Critical andragogy and ‘momentary emancipation’ in a prison–university educational partnership

Abstract

This article examines the application of a critical andragogical approach to the teaching of a Learning Together prison–university partnership course. The partnership was based in the North-West of England and involved final year (Level 6) Criminology students from The University of the Northwest studying and learning alongside prison learners from a Category D men’s prison, HMP Westborough. Using in-depth interviews with former prison learners on the course, the article unpacks the benefits and challenges of critical andragogy in a prison setting. Whilst critically addressing the notion that critical andragogy can have long-term ‘transformative’ or ‘rehabilitative’ effects for incarcerated learners, this article focuses on the more immediate context of the learning environment, presenting a core finding that it can be a space for, albeit temporarily, ‘momentary emancipation’.

Introduction

Critical andragogy, rooted in the broader field of adult education, refers to an educational concept and method that goes beyond traditional instructional forms. It emphasises the importance of critical thinking, social justice, and transformative learning in the education of adults. This concept emerged as an extension of critical pedagogy, the framework developed by Paulo Freire (2017), which focuses on empowering learners through a process of ‘conscientization’ or the development of critical consciousness. ^{1 , 2 , 3} Critical andragogy specifically addresses the unique needs and characteristics of adult learners, acknowledging their life experiences and the socio-political contexts in which they live. Critical andragogy, like critical pedagogy, can be viewed as a form of ‘cultural politics’ (Giroux, 1988) through which oppression can be challenged, structural power relations can be problematised, human rights and civil liberties can be prioritised, and the voices of the least powerful can be heard. The result is to inspire learners to be able to make sense of their own lived realities in an unequal world, to confront injustice and seek social change (Chadwick & Scraton, 2006).

In this article, we examine the use of a critical andragogical approach to the teaching of a Learning Together prison–university partnership course, based in the North-West of England. This involved final year Criminology students who studied and learned alongside prison learners. Using five in-depth semi-structured interviews with former prison learners on the course, we unpack the benefits and challenges of critical andragogical approaches to education in a prison setting. ^{1 , 2 , 3} From a thematic analysis of interviews, the article presents and analyses three key themes: first, the concept of empathy as pedagogical/andragogical capital; second, the goals of, and relationships between, participants; and third, the development of ‘critical empathy’ in prison which, adopting Goffman’s (1961) term, we refer to as a ‘total institution’. A further recurring theme of ‘momentary emancipation’ is also identified throughout the analysis which linked the three key themes above. As such, we identify that through the development of critical empathy, the establishment of relationships, and the critical andragogical approach to teaching Learning Together, prison learners briefly recaptured a sense of autonomy and individual identity, and thus we argue that they were ‘momentarily emancipated’.

Literature review

Critical andragogy and andragogical capital

There are strong correlations between the principles of critical social science (or in Mills’ terms, the ‘sociological imagination’) and critical andragogy (Barton et al., 2010). Over 60 years ago, C.W. Mills argued that the increasing inability of individuals to recognise and understand the relations of power that shape their lives contributes to an alienating social order characterised by disaffection, moral insensibility, the disproportionate power of a small group of elites, and threats to liberty and freedom. Understanding social structure and, in turn, recognising the intersection between individual lives and social and historical contexts provides a means to make sense of the world and resist the historical repetition of alienation and oppression. This, for Mills, is ‘the promise’ of the sociological imagination (Mills, 2000, pp. 3–24). Similarly, critical andragogy involves challenging learning relationships that are unequal and oppressive, encouraging autonomous learners who not only acquire a critical understanding of the world but who are also empowered to act against inequality (Freire, 2017).

Critical education recognises that adults should be active and self-directed in the learning process (Brookfield, 2005), encouraged by the relevance of the content to their lives (Knowles, 1980). A key principle of critical andragogy is dialogical learning, which involves open, reciprocal, communication between educators and learners. Like Freire, Giroux (2022, p. 183) argues that this dialogue should be a dynamic, collaborative process, where all parties contribute to knowledge construction allowing for a more democratic and inclusive learning environment, where ‘the relationship between learning and social change’ is a key consideration. This contextual approach also enables the customisation of learning experiences, making the content relevant and applicable to adult learners’ diverse backgrounds (Mezirow, 1991). It promotes active political engagement and intellectual integrity, and facilitates emancipatory knowledge, through scholarship and education, but also through activism and direct action. We would argue that this is more important now than ever. Popular discourse and political policy increasingly vilifies and alienates some of the most vulnerable people in society (notably the poor, immigrants, and without doubt, criminal offenders/prisoners). Contemporary government rhetoric and policy have involved the ‘rolling back’ of welfare provision alongside the concurrent expansion of the punitive state (Wacquant, 2009). For Wacquant, this has led to harsh disciplinary measures implemented to contain and control ‘the problem populations dwelling at the margins of the class and cultural order’ (2009, p. xx). It is essential, therefore, that all education, but perhaps the social sciences in particular, respond to these serious social concerns.

In order to respond to these concerns, the critical andragogical approach that underpinned the teaching of Learning Together at HMP Westborough centred around two related concepts: zemiology, or social (as opposed to individual) harms, and, as discussed earlier, C.W. Mills’ (2000) conceptualisation of the ‘sociological imagination’.

