to explain the project in detail and reinforce that they could withdraw at any time without explanation or consequences. Throughout, we stressed that involvement was optional and free from institutional pressure. Finally, we worked to foster an atmosphere of respect and empathy.

Data production

Data were gathered through six group discussions, each lasting about two hours. While attendance ranged from 17 to 21 participants, a core group of 19 women took part in most sessions. The goal was to create a collective space for exploring diverse perspectives on prison labor, enabling participants to share experiences and build a deeper, shared understanding (Aliaga Sáez et al., 2012; Moreno and Rogel, 2018). These discussions fostered continuous reflection and dialogue, encouraging the development of collective narratives (Aliaga Sáez et al., 2012; Power et al., 2024). The multi-session format allowed participants to revisit and expand on earlier themes, enriching their insights over time.

Visual-artistic techniques, especially drawing, were used during the sessions to help participants express emotions and ideas that were difficult to verbalize or often overlooked (Bogumil et al., 2017). In violent settings like prisons, such methods help build trust and allow women to communicate more effectively through both images and words (Cappellini et al., 2023). Creating visual materials also gave participants an active role in the research (Bogumil et al., 2017; Spencer, 2010).

Working in groups of 4–5, the women created fictional characters and developed stories about their work lives before and during imprisonment. Each session included a presentation and group discussion of these drawings and narratives, which often mirrored their real-life experiences.

Data analysis

We used an inductive thematic approach (Braun and Clarke, 2006) to analyze field notes and visual materials, allowing categories to emerge from participants’ input. This exploratory analysis identified key themes related to prison labor. Our goal was to build an analytical framework accessible to those unfamiliar with prison labor, capturing its complexity and diverse dynamics. Rather than imposing a fixed interpretation, we remained open to multiple perspectives by including all viewpoints shared during the process.

To ensure accuracy, we reviewed the final themes collectively with participants. This participatory process not only reflected their voices but also positioned them as active contributors to interpreting their narratives and co-producing knowledge. Three main thematic areas emerged, forming a framework for understanding the prison's economic system: (1) types of workspaces available, (2) currencies used for remuneration, and (3) care as a resource in prison labor.

The workspaces within the prison

When examining workspaces in women's prisons, the focus is usually placed on the formal-institutional labor opportunities. On the one hand, academic research has highlighted (and denounced) how the Peruvian penitentiary system, similar to global trends, reproduces patriarchal and traditional mandates about femininity (Constant, 2011; Neira, 2024) seeking to re-feminize female prisoners into “acceptable” gendered behaviors and roles (Carlen, 1983; Leotti, 2022; Rafter, 1983; Richmond, 2014). This is reflected in how productive workshops are centered around skills traditionally associated with women's roles, such as sewing, tailoring, leatherwork, ceramics, weaving, and bakery and confectionery. Thus, the penal system reinforces gendered expectations and women in prison are often expected to fulfill caregiving roles. On the other hand, institutional diagnostic reports indicate that only a third of imprisoned women engage in some form of work. However, this figure may reflect only the number of women registered in formal activities, potentially obscuring other forms of labor that women engage in to cope with the costs of their imprisonment (Neira, 2024). While this analysis is fundamental, focusing solely on formal-institutional spaces provides an incomplete picture.

Following research that considers the interrelation of various dimensions in constructing prison order (Aguirre, 2019; Bracco, 2022), it is crucial to address the fluidity with informal and illegal workspaces within prisons (Bracco, 2022; 2023). Figure 1 illustrates the spectrum between formal and illegal, highlighting the diverse productive activities in which women can engage. These activities should not be understood as a linear progression but rather as operating based on possibilities, often simultaneously. As one participant expressed: “In the prison, in all these years I've been here, I’ve done everything… I think we’ve all been mil-oficios.” ⁴ (Andrea, 30 years old) Regarding the performance of multiple tasks simultaneously, another participant commented: “She sells newspapers every morning and on weekends sells food—25 dishes when there are many visitors in Pavilion A and earns one sol per dish.” (Flaca, 38 years old)

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Figure 1.

Representation of types of workspaces.

