Abstract
In recent years, scholars have come to agree that ‘total institutions’ are in general more permeable than as outlined in prior studies. The idea of the ‘totality’ of prisons has been challenged, for example, by acknowledging the penetration of the outside world through media or external visitors. However, prison surroundings are often a topic that is not granted a lot of attention. Using ethnographic data on the everyday lives of prisoners sentenced to indefinite incarceration in Switzerland, this article explores long-term prisoners’ sensory perceptions of the outside world, in particular through hearing, seeing and smelling. It is argued that this affects not only the prisoners’ understanding of ‘the prison’ but also their experience of time and their sense of self. A closer look at their diverse ways of dealing with these (potential) connections to the outside world reveals their individual approaches to the indefinite nature of their incarceration.
Introduction
The body of literature on the experience of imprisonment is vast, focusing on a wide range of determining aspects, such as the norms and values of the
Early prison studies defined the prison as a ‘total institution’ (Goffman, 1961), completely isolated from the outside world with its own distinct culture. However, today scholars agree that prisons are more permeable than when outlined by Goffman more than 50 years ago. The idea of the ‘totality’ of prisons has been challenged by various scholars, highlighting how the outside world has penetrated prisons, for example, through media, such as television or radio (Jewkes, 2002), or external visitors (Moran, 2013), who are tremendously important for the prisoners’ experience. Nonetheless, with the exception of a few studies in the field of carceral geography that challenge the idea of a distinct separation between the inside and outside of prisons (e.g. Baer and Ravneberg, 2008; Turner, 2016), the focus of these studies remains on the inner world of the prison, on what happens
In this article, I propose a shift in focus from the interior to the exterior spaces of the prison, specifically to prison surroundings. My aim is to trace the role of prison surroundings by looking more closely at the prisoners’ sensory perception of ‘what goes on’
Analytical and methodological approach
The prison as an inhabited time-space
To explore long-term prisoners’ sensory perceptions of the outside world, I propose refocusing the lens of prison studies away from the often-applied framework of power and resistance and, instead, using space, time and embodiment as key concepts. As embodied individuals, we are framed spatially and temporally in any social arrangements we encounter, whether we live in prison or under any other conditions.
Nevertheless, in the prison context, space and time have particular importance. Firstly, space and time are the main elements on which the ‘modern’ penal system, which was developed in the late 18th century, is built: the segregation of offenders in a particular place – the prison – from the rest of society over a certain period of time (see Foucault, 1975). Secondly, prison life is to a great extent characterised by particular spatial deprivations, such as the restricted liberty of movement and mobility within the prison, limited connections to the outside world and the separation of prisoners by sex (Milhaud, 2009: 146). Disciplinary sanctions are also primarily spatial in nature (e.g. solitary confinement, additional exclusion in the cell). Furthermore, due to institutional constraints and the many prison rules, as stressed by Matthews, ‘although imprisonment is in essence about time’, from the point of view of prisoners ‘it is experienced as a form of timelessness, with prison terms often described as ‘doing’ or ‘killing’ time’ (2009: 38). This is also linked to the sensory qualities of prison spaces in terms of their materiality, the general lack of variation of colour and light (see also Cohen and Taylor, 1972: 61–62) and the prison’s typical (repetitive) sounds (Herrity, 2019).