Zemiology, as noted above, has concerned itself with the study of social harms, as opposed to individual crimes. It has thus rejected criminology’s focus on ‘crime’ and instead has called for the discipline to look beyond the constraints of legalistic definitions of ‘crime’ (Hillyard et al., 2004). As Canning and Tombs (2021) have argued, the uncritical questioning of ‘crime’ constructs it as a ‘truth’ as opposed to a social construct. ‘Crime’ is not a static term and instead changes over time and place. However, additionally, as Canning and Tombs (2021, p. 3) argue, it ‘has developed almost exclusively through state-centric and historically elitist approaches to the social control of deviant – and indeed sometimes harmful – practices or actions’. A zemiological approach thus allows for a consideration and analysis of events which are often legalised but inflict serious harm and suffering on individuals and entire populations. It ensures a deeper analysis of harm in ways that a sole focus on ‘crime’ cannot. As Canning and Tombs (2021) further argue, some of the most serious problems such as poverty, pollution-induced premature deaths, and malnutrition related to structural and institutional violence are often very difficult if not impossible to hold individuals and/or organisations to account for. More often than not, these harms derive from broader policy or structures rather than ‘crime’. As such, they argue that the key aim of zemiology is social justice.

Uniting these principles with the insights of C.W. Mills was thus essential to the critical andragogical approach to teaching and learning at HMP Westborough. A focus on forms of social harm (poverty and inequality, climate change and environmental damage, consumerism, and threats to democracy) instead of individual crimes ensured that all learners could participate on an equal footing. Crucially, for prison learners, this ensured that they did not feel like objects of curiosity.

Traditional prison education

Over the last decade or so, education provision in prisons has become the subject of increasing government scrutiny and policy initiatives, for example, the introduction of Prisoner Apprenticeship Pathways in 2022, and the new Prison Education Service which, according to the Ministry of Justice, was introduced to ‘overhaul learning behind bars in a push to ‘skill up offenders and protect the public’ (GOV.UK, 2023).

The Council of Europe Recommendations (Council of Europe, 1990) stated that prison education for adults is just as important as, and should resemble, that which is provided in the community. In 2016, this message was clearly iterated in the UK’s Coates Review (2016) (Unlocking Potential) which recommended improvements in prison education because of its rehabilitative potential and the opportunities it provides for successful community reintegration post-prison.

Concern about prison education, as it compares to community education, has thus largely been based on research findings indicating that those who engage with education, whilst in prison, were less likely to reoffend within 12 months of release than those who had not (Ministry of Justice, 2012; Ministry of Justice, 2018). But the 2016 Coates Review concluded that the educational provision in the custodial estate was still failing to ‘improve the wellbeing of prisoners’, ‘increase their employment prospects’, ‘reduce offending and make communities safe’ (2016, p. 7, para 4). In 2019, HM Inspectorate of Prisons report noted that only one-third of adult prisons for men offered prisoners purposeful activity, including education (O’Connor, 2021). And, in December 2020, Ofsted noted that around 70% of prison inspections found the management and quality of education, skills, and work to be ‘poor’. Less than 30% of prisons were recorded as ‘good’ or ‘outstanding’, compared to 80% of further education providers in the community (House of Commons Education Committee, 2022).

The role that higher education (HE) plays in prisons has generally received less attention. However, The Prison Reform Trust (2024) acknowledges that there are 1,400 people in prison studying with the Open University, and a further 50 enrolled on access to HE courses, with support from the Prisoners’ Education Trust (Prison Reform Trust, 2024, p. 69).

In the UK prison, education is delivered in person and online. However, the mode of delivery very much depends on the course delivered, and the category of prison.

The recent Report by the House of Commons Education Committee (2022) acknowledged that a lack of controlled and secure access to online education is a significant barrier to learning. The COVID-19 pandemic brought the stark need for digital access to learning to attention. However, despite this, there undoubtedly remain concerns around prisoners having ‘free and un-fettered access to the internet’ (House of Commons Education Committee, 2022, p. 44).

There are however further barriers to engagement with HE in prisons, for instance, prisoners ‘must be within six years of their release date to be eligible for a loan’, thus limiting opportunities for those serving long sentences (Prison Reform Trust, 2024, p. 69). Despite these barriers, there is evidence that suggests that HE encourages active citizenship, desistance from crime, promotes wellbeing, and increases a prisoner’s chances of employment. Prisoner participation in HE has been estimated to reduce reoffending rates by between 20 and 40% (O’Grady & Tobin, 2022; Prison Reform Trust, 2024). Programmes, such as Learning Together in England, have been reported to ‘improve social connectedness and provide a feeling of “normalcy” and belonging in a community, alongside developing the social skills necessary to successfully reintegrate into society upon release’ (O’Grady & Tobin, 2022).

For those wishing to engage in HE, they may be eligible for a ‘part-time tuition fee loan’ from Student Finance England (Prison Reform Trust, 2024). HE prison learners can also apply for a grant from the Prisoners’ Education Trust to pay for an access course, and some charitable trusts provide funding for courses, such as the Prisoners Education Trust (PET) and the Frank Longford Trust (Prison Reform Trust, 2018). However, according to inspectors, overcrowding, insufficient funding, and staffing levels pose significant challenges to the access and quality of education programmes (Prison Reform Trust, 2024, p. 79). The Coates Report (2016) and the House of Commons Education Committee Report (2022) both identified that finding the time to study combined with the lack of dedicated or suitable study spaces were significant barriers to accessing and engaging with HE (O’Grady & Tobin, 2022).