Given that framework, this section explores four main types of workspaces: (a) Formal-institutional spaces; (b) Hybrid spaces, (c) Informal-legitimized spaces; and (d) Illegal spaces. This categorization examines the various workspaces in women's prisons in Peru, challenging the traditional distinction between formal and informal labor by emphasizing the fluidity and overlap between these spaces.

The classification of an activity as a formal-institutional space is based on its recognition by the institution and recorded in their legal files as productive activities. This implies an official endorsement and a perceived alignment with the penitentiary's supposed “resocialization” goals.

The formal-institutional activities include productive workshops exclusively managed by the National Penitentiary Institute (INPE) or private companies through inter-institutional agreements. These workshops are equipped with tools, machinery, and materials where prisoners can register to produce items that are usually sold at fairs organized by the institution or private companies. For example, these workshops often involve garment manufacturing, weaving, and ceramics. As one participant shared about working with a formal-institutional company:

During the campaign season, companies hire, and sewing can generate 40 soles per sweatshirt, and if you work with more people, you have an assistant to help when there are large orders from companies. (Lucecita, 47 years old)

However, prisoners must often pay a registration fee, as well as cover the cost of materials. This means not all women can afford access to formal-institutional work, leading to dropouts: “She joined the workshops, but had to quit because she couldn't pay the monthly fee” (Cintia, 36 years old).

In the case of those managed by private companies, the costs are generally covered by the companies themselves, which is beneficial for women as it provides formal recognition of their work. Nonetheless, as following Wacquant's (2009) critique of neoliberalism, and as research in other parts of the region has shown (Arriagada, 2013), the resocialization discourse which links private companies and prisons, often masks the exploitation of imprisoned individuals. This is evident in how these workshops reproduce traditional gender roles while simultaneously integrating women into a low-wage labor market (lower than the national minimum wage) with very precarious labor conditions.

In the case of hybrid spaces, these are workspaces that reflect the dynamics of co-governance within the prison labor system. These are typically small economic units authorized by the penitentiary institution (MINJUSDH, 2018), providing services such as small shops, hair salons, and restaurants, alongside micro-enterprises managed by female prisoners. Women seeking to operate these services must apply formally to the institution and possess both the necessary skills (e.g., cosmetology) and financial resources to establish and maintain their businesses. In this context, women assume roles traditionally designated for the institution, managing everything from equipment purchases to hiring and training other prisoners. As one participant noted:

She also worked in cosmetology and earns 1100 soles per week, but that's not all for her because she has to pay for materials… suppliers, rent the space, pay for everything… if you have someone else, you need to pay them… not much, but they get something. (Li, 39 years old)

This type of workspace demonstrates co-management within the economic-productive system, and the interdependency between formality and informality. Thus, in this space, dynamics of economic co-management emerge between the institutional and the personal, as it is the prisoner with institutional authorization who assumes responsibility for managing the business and, at the same time, incorporates the services of other women to ensure its operation. This gives rise to forms of labor that, although not formally regulated, unfold within an informal sphere that is not necessarily illegal, expanding the margins of economic participation for women within the prison. Moreover, it highlights the importance of the institution's permeability for its operation. In INPE-managed workshops, women report that they need the support of their families to purchase materials, which already indicates the interconnectedness between the “inside” and the “outside.” However, in the case of hybrid spaces, without these circuits, the feasibility of these activities diminishes significantly or are inexistent.

The third category, informal-legitimized spaces, include unrecognized labor, where women engage in activities that sustain their economic needs but are often marginalized within institutional narratives. In contrast to prison economies in the Global North—particularly in the United States—where institutional restrictions on cash (Paynter, 2011), austerity policies, and conditions of scarcity have given rise to informal exchange systems based on unofficial currencies, giving rise to labor spaces that are simultaneously informal and illegal (Gibson-Light, 2018; Lankenau, 2001), the Peruvian context presents a different scenario. In this women's prison, money is not prohibited, which allows for the existence of informal economic spaces that are not only tolerated by the institution but are also integrated into the prison's daily organization. These informal spaces, far from being clandestine or “black markets,” constitute legitimized arenas where incarcerated women exercise agency and, at the same time, perform practical functions for the maintenance of the prison system. Thus, these activities lack formal acknowledgment, but they provide essential income sources. This means that the women are not formally registered in INPE workshops but organize individually or collectively to produce items, such as stuffed animals or jewelry, which they sell to their peers or on visiting days. Unlike the previous case, none of the women has a micro-enterprise recognized by the institution but engages in small-scale activities with mutual support among themselves. As expressed in the discussion groups:

