The re-centralization of work in prison. The Punta de Rieles experiment in Montevideo,Uruguay

Abstract

This paper examines the approach to prisoner labour and work programs at Punta de Rieles prison in Montevideo, Uruguay—a medium-security, non-traditional prison that offers a lens to interrogate the intersections of labour and punishment. At Punta de Rieles, prisoners are responsibilized as part of a broader governance strategy, where the state delegates significant autonomy to prisoners to engage in activities deemed ‘productive’ within a framework of “governing at a distance.” This strategy has formalized a prison-based labour market characterized by horizontal labour relations, expanded opportunities, prisoner participation in the regulation of work, and state oversight of labour relations and business initiatives. While this model reframes and recenters work in prisons, shifting its focus from direct disciplinary control to self-governance and economic integration, it also raises critical questions about how labour functions as a tool of both autonomy and discipline. By embedding labour within formalized economic structures and regulation by prison authorities, the Punta de Rieles model complicates traditional understandings of prison work, revealing the blurred boundaries between empowerment and control, autonomy and exploitation. This analysis underscores the need for a nuanced critique of prison labour as a site where economic, social, and penal logics converge.

Introduction

Prison labor has long been embedded in the evolution of penal systems, shaped by complex social, economic, punitive, and disciplinary logics (Goodman, 2012b). Since the rise of modern penitentiaries in the 18th and 19th centuries, it has served diverse and often contradictory purposes—sometimes aligning with official punishment rationales (deterrence, reform, incapacitation, retribution). As such, prison labour remains a multifaceted phenomenon, capable of serving as a tool for punishment, correction, and rehabilitation, while also advancing economic productivity, reducing prison operating costs, and maintaining order and social control.

Simon (1993) identified three primary functions of prison labour. The first is normalization, historically framed as a means of disciplining and transforming prisoners (Foucault, 1977; Melossi and Pavarini, 1981; Rusche and Kirchheimer, 1939). The second aligns with punitive reinforcement, where labour serves to impose additional hardship, rooted in classical ideas of punishment as retribution and deterrence (Hatton, 2019; Hirsch, 1992; Ignatieff, 1978; Johnston, 2009). The third relates to social control, where labour serves to occupy prisoners’ time and energy, limiting their capacity for resistance and reinforcing prison order (Irwin, 1980: 61; Jacobs, 1977: 46). Building on this, Goodman (2012a: 449) claims that as perceptions of offenders have evolved, prison labour has increasingly been framed as an instrument of “responsibilization,” encouraging prisoners to internalize worker identities. Prison labour has also been considered a form of modern-day slavery (Bair, 2007; LeBaron, 2018) and exploitation (Gottschalk, 2015) where prisoners are paid low wages, not only to generate revenue but also as a form to reduce the operating costs of the prison. Under this rationale, the rehabilitative function is either absent or just obscuring its exploitative nature. More recently, scholars have analyzed prison labour as a right linked to broader struggles for prisoner rights and grounded in constitutional and legal frameworks (Jarman and Heard, 2023; Van Zyl Smit and Dünkel, 2018). These layered frameworks and often conflicting purposes (DelSesto, 2021; Hörnqvist, 2008) reflect the dynamic and mixed nature of penal practices and governance.

To add complexity, prison labour encompasses a range of modalities. It may include essential services that sustain the prison's daily operations, such as cleaning or cooking, as well as the production of goods for internal use, other state agencies, or external consumers. In some cases, prisoners engage in commercial production under agreements with private companies, typically driven by profit motives. The nature of such work varies, depending on its location (inside or outside prison walls), the type of production involved (goods or services), the supervising authority (state agencies, private companies, social organizations, or self-managed initiatives), and its orientation (serving institutional needs or addressing consumer demands). Compensation also differs, ranging from paid to unpaid work, while levels of recognition range from formal, structured roles to informal, ad-hoc tasks. Additionally, as labour becomes increasingly framed not as a punishment but a privilege—either due to its scarcity or its potential to provide dignity and alleviate the pains of imprisonment (Reich, 2024: 113)—officers are more likely to use it instrumentally, treating access to work as a means of maintaining order and securing compliance.