Thus, whilst government and Prison Service rhetoric has suggested that education lies at the heart of prisoner rehabilitation and resettlement (House of Commons Education Committee, 2022), current provision is clearly lacking. For young people in custody, education mostly reproduces the traditional processes found in state schools (Barton & Hobson, 2017).

At one level, this may not appear problematic. In terms of parity, it could be argued that young people in custody should experience the same educational opportunities and practices as their counterparts in the community. However, this is to overlook the fact that a significant number of adults and young people in custody have previously had very alienating and disrupted experiences of education prior to prison, and prison education has generally mirrored the narrow, traditional, regimented forms taken within the state’s schooling system (Barton & Hobson, 2017; Little, 2015). As such, to apply the same approaches in prison simply endorses a ‘technical fix’ logic to problems that are largely deeply rooted in structural inequality (Barton & Hobson, 2017) and fails to acknowledge that such an educational experience cannot be therapeutic or restorative if previous similar experiences have been unhappy, inhibitive, and oppressive.

In direct contrast to Victor Hugo’s famous statement that ‘he who opens a school door, closes a prison’, for some young people, mainly those who are poor, from ethnic minorities, and/or have special educational needs (Barton & Hobson, 2017; Graham, 2014), traditional forms of schooling can effectively act as a ‘pipeline’ to incarceration (Barton & Hobson, 2017). It has been well documented that factors such as regimented routines, strict behavioural requirements, standardised curriculum, continual assessment, intense surveillance, and constant measurement can quickly alienate pupils who may be struggling and prompt them to further disengage (Ossei-Owusu, 2012). Disengaged and disruptive students are increasingly excluded from school, and this dramatically increases their chances of engaging in the illegal economy, criminalised activity, and therefore coming to the attention of the police and criminal justice system.

Warr (2016) argues the current practice and ideology that dominates prison education is disciplinary. This is, in part, not only because it mirrors traditional schooling which functions around strong disciplinary elements, but also because the goals of prison education are conflated with, and subordinate to, penal control methods whereby the focus is primarily on furthering the interests of the prison and the criminal justice system. Thus, as Warr argues, prison education is largely a ‘short term intervention to fix a particular criminogenic problem’ (2016, p. 21), and hence the emphasis is on basic literacy and numeracy skills. It is true that poor literacy and numeracy skills are high within the prison population, and so such classes are important. However, in a highly competitive job market where even those with degrees struggle to find well-paid and fulfilling work, the discrimination that faces those with prison records renders any ideas of rehabilitation and employability meaningless (Warr, 2016).

Concurring with Warr (2016), Barton and Hobson (2017) argue that for education to work in the best interests of the prison and the public, it must ‘move away from the current disciplinary practices and ideologies that exist within both school and prison education and instead re-privilege those skills that arise when learning occurs for learning’s sake’ (Warr, 2016, p. 18).

As Conway (2023, p. 7) has argued, one of the primary advantages of employing critical andragogy in prison education is its focus on empowering marginalised individuals. By encouraging critical thinking and dialogue, this approach can provide a framework for addressing the complex needs and diverse backgrounds of adult inmates, whilst enabling incarcerated learners to question societal norms, reflect on their experiences, and develop a deeper understanding of the power structures that may have contributed to their lives and to their incarceration.

It can also lead to other positive outcomes, such as increased self-esteem, improved communication skills, and a greater sense of social responsibility amongst prison learners. The transformative potential of critical pedagogy, it is claimed, lies in its ability to challenge the dehumanising aspects of incarceration, encourage a more holistic approach to the idea of ‘rehabilitation’, and ‘disrupt unhealthy personal and interpersonal dynamics within the prison environment’ (Conway, 2023, p. 12). It is thus presented as potentially having significant implications for those who are incarcerated and for society more broadly if it can contribute to greater resettlement and reintegration of individuals back into society as engaged and active citizens (Conway, 2023).

Whilst these may be worthwhile goals, they cannot be accepted without critique. From a critical perspective, the notion of ‘transformative education’ (Armstrong & Ludlow, 2016) facilitating ‘rehabilitation’ is problematic. On a broad level, as Scott (2008) points out, the concept of rehabilitation assumes that ‘crime’ is the cause of some ‘deficiency’ in the offender, some inadequacy that should, and can, be ‘corrected’ by intervention (in this case, education), when, in fact, many crimes may actually be rational responses to specific circumstances.

Therefore, despite its potential benefits, implementing critical andragogy in prison education faces significant challenges. The carceral environment is not naturally conducive to educational approaches that encourage critical questioning and challenges to authority that might be perceived as subversive or disruptive (Scott, 2014). Additionally, resource constraints, such as limited access to educational materials, lack of qualified teachers, and lack of dedicated teaching space, hinder the effective application of particular learning experiences in prisons. On a broad level, many prisons remain overcrowded and with limited funding and thus fail to prioritise education (Cooney, 2022). But these constraints do not mean taking a critical approach to teaching and learning is impossible. In the following section, we outline the ethos of the partnership between The University of the Northwest and HMP Westborough.