Cohen and Taylor point to the particular meaning time has for long-term prisoners (for long-term prisoners in the early phases of their sentence, see Wright et al., 2016: 232–234). As the authors argue, for these prisoners, time is basically ‘a problem’ as they have been given ‘time as a punishment’ (Cohen and Taylor, 1972: 87). Therefore, in contrast to the outside world where time is considered a resource, for long-term prisoners, time becomes ‘a controller, it has to be served rather than used’ (Cohen and Taylor, 1972: 89). As argued by Marti (2020), the situation is slightly different for long-term prisoners sentenced to
In this article, I explore the experience of long-term prisoners sentenced to indefinite incarceration by considering both space
To grasp these prisoners’ embodied experiences of space and time analytically, I use the concept of ‘inhabiting’ inspired by two particular theoretical approaches. On the one hand, I draw on Merleau-Ponty’s (1978 [1962]) phenomenological theory, which allows me to explore ‘the prison’ from the prisoners’ perspective through their emplaced and embodied experiences. Merleau-Ponty emphasises the role of the body in the human experience of the world – the bodily being-in-the-world. According to the author, ‘the world is what we perceive’ (1978 [1962]: xvi) through sensory experience, such as hearing and seeing – whereby ‘synaesthetic perception is the rule’ (Merleau-Ponty, 1978 [1962]: 229) – but also through corporal movement and activity. Hence, from this perspective, the body is the ‘existential null point’ (Simonsen, 2007: 169) from which we engage with and understand the world, things, others and ourselves – it is ‘our general medium for having a world’ (Merleau-Ponty, 1978 [1962]: 146).
In Merleau-Ponty’s thinking, the body is not
On the other hand, the pragmatist approach by the geographers Lussault and Stock and their understanding of ‘inhabiting’ allows me to shed light on prisoners’ agentic ways of dealing with imprisonment and, more concretely, space and time. From the authors’ perspective, prisoners’ everyday lives are never entirely determined by the institutional order. Prisoners use, appropriate and constantly (re)arrange the institutional spatio-temporal order based on their sensory experience and through individual practices whereby they attribute (new) meanings and values to the various prison contexts, create personal and intimate space and redefine carceral rhythms. From a pragmatic perspective, inhabiting serves as a concept that allows me to grasp prisoners’ general and practical relation to the world and, more concretely, space.
As Lussault and Stock argue, being in the world is not (only) about ‘being on Earth’ or ‘being in space’ but about ‘coping with space’ (Lussault and Stock, 2010; Stock, 2015: 430). However, from their perspective, ‘to cope with space’ only makes sense when space is considered a problem, which is certainly not always the case – space can also be mobilised by actors as a resource or as ‘empowerment’ (Lussault and Stock, 2010: 13). Moreover, the authors maintain that the expression ‘in’ (or ‘within’) space suggests that there is a ‘pre-existent spatial volume or
Combining these two theoretical approaches allows us (1) to understand the prison not as space in the sense of a (pre-defined) static container that contains people but as a formally established set of arrangements of space and (clock) time that is
‘Sensing with’ prisoners
My reflections are drawn from ethnographic data that I generated between 2016 and 2017 during a research project on the lived experience of prisoners sentenced to indefinite confinement in Switzerland. I also use data from a previous project on the end of life in prison. For the two projects, I conducted fieldwork in two high-security prisons for male offenders: JVA Lenzburg and JVA Pöschwies. Over this period (155 days in total), I was in contact with 32 prisoners. At the time of our encounter, 25 of them were (in addition to a custodial sentence) sentenced to ‘indefinite incarceration’ for security reasons (Art. 64 of the Swiss Criminal Code [SCC]) and 7 to in-patient therapeutic ‘treatment of mental disorders’ (Art. 59 SCC). The most frequent offences these (mostly repeat) offenders were convicted of were sex offences, followed by violent offences.
In this article, I draw mainly (but not exclusively) on data that I generated by means of ‘walking interviews’ or ‘go-alongs’ (Kusenbach, 2003). In addition to participation, ‘solitary observations’ (Kusenbach, 2003: 461) and informal discussions, conducting individual ‘walking interviews’ at the final stage of my fieldwork was instrumental to exploring systematically, in situ and
Using empirical material, I provide in the following sections insight into these prisoners’ sensory perceptions of the outside world in two particular time-space arrangements: while being locked up in the prison cell and during their daily 1-h walk in the courtyard.