Local penal and economic dynamics shape unique forms of prison labour in the Global South; Latin American scholars have highlighted several of them through context-specific research (Carrington et al., 2016). Formal employment, where it exists, is typically confined to cleaning, cooking, or facility maintenance, and is often distributed as a mechanism of privilege and control (Claus et al., 2019; Gual, 2017; Taboga, 2016). In these contexts, prison labour has shifted from its classical roots in correctional ideals to predominantly supporting prison maintenance or fulfilling low-skill institutional tasks (Gual, 2017; Gual and Sozzo, 2024; Sozzo, 2007). In some instances, prisons have introduced private-sector partnerships but these tend to involve precarious, low-wage work shaped by security logics (Gual, 2017). In other cases, labour is driven by economic necessity and institutional scarcity rather than by institutional design. Chronic underfunding and limited state provision of food, clothing, and basic services have led prisoners to develop informal economies—offering services like food preparation, repairs, laundry, and accommodation rentals—as improvised survival strategies (Antillano, 2017; Cerbini, 2012, 2021; Nuñez and Fleetwood, 2017; Skarbek, 2010).

Against this complex backdrop, Punta de Rieles prison in Montevideo, Uruguay, stands as a radical and innovative alternative that challenges conventional understandings of work in carceral environments (Avila, 2023; Avila and Sozzo, 2020). Often referred to as the “prison-town,” this medium-security facility houses approximately 600 male prisoners convicted of various offenses, including serious crimes like robbery and homicide. Unlike traditional prisons, Punta de Rieles operates more like a vibrant and impoverished community on the outskirts of any Latin American city, where prisoners’ responsibilization serves as a key governance strategy. State authorities and prison staff promote a model that grants prisoners broad autonomy to engage in activities deemed “positive”—from running businesses to organizing cultural events. Prisoners move freely within the facility, have access to cell phones and the Internet, and can create and manage their own businesses and workshops, generating employment opportunities for their peers. Goods and services produced inside the prison are sold both internally and externally, with entrepreneurial initiatives supported by a solidarity fund, co-managed by prisoners and authorities, that provide interest-free loans to help develop new projects. Most of the prison staff is unarmed civilian women, and authorities do not rely on solitary confinement or physical restraints to enforce discipline. Violence levels are significantly lower than the national prison average.

Based on ethnographic research ¹ conducted at Punta de Rieles in two phases, in 2017 and 2019, this paper examines the innovative labour model at Punta de Rieles. It builds on earlier analyses of this same institution that explored broader themes of prisoner participation, power relations, and governance strategies (Avila, 2023; Avila and Sozzo, 2020; Sozzo, 2022), but shifts the analytical lens to the structure and dynamics of prisoner-led economic activity, foregrounding the role of work as a central organizing logic of carceral life. The first section outlines the governance strategy based on responsibilization, which ultimately shapes the prison labour system. Next, we explore the role and significance of the prisoner-entrepreneur in shaping the prison's economic life. This is followed by an examination of the process of becoming an employee, providing a comprehensive view of the internal labour market and work environment. Rather than passively accepting work assignments from authorities, they actively define their labour relationships—securing employment as workers or launching their own entrepreneurial projects. This dynamic shapes a formal internal labour market with horizontal relationships between prisoner-entrepreneurs and prisoner-employees, where prisoners create opportunities for their peers, generate economic value, and engage in complex economic networks. Finally, we analyze the re-centering of work in this prison, highlighting how the system balances this significant prisoner autonomy with state regulation, creating a hybrid model of oversight and self-government. Importantly, the labour dimension remains largely independent from traditional prison rationales such as control and security. By examining its structural characteristics, governance mechanisms, and socio-economic impact, this study contributes to broader discussions on prison labour and institutional transformation.

Punta de Rieles responsibilization model and the prevalence of work

Uruguay's penal system is marked by sharp internal contradictions. While the country is often celebrated for its democratic stability and progressive legal reforms, it also has one of the highest incarceration rates in South America with 435 per 100,000 inhabitants as of 2023, and a carceral landscape defined by overcrowding, institutional violence, and precarious access to basic rights. As Vigna and Sosa Barón (2019: 40) argue, Uruguay's prisons reveal a “strongly punitive character” that undermines the state's image as a rights-respecting democracy. The annual reports from the National Ombudsman for Prisons (Comisionado Parlamentario Penitenciario de Uruguay, 2021, 2022, 2023) document recurring patterns of deaths in custody, structural abandonment, pervasive violence, and systemic human rights violations.