The prison–university partnership: Ethos and practice

The prison–university partnership that is the focus of this article was inspired by the UK’s Learning Together project. Learning Together was a national network of university–prison educational partnerships in the UK, the aim of which was to provide opportunities for people within universities and prisons to study degree level material together. The project originated in 2014 from a collaboration between the Criminology Department at the University of Cambridge and HMP Grendon in Buckinghamshire. It was underpinned by a democratic theory, and prioritised the values of inclusivity, diversity, and parity between different groups of learners. Over subsequent years, Learning Together was successfully rolled out to include over 50 university–prison collaborations (Prisoners’ Education Trust, 2019). By using small group discussions, collective reading groups, interactive teaching sessions, and experiential engagement, the goal was to break down barriers between different groups of learners and between ‘the academy’ and society. Further, it was envisaged that delivering education ‘across prison walls’ would serve to enhance a sense of social responsibility and societal awareness amongst all learners and facilitate prisoner reintegration into the community (Armstrong & Ludlow, 2016).

In 2017, a partnership was established between The University of the Northwest and HMP Westborough, a Category D men’s prison in the region. The partnership was instigated by a manager at Novus, ⁴ the education provider at HMP Westborough, who had attended a Learning Together conference and felt the philosophy and practice of the project would fit well with their vision for education in prison. The manager contacted the Learning Together network and was then connected with colleagues in the Criminology team at The University of the Northwest. For Novus, the aim of the partnership was to complement their existing educational programme and to present university study as a possible trajectory for men leaving prison. In addition, as a Category D prison, where many men were already licensed to travel outside prison to work, it was believed the programme could further foster a sense of connection with the wider community.

In terms of the approach to learning and ‘teaching’, the module was underpinned by principles of critical andragogy and was based on the premise that every participant, including tutors, was a teacher and a learner. Sessions were held weekly and lasted around 3 hours. Occasionally classes were subject to some disruption (for example, prison learners arriving late, or not at all) due to the prison regime and restrictions. All participants were encouraged to sit in different places each week to ensure everyone met and had the opportunity to converse with everyone else. Due to the absence of internet access within the prison, all readings were provided in the form of a booklet at the start of the module (there were no online resources for the university students), and each session was based around a particular set of readings. The readings were usually a combination of academic articles, practitioner evaluations, reports from activist groups, and different types of media sources. Participants could consult as many of these sources as they wished. Set questions or ideas for discussion were provided in advance so participants could prepare beforehand and, after a brief overview by one of the tutors of some key issues or points to consider at the start, the session then focused on small group discussions and ended with feedback, comments, conclusions, and questions to the whole group. The sessions always began with time for greetings and catch-ups and always broke halfway through for tea, coffee, and biscuits. These breaks in the session were considered extremely important, not only to the breaking down of barriers between participants, and the forming and maintenance of a sense of camaraderie and comradeship, but also to invoking some sense of real world ‘normality’ in, what is often, an alienating environment.

Prison students could choose to submit work or not. Submitted work would be marked and if passed, they would receive the appropriate credits from the university. If work was not passed or submitted, they would still receive a certificate of attendance. No student would know what certificate another had received unless they chose to tell them.

The module ran successfully until 2020. However, a combination of the COVID-19 lockdown measures and the aftermath of the Fishmongers’ Hall attack (which took place at a Learning Together conference organised by Cambridge University) meant the module was suspended from this date and the Learning Together network disbanded. Whilst the inquest following the Fishmonger’s Hall attack did recognise the ‘great deal of good’ Learning Together achieved (Courts and Tribunals Judiciary, 2021), and did not directly advocate for the winding up of the programmes, prison university partnerships have nonetheless been put on indefinite hold by the Prisons and Probation Service (HMPPS).

Methodology

This was a small scale, qualitative study comprising 10 interviews with former students from the Learning Together module, from different cohorts between 2017 and 2020. Five of the participants were former university learners and five former prison learners to provide balance and validity to the data. ⁵ Potential participants were contacted with a brief outline of the project, either by email or through social media and alumni networks, and those who wanted to be involved with it were provided with further information about the aims of the research project (participants were also provided with a participant information sheet and a consent form). Potential participants also had the opportunity to ask the researchers any questions they may have about the research before agreeing to take part. For those that agreed to be interviewed, the interviews were semi-structured, and with open-ended questions which focused on the participant’s experiences of the Learning Together module and wider experiences of education. Most of the interviews were conducted online, via video conferencing apps, and some were carried out face to face. They were each approximately 1 hour long and were all recorded and later transcribed. At the time of the interviews, all of the prison learners had finished their sentences. It was felt that a qualitative approach to the research was needed to allow respondents to give full answers, sometimes beyond what the initial question had endeavoured to address, although a negative of this approach was that occasionally interviews could go ‘off track’.

The aim of the research was to gain an insight into learner’s experiences of Learning Together and how this was different, or not, from other experiences of education, both within and beyond the prison setting. This was set within a context of critical andragogy to understand the development of agency of (said) learners and how the module challenged or reinforced perceptions and experiences of education.