In the cell: Having a sense of the outside world
The cell is the place where prisoners are – at least physically – the most isolated from the outside world. In the prisons in which I conducted fieldwork, the men are held in single cells and, when the doors are locked, they have no ability to engage in (direct) interpersonal communication. The cell is a place where they are forced to ‘do time’ alone. According to the spatio-temporal regime of the prison, it is the place in prison where they have to spend most of their time.
The prisoner’s experience of the cell is primarily related to the cell’s materiality, for example, the architecture, design and furniture of the cell (see Figure 1). However, as showed by Marti (2020), it is further shaped by the social environment of the prison, for example, the way prisoners are and feel treated by prison staff, for instance, during the moment of the locking and unlocking of their cell, or the prison sounds – often described by prisoners as either too loud or too quiet. Moreover, as I explore below in more detail, while the cells in a prison are generally all alike, the location of the cell and orientation of the window provide prisoners with different views as well as sounds, therefore potentially different sensory impressions and connections to the outside world. This strongly shapes the perceived ‘ambiance’ (Thibaud, 2011) in the cell and thus how it feels to be in it, as well as the experience of imprisonment in general (see also Turner et al., 2020).
A prisoner’s cell in JVA Lenzburg.
Some prisoners stated that they could hear birds chirping through the open window; others mentioned the sounds of dogs barking or people laughing. The concrete location of the cell influences whether the sun shines into it at the time they are locked inside. Moreover, a cell on the second floor may allow prisoners to look over the wall and obtain a glance of the ‘free world’ (see Figure 2) and – depending on the prison’s location and surroundings – see a forest or a village, cars moving, even people walking in the street. As mentioned by Leo, who had at the time of our encounter recently moved to another cell, living on the second floor of the prison finally allowed him ‘to gaze into the distance’ (Leo, 23 March 2016). 4 Of course, these views also change with the weather and the seasons. As Leo told me, he saw ‘a bit more of life out there’ during winter, after the trees have lost their leaves (Leo, 6 September 2017).
A glance of the ‘free world’ though the cell’s window.
Some prisoners described having access to the outside world as essential for their well-being. For some, this meant having the opportunity to see the blue sky or the green trees, to smell and feel the ‘fresh air’ (Leo, 23 March 2016); others were able to glimpse houses and cars – to see that ‘normal life’ (Leo, 6 September 2017) goes on. All of them mentioned that sensory impressions of the outside world provided them with hope, made them feel less isolated and (still) connected them to the outside world (see also Jewkes, 2018; Moran, 2019): If I were inside a cell where I couldn’t see green when I look out of the window, no sky – nothing, I would go crazy because I need that. This is what gives me back some energy and makes me keep going. (Hugo, 25 June 2013) [I]t’s important for me to have this view: I can see a bit of green, the forest, I don’t just see the wall, well I’m now up [on the second floor], this gives you still a little feeling of freedom, and this is what matters to me […] I’m often standing at the window, looking out into the forest, and simply enjoying it. It also calms me down. […] This is important to me, to not be completely segregated, that I can still see the horizon. (Leo, 6 September 2017)
However, in contrast to prisoners who appreciate sensing the outside world, I also met prisoners who purposefully avoid this kind of confrontation because it constantly reminds them of what they miss (see also Jewkes, 2002: 91). This is particularly the case for prisoners like Markus, who have decided to concentrate on the (prison) present instead of the (uncertain) future, and thus have given up hope and cut off their social bonds to the outside world. Markus told me that he generally avoids looking out his window, through which he can see the houses of a small town (see Figure 3). As he explained to me while we were standing in his cell together, the outside world is just too close: Markus: This is something I will not get used to: the view. I’m definitely not one of those […] there are many [prisoners] who are standing at the window in the evening, looking out while smoking a cigarette. Me, I don’t do that. Interviewer: Why? M: I see houses and life. I: Yeah, they are very close, actually. M: Yes. This is outside, just next to the wall. I don’t like that. It’s nice to see, but it’s depressing. For example, the house there with the two windows above [he points his finger towards it], […] this is so close! (Markus, 28 August 2017)
Feeling ‘too close’ to the outside community.