Punta de Rieles stands as a sharp departure from this norm. Far from being the result of meticulous state planning, it emerged from a fortuitous alignment of idealistic and charismatic leadership, warden-driven decisions, and broader sociopolitical conditions (Avila, 2023). The rise of the “Frente Amplio,” a post-neoliberal governmental alliance (Sozzo et al., 2016), provided a supportive political and cultural climate (Bentancur and Busquets, 2019; Oyhantçabal, 2019), while the distinct leadership styles and ideological stances of the wardens played a crucial role (Avila, 2023). Deeply influenced by the political and cultural traditions of the Latin American Left of the 1960s and 1970s, as well as their peculiar backgrounds ² , the wardens implemented unconventional governance practices that redefined the prison experience. As a result, they transformed a traditional prison into a penal experiment (O’Malley, 2008)—a local innovation with limited reach beyond its context—while establishing an unconventional model that challenges traditional carceral logics (Armstrong and Jefferson, 2017).

Responsibilization (Crewe, 2007; Garland, 1997; Hannah-Moffat, 2000; O’Malley, 1992, 1994, 1996) is a key governance strategy at Punta de Rieles prison. The authorities require prisoners to exercise autonomy and make deliberate decisions about how to use their time in a “productive” way while imprisoned. This “imperative to be active” (Avila and Sozzo, 2020) mandates that passivity —even in the form of good behaviour— is not an option; prisoners must engage in some form of meaningful activity. However, the nature of this engagement is open-ended, as the prisoners have the freedom to choose from a wide range of options or even create new initiatives (Avila, 2023; Avila and Sozzo, 2020; Sozzo, 2022).

Labour is one way to fulfill the “imperative to be active,” but it is not the only one. Prisoners can also pursue formal education, host community radio shows, participate in theatre groups, join or create music bands, engage in sports, or take on various other projects. Many of these activities are self-initiated, allowing prisoners to shape their daily routines. This flexibility, however, is not without limits—authorities retain oversight in approving and monitoring both new and existing initiatives. Nonetheless, the broad scope of available activities reflects a prison model that extends beyond economic productivity, incorporating cultural, educational, and recreational pursuits.

Despite the multiple opportunities, labour remains the predominant choice. Eight out of ten prisoners at Punta de Rieles are employed— a stark contrast to the broader Uruguayan prison system, where only 33.8% of prisoners worked in 2020 and 31.8% in 2021, according to reports by the National Ombudsman for Prisons (Comisionado Parlamentario Penitenciario de Uruguay, 2021). Comparatively, a 2019 report by the Inter-American Development Bank (Alvarado and Vélez-Grajales, 2019) estimated a regional average of 47% of prisoners engaged in some kind of labour.

The strong emphasis on work at Punta de Rieles is not driven by market demands or external businesses ³ seeking cheap prison labour (Pandeli et al., 2019; Pandeli and Longman, 2024; Weiss, 2001). Nor does it result from informal adaptations, or from institutional pressures that frame work as a primary tool for control, rehabilitation, or moral reform. Instead, it reflects a pragmatic philosophy advanced by the warden, who explicitly rejects rehabilitative rhetoric and the “as if” mentality characteristic of mainstream penal governance and prison labour (Carlen, 2008; Hörnqvist, 2008). For him, labour is not a corrective tool but part of an educational process grounded in mutual responsibility and rights. As he explains: “I don’t subscribe to the theory of rehabilitation. It (…) degrades the [human] relation. For me, it is much simpler; you have rights, and so do I. Let's set a field—in this case, the prison—where those rights can be exercised, mine and yours. Your obligations and my obligations.” By shifting the focus away from traditional correction goals, he frames labour as a relational space where engagement is voluntary rather than imposed. While this stance challenges conventional penal narratives, it still contains elements of reform and transformation, though articulated outside the discourse of rehabilitation.

This philosophy reflects Parodi's background in popular education and his belief that prisons are “failed” institutions. In a newspaper interview, he articulated his belief that the prison's role is to offer prisoners practical tools to navigate life's challenges: “Either we help these people find another place for life's struggles, or everything we do is in vain. Some prisoners choose to study, others to work. If a businessman here can continue being a businessman outside, he will have another path to face life's challenges. This is not about morality; it is about pragmatism” (Legrand, 2018). Labour, then, is just one of the possible means to that end: “We don’t believe that work saves them; we want prisoners to do something for themselves. They don’t come here just to serve their sentence—they come to do something with their life.” By rejecting the moral and psychological underpinnings of rehabilitation (Garland, 2001), Parodi sets the tone for a more pragmatic orientation toward work in this prison. Labour thus acquires an instrumental function, shaping a self-contained experience with far less dependence on conventional penal narratives.