In my case… informal gastronomy… we set up a little table on visiting days or when there's an important day, and we display our products; our companions come, browse, and if it's something new, they buy. (Flaca, 38 years old)

Participants in group discussions highlighted the need for familial support to afford and obtain materials for these informal activities. However, such support is not always consistent, which can hinder women's ability to participate in formal-institutional activities or maintain their production efforts in an informal dimension.

Another workspace considered informal is the engagement in caregiving activities such as cleaning, laundry, and caring for other female prisoners. In these types of activities, the hierarchies among female prisoners are directly observable, highlighting the need to delve deeper into how the notion of intersecting oppressions, where class, ethnicity, and gender shape not only power relations within the prison but also the access to resources and social status among prisoners (Bello Ramírez, 2015; Giraldo, 2021; Medina, 2019). Although this was not the objective of the research or this article, it is interesting to note that those who perform these types of labor are women who are in the most precarious economic situations and whose family members either cannot or do not wish to support them with expenses during their imprisonment. The reliance on economically marginalized women to perform caregiving roles is not only a reflection of economic need but also of the reproduction of these same hierarchies within the institution. For example, many female prisoners wake up very early in the morning to do laundry for other prisoners, and they will charge one sol per item. After that, they will engage in cleaning the “public” spaces of the pavilion, and to bring their food to other prisoners. All of these activities are outsourced to them by female prisoners who have more economic resources. ⁵

Finally, illegal spaces may (in some cases) be sanctioned by the institution, ⁶ leading to punishments within the prison (such as isolation) or sentence extensions. The sanctions ostensibly indicate a lack of commitment to the alleged resocialization process. These spaces encompass the trade of prohibited items such as drugs or mobile phones. Due to the illicit nature of these activities, participants tended to distance themselves from openly discussing their involvement. One participant remarked, “There's also drug dealing, but I don’t get involved in that.” (Maria, 24 years old). Despite acknowledging its existence, this workspace is less frequently described in their narratives, yet it is notable for providing significant economic returns. However, to understand illegal spaces it is also necessary to delve in the circuits between the “inside” and “outside” in which their families may introduce drugs or create connections with penitentiary staff to introduce them into prison.

Thus, it is observed that there is a variety of workspaces ranging from formality, hybridity, legitimized informality, invisibilized informality, to illegality. Each category highlights distinct economic opportunities and challenges, illustrating the multifaceted nature of prison labor. As mentioned, women navigate these workspaces throughout their imprisonment or may engage in several of them simultaneously. It is important to emphasize that the closer one is to the formal-institutional dimension, the greater the economic resources required, which already presents an inequity in access to formal labor spaces. Later, we will also account for the additional resources mentioned by participants that are necessary for accessing formalized spaces, which generates even greater gaps within the penitentiary system. Therefore, understanding these dynamics is crucial for grasping the broader implications of women's experiences within the penitentiary system, revealing the intricate balance between institutional constraints and personal agency.

The types of “currencies” within the prison

To deepen on the labor dynamics inside the prison, it is essential to consider the different “currencies” that shape the economic-productive system and influence women's work choices. Women navigate various workspaces according to the specific needs they must meet at any given time, which means that they select workspaces based on the kind of currency they aim to secure. According to the participants, three main types of currencies operate within the prison system: (a) Penitentiary Benefits; (b) Money, and (c) Barter.

The most valued currency is penitentiary benefits, which encompass sentence reductions and other forms of early release. As one participant emphasized, “It's what allows us to gain our freedom after so much time.” (Andrea, 30 years old). This currency is the privileged one and unique to the prison environment, serving both as an alleged reward and a tool of control from the institution. It is so because prisoners earn these benefits through engagement with formal-institutional spaces, such as workshops managed by INPE or private companies, or through the hybrid spaces administered by female prisoners recognized by the institution.