As these examples suggest, sensing the outside world through the window of the cell constitutes a source of both well-being and discomfort. Having a sense of the outside world, which means for prisoners the possibility of gazing into the distance, seeing the open sky and the horizon and visually and through sounds remembering that ‘normal life’ goes on, is thus not per se something that increases their well-being as often assumed (see also Turner et al., 2020). It can intensify as well as ease the pain caused by their social exclusion and spatial separation from the community. The same applies to access to green spaces – whether they are ‘real’, on TV, or even in the form of images, which is also recognised as having positive effects on prisoners’ health and experience of imprisonment (see e.g. Moran, 2019): Also, on TV, when I see beautiful landscapes from Switzerland or somewhere else where I have been in my life – I have been to many places in the world. Then it is always double-edged […] You know, it’s only pixels (laughs), and these are just spots of colour, like on a poster: you can’t jump into this lake or walk through the forest, or across the meadow. No, it is – of course, the TV helps to distract, but there is always…I always have to be careful not to look at things that make me too […] that remind me of what I miss. (Rolf, 6 May 2016)
Further, the embodied experience of the prison cell as a particular space is inseparably bound up with the embodied experience of time (see Moran, 2012: 310). Everyday life in prison is characterised by many rules, repetition and a high degree of ‘eventlessness’ (Toch, 1996 [1977]: 29). Access to the daily rhythms and routines of the outside community (e.g. in the shape of moving cars and people walking on the street) or the evolving seasons, for instance, in the form of a ‘forest that changes its colours’ (David, 18 October 2017), gives prisoners – especially prisoners who do not have any concrete perspective and thus do not know whether they will ever be released – a sense of the passage of time (see also Turner et al., 2020: 226).
Moreover, as mentioned above, seeing the ‘horizon’ provides some prisoners with ‘energy’ and ‘hope’, which echoes Tuan’s (2001 [1977]) reflections on time in experiential space. As he argues, distance is not a purely spatial concept: it also implies time. Therefore, the spatial experience of having a view of the open space and seeing the horizon – a standard image of the future in so-called Western societies – may thus give prisoners, especially those who do not know whether they will ever be released, a sense of the future or at least of ‘hopeful times’ (Tuan, 2001 [1977]: 123). However, since most of them have lost contact with their families and friends over time, and many of the places they used to know in the outside world have disappeared, their ideas about the future consist less of concrete plans and more of dreams and visions. Nevertheless, even though the future is difficult to imagine, many prisoners keep on ‘fighting’ against their situation to achieve their release.
Interestingly, what prisoners perceive through the window of their cell also depends on what they
Again, others do not pay attention to the view at all. For example, Lars answered my question about the view he has from his cell, declaring: ‘none, there’s just the courtyard’ (Fieldnotes, 17 February 2016). Some also use curtains for this purpose. As I noticed, during the day, many inmates would actually draw the curtains and turn on the light while in their cells. One of the prisoners explained to me that when he drew the curtains, he not only did not see the bars on the window anymore but also did not notice when the weather is nice (Fieldnotes, 12 February 2016). I was told by many prisoners that imprisonment is generally experienced as much more challenging on a sunny day (see also Ugelvik, 2014: 114). The practice of drawing the curtains, therefore, helps prisoners to overlook (and forget about) the outside world and what they miss.
In the courtyard
Being in the ‘open air’
For 1 h every day, prisoners can spend time in the courtyard, where they can meet fellow inmates, walk around or exercise. Even though long-term prisoners get to know ‘each spot’ of the courtyard (Theo, 3 May 2016), they can experience change and variety in terms of the courtyard’s ‘ambiance’ (Thibaud, 2011). Being in the courtyard means basically being outside – in the ‘open air’ (Markus, 28 September 2017). It is thus the place where prisoners have the most direct access to ‘nature’, mainly in the shape of the weather and the changing seasons.