Leaving aside the official discourse, prisoners’ preferred choice for economically productive activities can be attributed to at least three factors. The first is sentence reduction—Uruguayan law ⁴ allows prisoners to reduce their sentence by one day for every two days of work or study. The second incentive is improving living conditions through access to services and goods, which requires financial resources. Prisoners can buy snacks, pay for a phone, get a haircut, have lunch at a restaurant, or even afford tattoos or guitar lessons. As one prisoner explained, financial necessity often drives the decision to seek employment:

You look for a job because you see that in this prison you have to keep yourself, you go to the shops and all, it's always good to have a little extra money (Prisoner D)

Beyond material needs, the third incentive is financial independence from family, which not only eases economic burdens but also enables some prisoners to provide support in return. ⁵ Prisoners DM and AN explained how earning money transformed their relationships by reversing their reliance on family and reducing financial strain.

I am helping my family, because I don’t ask them for what I used to ask for. I don't ask them; and when I can, I help them. Before, I used to say, ‘mom can you buy a pair of shoes for my daughter?’ and the day before yesterday, I took two thousand pesos and said, ‘mom, buy a pair of shoes for my baby’ (Prisoner DM)

[Having money] changes things! Your family is [having a rough time] in the street, and you get a ticket (money) from here to buy your hygiene items or to cook, and you don't bother [them] in the street (Prisoner AN).

These testimonies illustrate how prisoners at Punta de Rieles perceive their engagement with labour: not as a mandatory obligation, an escape from their cells, or a privileged reward, but as a pragmatically oriented choice. Prisoner AB, for instance, captured this sense of agency, stating, “The change is yours. It's different from when the things are being imposed on you.” He emphasized the absence of coercion, adding, “There are no impositions here (…) you achieve those things.” The connection between prisoners’ self-perceived transformation and the governance strategies of this prison aligns with the concept of government at a distance (Miller and Rose, 1990; Rose, 1999). The authorities act indirectly upon the wishes and choices of prisoners, forging a symmetry between the official ends and objectives and the prisoners’ attempts to make their lives worthwhile. Work is thus framed as an opportunity rather than an obligation and as a personal endeavour rather than something mediated or decided by the authorities.

The labour market. The prisoner-entrepreneur

The significance of labour at Punta de Rieles is not only reflected in its prevalence but also in its diversity and compensation. In Uruguayan prisons, roughly half of the job positions available consist of basic cleaning and maintenance tasks. Compensation for such work remains inadequate or non-existent: in 2021, 77% of working prisoners received no remuneration, 17% earned a stipend, and only 6% were paid a salary (Comisionado Parlamentario Penitenciario de Uruguay, 2021: 99). Labour dynamics in Latin American prisons generally mirror this trend, with most jobs revolving around maintenance tasks such as cleaning and cooking (Gual, 2017; Gual and Sozzo, 2024; Taboga, 2016). However, at Punta de Rieles, this pattern is different.

To understand these figures, we need to explain the structure of Punta de Rieles’ labour market. Prisoners who choose to engage in economically productive activities can do so in three main ways: employment with private employers, maintenance roles within the prison, and entrepreneurship. Around 50% of the prisoners work for private employers, which can include other prisoners who own businesses or external companies operating within the prison, such as the brick factory or the industrial bakery. Roughly 25% of prisoners opt for maintenance jobs, performing essential tasks like cleaning or cooking. The least popular but most valued option, chosen by about 10% of prisoners, is entrepreneurship, where they set up and manage their own businesses within the prison.

Entrepreneurship is valued by both authorities and prisoners. Despite their relatively small numbers, prisoner-entrepreneurs play a crucial role in generating employment for fellow inmates and sustaining a thriving prison economy. By 2019, they managed approximately 50 businesses, ranging from grocery stores, brick factories, and restaurants to barbershops, laundries, tattoo shops, and a recycling company. These enterprises sell goods and services to other prisoners, prison staff, and external customers, often through online platforms. The scale of this economy is substantial, with more than 150 trucks entering the prison monthly to deliver supplies or collect goods for external sale. Yet the outward-facing market has also raised questions about fairness and oversight. At one point, an important international bakery filed a complaint about unfair price competition from a prison-run business, prompting the Montevideo municipality to begin requiring permits and inspections for operations such as food preparation. These forms of external regulation emerged gradually and informally, consistent with the warden's experimental ethos: activities were encouraged first, with the understanding that regulation would follow.