However, access to these spaces often requires up-front investments—registration fees, materials, or even familial support—and is not necessarily accompanied by meaningful financial gains. As another participant explained: “Formal work here doesn’t bring us money. Outside of the day, there are many other things that give us more than formal work.”(Clau, 46 years old). This quote reflects the prioritization of non-monetary currencies over economic income within the prison, illustrating the complex decisions (between long term and immediate investment) women have to undertake when deciding where to work.

The second type of currency is money, which is crucial for covering personal expenses within the prison, such as hygiene products or additional food, and sometimes for supporting their families outside. Despite their confinement, many women remain financially responsible for their children and relatives, maintaining their roles as primary caregivers. In Peruvian prisons, the use of cash is fully authorized and represents one of the most widespread forms of exchange within the penitentiary system. This difference allows women to exercise greater autonomy, as previously discussed, in economic exchanges and, unlike the US case—where the use of these symbolic currencies is mainly linked to strategies of consumption and survival (Gibson-Light, 2018; Paynter, 2011).

Therefore, the best way to obtain this currency, as well as penitentiary benefits, is to work on a hybrid space, such as running small-scale enterprises like hair salons or kiosks. For instance, participants shared that the woman managing the hair salon can generate up to 1200 soles (321 USD) weekly—a substantial income compared to other prison-based work. Although women employed by others in these businesses earn less, the small amounts they receive still cover basic necessities within the prison and give penitentiary benefits. As one participant described: “The little we get from these things can be enough for a meal or to buy some shampoo” (Clau, 46 years old). In sum, work in hybrid spaces offers a dual benefit, providing not only monetary income but also opportunities for penitentiary benefits. This dual profit makes hybrid spaces particularly desirable, as women can meet immediate needs while also investing in their legal release.

Lastly, the third type of currency is barter, a non-monetary system where goods or services are exchanged as a means of transaction and without involving cash. Informal-legitimized labor, such as engaging in individual production or caregiving work (like cleaning and laundry), are often compensated through bartering. For example, in informal-legitimized work often one prisoner will share their materials with other women, and in return, the second women will share the food their relatives bring her on visitation day. This currency is negotiated either explicitly or implicitly, creating flexible systems of value that help women navigate the precarious economic conditions of the prison and where money is a scarce commodity. As one participant noted: “You don’t always have cash, so you have to know how to earn something, even if it's just for the chanchas. ⁷ You do a favor today, and tomorrow it’ll be my turn.”(Lucecita, 47 years old) Unlike other currencies, barter allows women to navigate the constraints of the prison economy creatively, relying on social networks and interpersonal trust as key components of their survival strategies y and care of relationships both inside and outside prison walls.

It is important to note that these barter exchanges, unlike the symbolic currencies used in North American prisons—which serve a more structured and organized economic function (Gibson-Light, 2018; Lankenau, 2001)—do not possess standardized, divisible, or stable value. In the US context, such goods (like cigarettes or ramen) tend to be highly demanded and hold a collectively recognized value, allowing for the establishment of prices within informal or black markets (Gibson-Light, 2018; Lankenau, 2001). In contrast, barter in women's prisons in Peru operates as a relational system, in which the value of goods or services exchanged is negotiated case by case, depending on relational dynamics, specific needs, and the particular conditions of each exchange. That is, there is no generalized system of value for these goods or services; rather, their worth is situated, flexible, and shaped by the interpersonal dynamics among women.

This nuanced understanding of multiple “currencies” reveals how prison labor is shaped not only by formal monetary exchanges but also by non-economic factors like the seek for judicial freedom and mutual support, and by personal and social resources women have inside and outside the prison, as we will detail in the next section. Also, the recognition of the multiple types of currencies enables us to understand prisoners’ needs and the way they create strategies to make decisions. Thus, while penitentiary benefits are the ultimate currency for most women due to their impact on early release, money is crucial for meeting immediate needs. This creates a tension in decision-making, where short-term economic needs sometimes compete with long-term legal objectives.