Indeed, prisoners referred to their sensory experience and mentioned that, in the courtyard, they could smell and feel the ‘fresh’ (Darko, 6 May 2016) or ‘warm’ air (Paul, 29 March 2016), the sunlight, or the lack of it (because of the fixed time they have to spend in the courtyard), rain or snow on their skin. During the warm seasons, prisoners can lie on the grass – on ‘a real lawn’ (Anton, 24 March 2016), which is not possible in every prison as the grounds are often covered in gravel or concrete, and which is thus for certain prisoners ‘already quite a particular feeling’ (Leo, 31 August 2017; see also Moran et al., 2018). In the prisons where I conducted fieldwork, prisoners can also see (and touch) trees and plants growing and blooming; they can hear, observe and maybe even feed animals (mostly birds): Leo: There are quite a lot of birds in these trees. We already saved two. Two young ones, but they were then eaten by the dogs that patrol at night. We tried to feed them a bit, but we knew they would not survive. […] Up there [on the roof], it often has swallows. Two also fell down once, two young ones. They fell out of the hole, there on the floor. Then we supplied them with water. Yes, but they didn’t have a chance. Interviewer: Yes, and I think once they got touched by a human being […] L: Yes, then they are no longer accepted by the mother. The mother probably had too many young ones, and then she had to throw some out. Because they don’t just throw them out like that, they do not. Maybe she didn’t have food, or not enough. (Leo, 31 August 2017)
Finally, it is also a place where prisoners can gain sensory impressions of the outside community, especially its sounds. They mentioned hearing aeroplanes, trains, cars and people. In sum, it is a place that potentially stimulates the prisoners’ senses in various yet very particular ways, which is crucial as prisoners are generally suffering from sensory deprivation (see also Cohen and Taylor, 1972; Moran and Turner, 2018).
Due to this direct access to ‘nature’, which is assumed to have positive effects on the prisoners’ well-being (Moran, 2019; Moran and Turner, 2018; Wener, 2012), I used to associate the courtyard with a feeling of freedom and recovery. I always assumed that the courtyard
Encountering ‘a little piece of freedom’
Many of the prisoners mentioned that the courtyard is a place where they basically like to spend time. This is, on the one hand, the result of the fact that it is an open-air space with trees and other plants. Due to this connection to ‘nature’ and the possibility of being ‘outside’, it signifies a location where they may find ‘peace in mind’ and even forget for a while that they are in prison. While we were walking around the courtyard together, Leo suddenly said: ‘as long as I look upwards [to the sky], I actually feel free, or let’s say less imprisoned’ (Leo, 31 August 2017). On the other hand, the courtyard is also a particular social space ‘out of the prison routine’ (Leo, 23 March 2016), which lets prisoners forget that they actually are behind the walls. As explained by Anton: there [in the courtyard], most inmates feel free. And there it is the most…where I forget the walls all around, the fences; I forget that it’s a prison. Because what counts in that moment is that you’re together [with fellow prisoners] and that you have fun with each other, and that’s good. (Anton, 24 March 2016)
However, as revealed in most of these interviews, the courtyard is not a priori a nice place but has to be transformed or actively arranged into one. This conversion is revealed by looking more closely at the prisoners’ individual perceptions and their corporal and practical engagement with the courtyard, mobilising their ‘spatial competences’ (Lussault and Stock, 2010: 13). Anton, for instance, as in his cell, intentionally ‘filtered’ out everything that reminded him of being in prison and instead focused on all the elements from which he gained a feeling of freedom: I just see what I want to see, and I don’t want to see the fence in the courtyard. I see the trees; I see the birds, hear them chirping. Another inmate, too, is like this, he said: do you see this bird? It’s a Milan! […] And these are moments when I say: This is it. I don’t want to see that I’m imprisoned; I don’t want to feel as if I were imprisoned. (Anton, 24 March 2016)
The importance of ignoring the prison infrastructure and instead focusing on elements that do not relate to the prison (illustrated in Figure 4) also surfaced during the walking interview I conducted with Leo: Leo: You can see what you want to see. Interviewer: This means you can also decide to stand like this [having the wall in the back] and to look in this particular direction? L: Exactly, and the longer I’m here, I just do it. If I keep looking at the wall, I’m not feeling any better, of course. And this became automatic: I simply ignore certain things, look through them, yes. But at the beginning, of course, that [the wall] was overwhelming. (Leo, 31 August 2017)
The wall or the chapel: ‘You can see what you want to see’.