As such, the principles of critical andragogy were integral to data collection and thus the construction of the semi-structured interview schedule. As we have highlighted, critical andragogy is concerned with inclusive approaches to teaching that aim to place all learners on equal footing through dialogical learning involving reciprocal communication between educators and learners (Freire, 2017). It acknowledges the needs and life experiences of learners, and the socio-political contexts in which they live (Chadwick & Scraton, 2006). Critical andragogy is central to how we approach teaching broadly, and the teaching methods for Learning Together were thus influenced by a critical andragogical approach that prioritised collaboration and the diversity of learners (Giroux, 2022). This approach, as we have noted, was also infused with the theoretical insights of zemiologists and C.W. Mills.

The interviews were analysed using thematic analysis (Braun & Clarke, 2006) and were coded according to three core themes that were developed a priori, and were inspired by the literature on critical andragogy, zemiology, and the insights of C.W. Mills. As noted, the three core themes were first, ‘empathy as pedagogical/andragogical capital’, second, ‘the goals of and relationships between participants’, and third, ‘critical empathy in the ‘total institution’. ⁶ For each theme, there were several interview questions. Some examples of the interview questions, and the associated theme, are as follows:

The ‘sociological imagination’ refers to a way of better understanding social issues and inequalities that apply to others as well as ourselves. Did the module achieve this goal? (This question was associated with the theme ‘empathy as pedagogical/andragogical capital’).

Did the module influence you in terms of thinking about future pursuits? (This question was associated with the theme ‘goals of, and relationships between, participants’).

What would you say was the main value, if any, of the module Learning Together? (This question was associated with the theme ‘critical empathy in the total institution’).

During the overall analysis of data, a further ‘overarching’ and recurring (inductive) theme emerged, which we termed ‘momentary emancipation’. This theme became central in that it linked all three deductive themes. It was deemed to be of such importance that it influenced the title of this article. Indeed, as through the development of critical empathy, the establishment of relationships, and the critical andragogical approach to teaching Learning Together at HMP Westborough, prison learners briefly recaptured a sense of autonomy and individual identity and were thus ‘momentarily emancipated’.

Ethical approval for the project was gained from The University of the Northwest through an internal application process within the relevant faculty, which was successful, and the process was made easier due to the existing partnership with the prison. Participants were also informed that they could withdraw their data within 30 days of the interview.

An important issue to acknowledge was the time lapse between the course ending and conducting the interviews. For some participants, interviews were conducted 6 years after the course had concluded. ⁷ There was therefore a potential issue concerning memory, in that former learners were asked to recall events that had taken place up to 6 years (ago) previously. A benefit of this, however, was the potential to avoid ‘recency bias’.

Analysis

Critical/‘transformative’ education: Empathy and andragogical capital in prison

As Scott (2014) states, reducing recidivism and ensuring ‘desistance’ are the most common desired goals of prison education. Given the official objectives of imprisonment, which claim to assist those convicted by the courts to ‘lead law-abiding and useful lives, both whilst they are in prison and after they are released’ (HM Prison Service, 2023), this emphasis is not surprising. However, the notion of ‘desistance’ is problematic, both intrinsically as a concept and practically as a foundation for education.

Desistance theory gives credence to the legitimacy of the prison in its essence and purpose. It also inherently accepts the non-legitimacy of criminal behaviour when, in some circumstances, crime may be a rational response to fundamentally unjust or unequal situations. Further, Maruna and Mann (2019, p. 4) assert, ‘desistance’ and ‘what works’ talk (in prison in particular) can be a smoke screen to distract from the damaging nature of justice interventions. Much prison education is rooted in a philosophy that focuses on recidivism and desistance, and thus ‘lacks a fundamental critique of prisons’ (Scott, 2014, p. 411), and of the power structures that directly and negatively impact both individual trajectories to prison and lives after release. It was therefore important for us to reject traditional classroom regimes and the dominant ‘desistance’ philosophy of prison education and instead deploy a critical andragogical approach. This was made clear through a series of meetings prior to the start of the module. During these meetings, it was discussed that whilst there would be rules to follow for prison security requirements, the academic content of teaching would be shaped by the tutors and learners and not prescribed by the prison. This was considered important to allow students to participate on an equal basis and have a meaningful investment in their own learning. As Little and Warr (2022, p. 2) have argued, such an approach accords with the concept of pedagogical, or what we would term, andragogical capital. ⁸ This refers to the ‘accumulated resources that can be brought to initiate, facilitate and maintain student participation in processes of learning’ (Henningsson-Yousif and Aasen, 2015 in Little & Warr, 2022, p. 2), such as trust, a sense of value and self-worth, and confidence.

We were more interested in the creation of a comfortable, non-judgemental ‘internal’ environment where all learners felt safe, with a sense of belonging. It was important that learners believed their contributions to discussions were inherently valued, what Little and Warr (2022, p. 2) term ‘exchange value’, rather than their participation forming part of prison targets. This was reflected in prison learner experiences of Learning Together at HMP Westborough:

I felt extremely valuable. It gave me a real self-esteem boost. It just gave me such an amazing boost. (David)

Normal prison classes are very regimented, like back in school, you can’t speak, sit apart, you know, things like that. But I felt the Learning Together experience was a lot more open, a lot more, you know, you felt valued. (Mark)

However, there are many criticisms of prison education, and certainly of the idea of attempts to introduce democratic, critical pedagogical approaches in such environments. Hicks Peterson (2019, p. 175) questions the lasting impact of ‘liberating and healing education within the oppressive and violent realities of prison’. As she further states, ‘While ever powerful, when the community we build inside the classroom dissolves, individuals are left alone to battle structures that have not made the same transformations they have’ (Hicks Peterson, 2019, p. 179).