Care as a resource in prison labor

Access to penitentiary labor is often shaped by institutional factors such as the capacity of workshops offered by the prison, schedules established by administrative staff, the prison's geographical location, market demand, and the availability of resources (Defensoría del Pueblo, 2018; INPE, 2024). While these factors highlight infrastructural and bureaucratic constraints in shaping opportunities for prison labor, they fail to account for the importance of social relationships in navigating these spaces. Participants in this study emphasized that caregiving practices and informal co-learning dynamics are fundamental to engaging in workspaces, fostering solidarities but also creating exclusions among female prisoners. As Andrea, a 30-year-old participant, explained about working with other prisoners: “I have taught the Soutache technique to several women—not all of them, and I'm not going to lie, it's well-paid here. I currently have 10 women working with me in my workshop, and sometimes I include more, as long as they are skilled.”

Caregiving and co-learning dynamics play a unique role in shaping access to prison labor. To qualify for formal workshops, prisoners are often required to possess specific productive skills, such as embroidery, weaving, sewing, or baking. While a few women enter prison with these skills, the majority learn them during their imprisonment, often through informal support systems. Olinda, a 49-year-old participant, highlighted the financial barriers many women face in accessing formal educational workshops: “Many of us don't have mom or dad or someone to send us money to pay for things or materials… some really don't have anyone and have to figure out how to get by.” In response, many female prisoners rely on caregiving and co-learning practices to overcome these limitations and work in the hybrid or informal workspaces. These practices foster informal networks of solidarity, enabling women to learn new skills, access workshops, and even negotiate opportunities with both authorities and other prisoners (Barrera and Santoro, 2021). For instance, as Clau, a 46-year-old participant, remarked: “We learn from each other, we teach each other new things, and that way, everyone can teach if they want to later on”. As Ojeda (2013) notes, these informal cooperative spaces foster alliances and solidarities that extend beyond caregiving, becoming strategies for mutual support and resource sharing. Women in prison often navigate structural barriers by building informal networks of solidarity and mutual aid. Horizontal caregiving practices are pivotal in this context, as they enable women to create a supportive environment to share skills and resources (Arjona and Van Lith, 2024; Stewart, 2022). Thus, these dynamics are not only practical but also deeply relational.

Nonetheless, conflicts and divisions also arise, leading to the exclusion of some prisoners from workspaces. Rosa described how female prisoners may at times withhold assistance: “You don’t always get help; the other women aren’t empathetic.” These divisions often stem from mistrust or hierarchical dynamics among female prisoners, creating an environment where solidarity may become difficult to sustain. The impact of such exclusions is significant, as it leaves some women without the support necessary to develop skills, access workspaces, or improve their conditions. This exclusion reinforces existing inequalities, particularly for women who enter prison with fewer personal, social or economic resources.

Caregiving in women's prisons serves both as a mechanism of control and a source of agency and solidarity. The notion of care in women's prisons reflects how imprisoned women continue to fulfill traditional caregiver roles even within confinement. According to Barrera and Santoro (2021), the penal system punishes women for failing to conform to the stereotype of being a “mother and caregiver,” and this social pressure is reproduced in carceral dynamics. These expectations intersect with imprisonment and labor, where caregiving work is not eliminated but reconfigured within the penitentiary context. Nonetheless, these practices also subvert the concept of care. While the institution promotes caregiving roles as part of its disciplinary agenda, women subvert them to build networks of mutual aid, providing emotional, economic, and social resources. Although the creation of social relationships is not linear and neither indifferent to conflict among prisoners, emotional relationships become a space of resistance against the prison system, enabling women to challenge the conditions of imprisonment. By reframing care as a resource, women not only navigate institutional constraints but also reshape its meaning, transforming it from passive maintenance to active survival, resistance, and a tool for building solidarities and contesting a coercive environment such as the prison (Cacopardo and Malacalza, 2019; Fayter, 2024). These practices of care and solidarity can be understood through what Greene (2023: 874) terms “insurgent agency” as “intentionally act in unstable and precarious circumstances that are difficult to escape or alter, and […] craft provisional and makeshift practices of opposition that subvert, but still remain defined by, conditions of power”. From this perspective, care and solidarity give prison labor a political character, one shaped by constant negotiation, improvisation, and the power that emerges from everyday relationships. Like trans women, incarcerated Peruvian women do not remain passive in the face of institutional oppression; instead, they generate creative and collective ways to resist and sustain life, reconfiguring both labor spaces and everyday practices marked by gender.