To transform the courtyard into a space where one gains the feeling of freedom can also be reached through particular bodily practices and by making use of spatial elements in a way that allows prisoners to create personal and intimate spaces. This became apparent to me again during the conversations I had with Leo. He showed me a particular tree in the courtyard, under which he liked to lie down, to read a book, to take a nap or to spend some time sunbathing. In doing so, he again filtered out everything that reminded him of being in prison and focused on things he could perceive that would remind him of the outside world: the sound of birds or the smell of the summer air. However, there was more at stake than simple relaxation and blocking out the prison environment. It also served as a moment Leo created to recall nice memories and relive them: I push myself to recall the memories that are still present and to put myself back into them. I then concentrate on the odours, the sounds. When I’m lying under this tree, I try to listen carefully and also to smell this summer air, or that I’m outside. Then I maybe hear a bird somewhere, and all the people [fellow prisoners] who are walking around, and all these different languages, this I filter out so that I won’t hear it anymore, only the birds, so that [it feels as if] I am lying in a meadow outside somewhere or recalling nice memories from the past, my childhood, holidays, nice experiences. […] And sometimes I succeed, and sometimes I don’t. And if it goes well, then I feel like totally re-energised, like a newborn, as if I had been outside [the prison] (laughs). (Leo, 23 March 2016)
While daydreaming can be described as a simple distraction that allows prisoners to ‘temporarily [blot] out all sense of the environment’ (Goffman, 1961: 309), I argue that for prisoners like Leo, daydreaming is not primarily a means of escape but a way to
As mentioned above, being in the courtyard also means being physically closest to the walls and thus also to the outside community (see Figure 5), which evoked mixed feelings among the prisoners with whom I spoke.
In the courtyard: Being close to the outside community.
Certain prisoners mentioned that they liked the possibility of sensing the outside world (as through the window of their cell) as it made them feel less isolated from it. There are others, in contrast, who told me that in this particular place, they were above all reminded of what they miss – and will probably never experience (again). In other words, the courtyard is the place where prisoners gain sensory experiences that remind them not only of their physical but also their social exclusion from society (see also Turner et al., 2020: 231) – their former lives, routines and habits: I get reminded of the outside. When the weather is nice, then you go out, the sun is shining, and you realise that all your friends out there are sitting somewhere in the garden or somewhere by the lake and enjoying the nice day and you are actually sitting in here, and at half-past seven, you are again locked up in the cell. This makes you think a lot, and during a period you don’t feel well – it can be too much. (Hugo, 23 March 2016) Hugo: Yeah, sometimes you can hear the highway, sometimes you can hear when the ambulance or police are on the move again, when there was a crash somewhere and so on. If it is very quiet, then you […] hear the train down there from time to time, and the people around here, when they are having a party in the garden outside or something, then you can sometimes hear children screaming. […] And then, when they are having a barbecue during summer, over there (laughs). Interviewer: Can you smell that? H: You can smell it, yes; the smell comes from there (laughs). And that’s actually what annoys you a little bit, you know. (Hugo, 7 September 2017)
As I noticed, being outside in the courtyard, and thus physically (and sensorial) closest to the outside world, from which they were separated by a wall, evoked bittersweet feelings among many prisoners. Although they basically liked to spend time outside, the wall, the fences and the cameras (see Figure 6) cannot easily be filtered out by everyone. Lars, for instance, agreed that the courtyard provided prisoners with ‘a little piece of freedom’; however, whenever he stood outside, ‘in front of the wall’, he ‘start[ed] to cry like a baby’ and became ‘terribly homesick’. After a fellow inmate made him aware that he returned in an ‘edgy’ mood whenever he had been to the courtyard, Lars finally decided to avoid this place. As long as he remained inside, keeping himself busy, he was not constantly reminded of where he was (Fieldnotes, 7 July 2016).