Similar to the partnership discussed by Little and Warr (2022), we rejected the notion that the module should have ‘transformative’ and ‘rehabilitative’ impacts. Although there is considerable official and academic discourse around the ‘transformative’ effects of prison education and its role in rehabilitation and desistance (Armstrong & Ludlow, 2016), these arguments can be seen as a ‘smoke screen’ to distract from ‘the damaging nature of justice interventions’ (Maruna & Mann, 2019, p. 4; Scott, 2014), diverting attention from the benefits of education in its own right, whilst upholding the legitimacy of the prison. As Hannah-Moffat (2000) has contended, well-intentioned ‘empowering’ strategies in prison can be co-opted in such a way that they enhance the punitive capacities of the state. Empowerment is not a static term, and much like democracy seldom is the same thing meant by it (Elfleet, 2021; Hannah-Moffat, 2001; Young, 1994). Whilst empowerment has been concerned with reconfiguring power relations and maximising choices, when adopted in a prison context these original intentions can be ‘encroached’ upon and mutated to conform to the requirements of penal establishments, and more broadly the state (Hannah-Moffat, 2002, p. 210). Fundamentally, core aspects of empowerment are constrained in a setting whereby choice and autonomy are diminished. And crucially, when prison programmes are deemed to ‘empower’, this can disguise the true nature of prisons as sites of punishment that ‘limit individual expressions of autonomy, control and choice’ (Hannah-Moffat, 2000, p. 521). Similarly, Carlen (2002) has argued that such approaches can facilitate what she terms carceral clawback, whereby, ultimately, ‘transformative’ and ‘empowering’ strategies can serve to reaffirm the power and legitimacy of the prison.

Therefore, those who take part in prison education programmes could be seen to be, unintentionally, legitimising a brutal and dehumanising institution and form of punishment. As Hicks Peterson (2019, p. 180) considers when she states that she feels conflicted by ‘…the violent and oppressive nature of the prison itself that [she] must repeatedly befriend in order to get inside’. We refer to the system as a whole in terms of violence and oppression, rather than the practices within the individual prison, although the latter may also be problematic. Individual staff within the prison may be supportive and generous, but the prison system itself is constructed around marginalisation and structured violence (Sim, 2009).

Despite these concerns, as Scott (2014, p. 402) argues, radical education programmes in prison can ‘facilitate their students becoming advocates of peace, justice, social engagement, taking action to challenge individual and institutional violence, becoming spokespersons for their communities, and succeeding where the system has told them they are failures’. This was reflected in prison learner experiences of the critical andragogical approach we deployed at HMP Westborough:

It really ignited a fire inside me … I’ve got really interested in social justice … (David)

I think the main value was in the title. It’s actually learning together. It’s about understanding each other, the people side of it. That’s what I remember now, to this day, the experience of the people on the module. I can’t tell you exactly what [CW Mills] says … or even what his sociological imagination was or is, but I can remember the experience of the people and … understanding and breaking down the barriers and yeah, just learning from each other. (Mark)

As Scott (2013) has argued, it is not enough to operate in isolation from existing institutions of the state. To challenge and undermine the current operation of the criminal justice process, working within these institutions as well outside can provide immediate positive impacts on the lives of marginalised groups.

Gaining prisoner’s trust: Goals of, and relationships between, participants

The nature of society tends to deny humanity to prisoners (Scott, 2015), and as such this process of dehumanisation overtly prioritises the voices of those in positions of power (Foucault, 2002; Scott & Codd, 2010; Sim, 2009). It was therefore important that hierarchical relations were eroded as far as was possible. This was essential for reciprocity, and the establishment of trust. Our goal was to create a learning environment in which all participants felt valued and engaged but without feeling that their backgrounds and previous actions were being judged and measured to be ‘corrected’.

However, there was still some suspicion on the part of the prison learners about the nature and agenda of the course. Prison is an environment where suspicion is often rife, and trust is not easily won. This occurs alongside feelings of self-doubt and dis-empowerment (Conway, 2023). So, perhaps unsurprisingly, some prison learners expressed initial apprehension about their role in the module, in some cases fearing they would become objects of study, rather than students in their own right. As Brian articulated,

... there was some suspicion about the course. You don’t want to feel like you’re being a ‘guinea pig’, part of a social experiment … it’s a prison thing … if you are always on the end of suspicion, you treat everybody as a threat in some way. The [tutors] had a task to reassure those people who felt like that. (Brian)

There was not just suspicion of university students, however, but also wariness of the response from other prisoners:

The thing with prison is there’s a heck of a lot of [emphasis on] status and perception and testosterone, bravado, machismo, you know all that. They call it toxic masculinity nowadays … So, you generally wouldn’t get somebody … saying ‘Oh well done, you did really well!’ because they’d be worried about the perception of them saying that to their peers, worried about getting criticism or ridicule … (David)