Inside the prison, the economic life has also produced frictions. The presence of some businesses offering similar goods or services has led to open competition among prisoner-entrepreneurs. This situation has sparked ongoing debates among prison authorities. Some staff members advocate limiting overlapping ventures to avoid conflict and protect fragile business ventures, while the warden insists on a free-market logic, arguing that prisoners must learn to deal with issues “just like in society.” As he put it, “this is a free market… they are playing at being capitalists.” Rather than relying on formal rules, disputes are often mediated directly by the warden, highlighting the tension between informal and relational authority and institutional regulation in shaping the prison's internal economy.

The lively and formal market contributes to a self-sustaining environment, reshaping economic and social dimensions within the prison (Avila, 2023). For prisoners, entrepreneurship is more than just an economic endeavour—it represents a pathway to self-realization and social mobility. One prisoner recounted how witnessing peers start businesses within the prison motivated him to take on the challenge:

I spent years with so-and-so [in another prison] who came here and opened a store (…) And you wonder, ‘there are brick factories and other things; well, what can I do?’ I had to try something as well. [And you think] ‘Will I have the intelligence to try something?’ (…) I never dreamt I would run a business of my own (…), and today, there are more than seventeen paid workers in my company. I had never imagined or felt the desire to do it before. (…) The system just gave me the opportunity (Prisoner R)

Entrepreneurial success is linked not to physical dominance but to intelligence, skill, and competition—mirroring capitalist ideals of achievement through market dynamics. Many described their business success as a source of pride, particularly for their mothers and wives, who saw it as a sign of growth and transformation. One striking example is a prisoner-entrepreneur who, visibly moved, shared that this was the first time his mother had ever been proud of him. As another prisoner explained, status within the prison is determined by the ability to compete in the market:

There are no ‘brazos gordos’ ⁶ here. There are people with trajectories. They can be referents, positive or negative referents. The power dispute here is [different]. It is capitalism. The dispute exists in the businesses, the [market] competition, and the food industry. For example, here, the big boss in the food industry is Carlos, and the big boss in brickworks is Tomas. As far as sales are concerned (…) Here, the power is disputed there (Prisoner A)

Prisoner A underscores how rather than relying on violence or informal networks of influence, the prisoners can increase their relational power and influence through economic success. In this way, the prison's labour and economic structure mirrors broader neoliberal rationalities, where individuals are expected to navigate competition and personal responsibility to improve their conditions. Social status and worth are increasingly defined by financial success and market participation.

Becoming an entrepreneur within the prison is a simple and informal process, reflecting the emphasis on responsibilization alongside the authorities’ commitment to informality, horizontality and minimal bureaucracy (Avila & Sozzo, 2020). First, the prisoner must submit an informal petition to the administration outlining their project. ⁷ This petition typically includes details such as whether it is an individual or group initiative, the number of jobs it will create for other prisoners, and the proposed location—identifying an empty building or proposing a site where they will construct the structures and enclosures. As one prisoner explained:

You submit a detailed application of the project that you want — the rules, the guidelines you will have, what you will do, your schedule, everything. You present it, and then you must wait for the Labour Office to meet (Prisoner DM)

Upon approval of the request, the prisoner signs a contract with the prison that outlines their responsibilities and the terms of the agreement. Business owners must pay two mandatory fees from their earnings: 1% for the costs of space, electricity, and water, and 4% to the prisoners’ solidarity fund ⁸ that supports new entrepreneurial ventures by prisoners within the prison. The prisoner-entrepreneur's duties include paying salaries, reporting on their employees’ work performance, monitoring their behaviour and ensuring compliance with both prison regulations and workplace rules, among others (Avila and Sozzo, 2022). Failure to adhere to the terms of the agreement, such as repeated non-payment of salaries, can result in the revocation of the business permit. ⁹

The labour market operates under a hybrid model where prison authorities maintain active oversight from above while allowing entrepreneurial initiatives to emerge from below. Through the petition and approval process, the administration establishes a regulatory framework that enables forms of “soft” control without resorting to rigid, top-down directives (Crewe, 2011). This autonomy operates within strict yet subtle forms of control, as the enforcement of labour standards and obligations prevents businesses from running entirely unchecked. Moreover, control extends further as prisoner-entrepreneurs take on the responsibility of enforcing rules among their employees to prevent sanctions that could jeopardize the operation of their businesses (Avila and Sozzo, 2022). This model represents a structured form of prisoner participation in prison governance (Sozzo, 2022), where the economic agency is largely prisoner-driven but remains embedded within institutional oversight.