The courtyard: A ‘little piece of freedom’.
This feeling of unease was also expressed by Erwin, who was living in the unit for ill and elderly prisoners, which has a courtyard (illustrated in Figure 7) that serves as the place where he was reminded most strongly of being in prison: Interviewer: Do you often come here [to the courtyard]? Erwin: I don’t like to be here because I feel like I am in a dog kennel, wall and fences, which is not needed because nobody will go over this wall. I: So here you actually feel quite locked up? E: Down here? Yes. […] I: But it’s actually the only place where you can see the sky, right? E: Yes, yes. This is the advantage, yes. But here I really realise, because of these bars and so on, that I’m in prison. That’s the only place [in prison] I don’t like that much. (Erwin, 18 October 2017)
In the courtyard: ‘Like in a dog kennel’.
Thus, due to the experienced access to ‘nature’ and closeness to the ‘free world’, the courtyard is for some prisoners the place they feel the least imprisoned and thus (physically and mentally) most free, while for others, in contrast, it is the place they feel most captured, or most un-free – depending on how they manage to deal with the walls. In other words, the daily hour in the courtyard signifies for some a time-space for recovery, while for others, it is almost like a prison within the prison, perceived as (emotionally) particularly constraining.
This ambivalent experience of the courtyard is also strongly shaped by the prisoners’ particular legal status, that is, the indeterminate and preventive nature of their incarceration. As Hugo explained, the little piece of freedom he gained in the courtyard would be more bearable if he had a clear perspective, a definite date of release. Thus, his and others’ experience of time or ways of dealing with the indeterminate nature of imprisonment powerfully shapes their approach to and perception of this particular place: Hugo: I think if you somehow knew that you would get out again and when, then it would be something else. Then you know, then and then I come out, then it’s a different feeling, too. Interviewer: It would be a different feeling to go out, to the courtyard? H: Yes. Because then, then you have a perspective, you know exactly when you will be out again and have the experience [of really being outside] again. But if you just have to expect that you will spend the rest of your life here inside […], it’s hard. (Hugo, 7 September 2017)
Avoiding the courtyard and thus not going outside makes some prisoners who suffer from being incarcerated feel better. However, this has negative consequences for their health as they develop a vitamin D deficiency, which was quite common among the prisoners I met. Also, among those who try to avoid this place, there were prisoners who were aware that the human body needs sunlight and some fresh air. They agreed that being outside from time to time ‘is doing you some good’ (Hugo, 7 September 2017). Certain prisoners also spoke about ‘the urge to go outside’ (Markus, 28 September 2017). The courtyard is thus a highly ambiguous place. Whether avoided or not, it causes multiple, contradictory and sometimes even overlapping (bodily) reactions among prisoners: Interviewer: There are also certain people who don’t go out because they cannot bear this anymore, right? Leo: Yes, I also know these statements, yes. But it doesn’t get better staying inside. Especially if I haven’t been outside for a really long time, then I feel the urge to go outside. Then I go out because I have to go out. I: What is a long time? L: Two and a half months, three months. I: Ah yes, this is… L: Yes. Especially during the winter, I’m rarely outside. And then I really, I realise that I need some fresh air again or just once again, yes, to have this feeling. (Leo, 31 August 2017)
However, I nevertheless met prisoners who categorically rejected stepping even one foot into the courtyard and who preferred to stay in their cells, behind closed curtains and immersed in their own world: I followed [a prisoner] to his cell as he wanted to show me some of his drawings. It strongly smelled of cigarette smoke, both curtains were drawn, and he hung a bath towel in the middle of the window; one could no longer look outside. I asked him if he sometimes goes to the courtyard; he demurred and explained that he got used to being in his ‘room’. Preferably, he plays computer games where ‘you just have to shoot without thinking’. (Fieldnotes, 12 February 2016)