Meetings were held prior to the module, with prison learners, so they could voice concerns and ask any questions about the course. ⁹

Although inspired by the broader Learning Together project, and part of the Criminology degree at The University of the Northwest, a decision was taken at the outset that, in terms of content, the course would not be focused on traditional conceptualisations of, or issues around, ‘crime’, as many other Learning Together programmes were. It was our view that to have done this would have created a disparity and an exclusionary dynamic between the two groups of learners. The University participants were Level Six (final year) students and, as such, had a solid academic understanding of debates around ‘crime’, punishment, and the criminal justice system. The prison participants, on the other hand, were unlikely to have a similar academic knowledge, but instead were experiencing punishment by the criminal justice system for their involvement in crime. To put two such groups together to discuss ‘crime’ would potentially have set up an exploitative interaction, fortifying the ‘criminal’ master status of the incarcerated students. This was something prisoners were extremely wary of in the preliminary discussions we had with them whilst planning the course (becoming ‘guinea pigs’ as Brian put it). Instead, a more inclusive approach was adopted, and the module was centred around two related concepts: zemiology, or social (as opposed to individual) harms, and, as discussed above, C.W. Mills’ (2000) conceptualisation of the ‘sociological imagination’. The focus on forms of social harm (for example, poverty, housing inequality, climate change and environmental damage, impacts of mainstream and social media, consumerism, and threats to democracy) meant that all learners could participate on an equal footing, drawing on their own experiences if they wished, or focusing their discussions on the academic, activist, or media readings provided. Taking a zemiological position was integral to our critical andragogical approach. As argued, such an approach is more resistant to potential encroachment and thus less likely to facilitate carceral clawback (Carlen, 2002; Hannah-Moffat, 2002).

Momentary emancipation and empathy in the total institution

As highlighted earlier, we do not assert, nor advocate, that the critical andragogical approach deployed could or should provide transformative effects for prisoners. Instead, we focused more on the immediate environment and experience, fostering a sense of inclusivity and value. However, what became apparent from the research was how the critical andragogical approach worked effectively in terms of giving students ‘identity’ and autonomy within the course, many of whom had never experienced this before. Conway (2023) has discussed the importance of a dialogical approach to in-prison learning, of giving students some stake in or ownership of the course, and our approach to Learning Together achieved that by providing autonomy for a short period each week. All of those interviewed spoke with pride, not only in the personal sense of what they had achieved individually by taking part, but a wider, shared sense of pride and ownership about the course generally, and often about other students on the course. Prison learners articulated that it was a fulfilling experience to be part of something they felt was positive and worthwhile:

[Learning Together] can make people realise that education isn't this big bad thing that I'm excluded from, but actually you know what, this is a good thing … [and] the majority of people make it through that formal education route, and I think the course offers an experience of education for people who haven’t been through that ‘normal’ path. So, I think that not many people within [HMP Westborough] have had that [traditional educational] route, and I think [Learning Together] was definitely good for them. (Mark)

Learning Together was an opportunity for, you know, prisoners to get up and talk and give their feedback as though they’re a student, not a prisoner. (Stan)

We were really made to feel as though we were part of something … special, you know. [Something] that really did matter back then. (Brian)

Learning Together therefore provided positive outcomes for those learners whereby they felt valued, included, and experienced a sense of pride and belonging in that their voice was being heard. Whilst the course was not designed principally to be an antidote to the constraints of prison dynamics, it was a desirable outcome of the teaching and learning approach on the module. It placed students central to the sessions. As prison learner Mark articulated,

Having the chance to have an opinion, to talk, rather than being talked at … I felt like my opinion mattered … I didn’t come away thinking, ‘these aren’t listening’. I felt like it was having an impact on [others]. (Emphases added)

A critical andragogical approach thus allowed for Learning Together to be taught in a way which placed students at the centre of everything and embraced the differences and life experience that learners brought to the course. As such, it provided periods of what we term ‘momentary emancipation’. Albeit temporarily, prison time was less painful, and some prison learners were able to momentarily recapture a sense of individual identity, briefly displacing their ‘prisoner’ identity:

You're losing the prison number, you're losing your prison identity, that’s gone, and it's the closest [....] to the real world that you can get, apart from home leave ... because you're not treated as a prisoner, you’re treated as learners, and you sort of have that attached to your identity anyway. (Billy, emphases added)

Unlike prior engagements with prison education, the critical andragogical approach offered a temporary escape from ‘the system’:

To be fair, the tutors [from previous prison college partnerships] were great, but all of a sudden you hear keys jangling, a prison officer will come in, take your names and then go off so you’re always reminded that you’re still in a prison, whereas with Learning Together, none of that happened. We were free from that system … it was a safe space. (Billy, emphases added)

As Medlicott (2001, p. 127) has highlighted, ‘time is integrally and internally bound up with our sense of identity’. In her study of male suicidal prisoners, she highlighted the power of prison time as a ‘social and punitive force that constrains all those confined in prison’. As she argues, in prison individuals are unable to participate in the chronology of events that made up their life on the outside, events which construct and maintain their identity (Medlicott, 2001, p. 45). In terms of Learning Together, it became apparent that for some, the classes provided a routine and something to look forward to:

You wanted to be there first and foremost, and I looked forward to it … it was probably the best two hours of the week at that time [for me]. It was a great environment and that's what I remember most of all. (Brian, emphases added)

As Hicks Peterson (2019, p. 178) states, the emancipatory effects of such approaches to prison learning can be that they reduce the despair experienced by many incarcerated people. These positive effects were experienced by prison learners undertaking Learning Together at HMP Westborough:

I loved [the way it was taught], because you’re put into different groups each week and get to know different people. You actually get to know different people and get to discuss, you know, the course materials for that week as well and hear different opinions. (Stan)

As Goffman (1961) argued, the prison is a ‘total institution’ in that, not only is it physically isolated from wider society, within it prisoners are subject to an ‘all encompassing’ or ‘total’ regime. It is an environment where the institution controls every aspect of life and where complete power, and control, is exercised by a single authority. Because of this, as Ginsberg (2019, p. 64) argues, ‘… incarceration compels people in prison to identify as incarcerated on a minute-by-minute basis’; such is the totalisation of the institution. For the incarcerated student, their identity as a ‘prisoner’ can become dominant during their incarceration and is one reason why, as Ginsberg goes on to note, it is ‘unintelligible to the non-incarcerated…[ ]…, making critical pedagogy’s insistence on student transformation epistemologically baseless’ (2019, p. 60). We accepted this reality from the outset and, as highlighted earlier, focused more on the immediate environment and experience, fostering a sense of inclusivity and value, than on any pretence at long-term ‘transformation’ of students. For prison students, this was experienced as a very positive aspect of the module. For some, the module simply represented a respite from the physical restraints and mundanity of the prison environment. As prison learner Brian stated,

[Some] took it seriously, and some didn’t. There were people who went … for the hour out of their cell, and for the tea and biscuits. That’s the reality of what can happen.

The idea that some prison learners were more interested in the social aspect of the module than the academic content was not something we considered to be problematic. The social aspect of the module proved to be one of the most significant elements in terms of the development of friendships and social networks (between prison learners, prison and university learners, and all learners and tutors). Securing membership of social groups can promote feelings of safety, trust, and empathy (Dolan, 2017) and encourage reciprocity and co-operation.

Little and Warr (2022) state that prison education, at both institutional and policy levels, is too heavily focused on formal accreditation and certification, rather than recognising the inherent value of the experience of learning. Prison strips individuals of their identity and then reconstructs that identity into ‘an institutionally acceptable form of the self’ (Warr, 2020, p. 28). The critical approach taken at HMP Westborough enabled prison learners to temporarily recapture their individuality and identity, as these prison learners commented:

It was probably the best two hours of the week at that time for me ... It was the oasis in the middle of a desert … a barren, desolate, post-apocalyptic, dystopian world but … for two hours a week, I felt like a normal person and that’s a big statement. (Brian, emphases added)

For me it was something I looked forward to each week … so you had that escapism … and for the first time in a long time, you could be yourself again … (Stan, emphases added)

We didn’t feel like prisoners. We were spoken to like normal people. Which on the outside sounds very nonsensical, but on the inside, it means an awful lot, to be spoken to like that. (Billy, emphases added)

It was just a really kind of uplifting human experience. (David)

Conclusion

As highlighted throughout this article, there are considerable criticisms of prison education, and certainly of the idea of introducing democratic, transformative, and critical pedagogical approaches in such environments. ¹⁰ As has been argued, these approaches can potentially obscure the harmful lived realities of prison environments and even be, albeit unintentionally, complicit in maintaining them. ¹¹

As such, we took a more inclusive approach to teaching. As we have highlighted, unlike many other Learning Together programmes, the course did not focus on traditional understandings of ‘crime’, nor was desistance a core objective. Instead, the teaching programme was centred around the related concepts of zemiology and C.W. Mills’ (2000) conceptualisation of the ‘sociological imagination’. As we have argued, a focus on social harm better ensured that all learners were able to participate on equal footing by focusing on broader social harms and not individual crimes. To do so would have objectified prisoner learners, rendering them objects of scrutiny. Important outcomes of this approach were, albeit temporarily, that prison learners regained a sense of individuality, identity, and autonomy. They further articulated positive experiences of learning that they had not experienced before.

Linking all themes, ‘empathy as pedagogical capital’, ‘the goals of, and relationships between, participants’, and ‘the development of critical empathy’, was that the critical andragogical approach deployed provided periods of ‘momentary emancipation’. As we have argued, whilst the module was not primarily designed to be an antidote to the constraints of prison life, the teaching approach adopted nonetheless produced this desirable outcome.

Therefore, despite the potential limitations and implications of critical approaches to prison education, in potentially facilitating and reinforcing the discursive power of prisons, we argue that working within prisons is essential to provide more immediate positive impacts on the everyday lives of marginalised groups (Scott, 2013). As we have further argued, despite the challenges, the critical andragogical approach offered is more likely to be able to resist encroachment (Hannah-Moffat, 2001, 2002) by the state through presenting a challenge to oppression and disproportionate structural power relations. It thus resists and challenges the legitimacy of the dominance of desistance philosophy within prison education programmes, by ensuring that the voices of the least powerful can be heard (Scott, 2014).