This internally driven system of labour governance at Punta de Rieles resonates with other Global South experiments in prisoner-led economies and regulation. A comparable case has been documented in Ethiopia, where prisoners exercise high levels of autonomy and democratic participation. They not only engage in entrepreneurial activities but also cogovern daily life through a written constitution and an elected leadership structure that oversees internal affairs, allocates resources, and enforces rules in cooperation with the official administration (O’Donnell, 2023). While Punta de Rieles does not rely on a constitution or electoral governance, prisoners’ autonomy operates within a framework of substantial state regulation and oversight (O’Donnell, 2023: 7). Both prisons illustrate how legitimacy, compliance, and order can emerge from prisoner initiative within degrees of state-sanctioned boundaries.

Working at Punta de Rieles

Prisoners who choose to work for a private employer have two options: working for prisoner entrepreneurs or for private companies run by free citizens operating inside the prison. The choice often depends on individual priorities—some opt for private companies for the potential of higher wages, while others prefer prisoner-owned businesses for their flexibility and sense of solidarity. Working directly for the prison in maintenance, on the other hand, is a last resort or a social welfare mechanism. This option is generally used for prisoners who, despite their efforts, have been unable to secure regular employment, or by those who wish to devote more of their time to cultural or educational activities.

The path to entering the employment market begins when prisoners arrive at Punta de Rieles. During the adaptation period, ¹⁰ the authorities invite them to join groups of volunteers that allow them to build networks and explore the community to find a paid job if finally admitted to the prison:

When they arrive (…), we explain the rules. They know that they are being observed and that it is a process. Every ten days or so, we give them feedback so they can see how they are doing. Not the first fortnight, but in the second, we give them a job, we assign them to 3 job committees, and they start to leave the entry wing. When they leave [the entry wing after 30 days], they try to get a job with one of the businesses (A.L., civilian prison officer)

In line with the responsibilization ethos, job hunting is a personal endeavour. Prisoners must actively seek employment. The warden made this clear during one of the welcoming meetings when a newcomer asked him for a job. His response was that it was the prisoner's responsibility to find employment if he desired it. Prisoners must negotiate with the business owner, whether another prisoner or a free citizen, or with the prison officer in charge of the area that requires maintenance.

Once both parties reach an agreement on a job offer, they must submit a letter to the Prison's Labour Office, informing them of the agreement and requesting approval. The Labour Office meets weekly. Their intervention is required as they monitor all labour relationships to prevent, among other things, underpayment and fake employment. ¹¹

[After I left the entry wing] I went to a brick factory, one of the first jobs you can get because it is a hard and sacrificed job that very few of us tolerate. You know, that's where you have a breadwinner. And that's where I started (Prisoner JR)

I left the entry wing looking for a job. I spent four months drifting, without work or anything. There was a barbershop here (…) I spoke to the [owner] and said, ‘I want to work here, and I don’t even know how to cut hair!’ He gave me a job as a sweeper. I started sweeping and I began paying attention. With my phone, I watched some YouTube tutorials… until one day, I built up the courage and asked him to lend me the clippers ¹² (Prisoner MPP)

When I arrived, I volunteered in a brick factory for a month. After that, I went to the bakery, where I learned a trade, to work, and the job routine. They gave me opportunities. They paid me. I helped my family. Those things made me feel good (Prisoner D)

Newcomers often begin in physically demanding, low-status roles, such as working in brick factories, which require minimal skill but significant effort. These roles serve as accessible entry points into the prison labour market. Over time, prisoners seek higher-status, better-paid, or less physically demanding positions, reinforcing a hierarchy of labour that mirrors free-market principles, where upward mobility is framed as contingent on individual effort and merit. In the precarious world of penal labour, participation itself becomes a dignified endeavour; yet job status also shapes prisoners’ sense of legitimacy and self-worth. Moral distinctions emerge, as prisoners justify their positions by critiquing the work ethic of those in lower-status roles (Gibson-Light, 2020). At Punta de Rieles, labour and entrepreneurship serve not only economic functions but also help prisoners navigate internal social hierarchies.