Conclusion
In a recently constructed secure prison in Switzerland, the architects designed it in a way that would provide prisoners with lots of daylight, access to green spaces and a view of the surrounding ‘mountain peaks and woods, and not just a narrowly defined piece of sky’, with the aim of enabling prisoners as well as prison staff to feel connected to the outside world (Kurz et al., 2020: 66, translation by the author). As demonstrated in this article, using a phenomenological and pragmatist perspective, the prison surroundings are indeed crucial for the experience of imprisonment. However, in addition to previous studies that highlight the benefits of gaining sensory impressions of the outside world and the possibility of accessing green spaces for prisoners’ mental well-being (Moran and Turner, 2018; Wener, 2012), this article argues that the outside world is a source that may both ease and intensify the ‘pains of imprisonment’ (Sykes, 1971 [1958]). It follows from this empirical observation that the prison surroundings are hence a constitutive element for prisoners’ understanding of ‘the prison’ and related experience.
Moreover, the prisoners’ subjective and embodied experience of the outside world is intertwined with their particular (legal) status as well as their individual experience of time. This article has focused on long-term prisoners sentenced to indefinite incarceration, whose lives are characterised by indeterminacy and an uncertain future. Their diverse ‘ways of doing’ with (potential) connections to the outside world also reveal their unique ways of dealing with the indefinite nature of their incarceration. Some of these prisoners need to (still) feel connected to the outside world and its rhythms as it provides them with hope and a sense of the future; for others, however, it is particularly challenging to be reminded of the outside world and to realise that ‘normal’ life goes on. These prisoners generally try to concentrate on the present and the (prison) inside, and they usually cut off their bonds to the outside world as it is emotionally too demanding and too painful to live in two worlds at the same time (see also Marti, 2020). Thus, prisoners deal with these sensory experience and potential connections according to their individual needs and interests (e.g. mobilising it as a resource, ignoring or avoiding it), which allows them to maintain their sense of self and personal integrity and to influence how it feels to be in prison.
Generally, being confronted with the outside world through sensory impressions evokes ambivalent feelings among prisoners. This is undoubtedly not only an issue for prisoners sentenced to indefinite incarceration, but for prisoners in general, and probably inmates of all kinds of (more or less) ‘total’ institutions (e.g. psychiatric hospitals, asylum centres or nursing homes) that handle ‘otherness’ by exclusion through different forms of confinement. Further research in this area, with a particular focus on institutional surroundings, would allow us to gain a more nuanced understanding of the effects and subjective experiences of (temporary or permanent) social exclusion and spaces of confinement.
Finally, prison architects are generally aware of the sensory qualities of the built environment as well as the effects of the location and orientation of the prison when constructing a new one (Kurz et al., 2020). In contrast, prison managers mainly focus on the inside (e.g. the colour of the walls, furnishings) and rarely consider the prison’s surroundings and their effects on individuals. However, as this article suggests, simply giving prisoners the possibility to choose whether they want to live in a cell on the ground floor or on the second floor – that is, having the possibility to gain sensory impressions of the outside world – may make a significant difference with regard to their well-being and experience of imprisonment.
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 authors disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: The PhD project Living the Prison: An Ethnographic Study of Indefinite Incarceration in Switzerland was funded by the SNSF (http://p3.snf.ch/project-159182). And the project End-of-Life in Prison: Legal Context, Institutions and Actors was also funded by the Swiss National Science Foundation (SNSF) (
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