The peer-to-peer job negotiation model at Punta de Rieles shifts control from officers to prisoners, reconfiguring power through negotiated autonomy. Prisoners negotiate employment directly with potential employers, while officers take on an administrative role—overseeing agreements and preventing exploitation rather than dictating placements. This reduces the use of work as a tool of institutional control (Liebling, 2000; Steiner and Wooldredge, 2018) and contrasts with cases of responsibilization in Global North prisons, where prisoners are expected to internalize institutional values, self-regulate, and strategically manage their actions to gain privileges and work toward release (Crewe, 2011: 515/8). While Crewe describes power in such systems as ‘tight’—subtle, pervasive, and rooted in self-monitoring—Punta de Rieles offers a peer-driven model where control is redistributed and prisoners have greater agency over their work lives.

That said, control does not disappear—it takes different forms. Prisoners still face regulation within the job negotiation process and labour relations. Part of this control is now indirect and exercised by prisoner-entrepreneurs (Avila and Sozzo, 2022). While informal hierarchies and competition for jobs persist, hiring is driven more by economic considerations than institutional discipline. Although still embedded within the prison's institutional framework, this model redistributes regulatory power—shifting it from a top-down structure to a more complex, decentralized, and indirect form of governance.

You take care of your own paperwork, which gives you tools because you learn to handle your affairs. You look for your own job, you take care of your documents. It's just like outside. You know you have working hours, and it's up to you to be on time. No one comes looking for you.’ (Prisoner FL)

The self-regulated nature of labour at Punta de Rieles is reflected in how guards view work arrangements as largely beyond their control in some important aspects ¹³ . In one case, a prisoner requested permission to move to another wing. While prisoners arrange such moves themselves, official approval is still required. The officer approved the request, and when the prisoner mentioned he planned to move after 7 p.m. when his workday ended, she advised him to ask his employer (another prisoner) for time off. Jokingly, she added: “Push for it a little—when we move, they give us several days off!”

Labour at Punta de Rieles also remains largely independent from institutional sanctions (Azari, 2024) and rewards and punishments (Sykes, 1958: 56). This autonomy operates in two ways. First, work performance is not subject to disciplinary infractions—lateness or absence, for instance, are not considered violations of prison rules. Second, misbehaviour outside the workplace cannot lead to job suspension or termination. The employer-employee relationship exists largely outside the prison's disciplinary jurisdiction, free from coercion or informal control mechanisms (Ibsen, 2013). Officers cannot revoke or interfere with employment based on security concerns or discretionary decisions, nor can they impose indirect obstacles such as restricting movement or refusing to open cell doors. Only the employer—whether a fellow prisoner or an external person—has the authority to terminate a job.

I don’t work for anyone; I work for myself. They work for someone, but it's not the state [he says, pointing to his employees]. In any case, it all depends on how you treat them—the payment method and many different factors that make them feel comfortable. Otherwise, they wouldn’t work for you (Prisoner R)

The self-contained nature of prison labour is also reflected in how workplace relations, conflicts and grievances are navigated. Prisoners openly express dissatisfaction over wages, working conditions, or job demands. Some choose to resign, seek better-paying opportunities, or switch to less demanding roles. Prisoner ML provided an example: “Then I quit and went to Huerva [a recycling company inside the prison] because their payment was better.” Others leave due to physical exhaustion, as D recounted: “I quit the bakery because I wanted to rest a bit. My body was tired; I wasn’t used to working 12 h a day, it was too much.” In some cases, prisoners organize strikes or demand negotiations with the warden and employers, advocating for better conditions or higher wages.

While strikes and protests may be disruptive, they do not result in sanctions. When asked whether such actions would lead to sanctions or transfers, the warden remarked: “Confronting authority is part of growing up; that's why we don’t transfer them for doing that.” Many disputes are resolved through negotiation, with the warden mediating between prisoner-employees and employers. He recalled one instance where prisoner-workers interrupted a meeting with a private company: “I met with the employees and owners [of one of the private companies] three days [in a row]. [The prisoners] got an extra thousand pesos for their salary. I was [in my office] in a meeting with the company (…) and ten prisoners showed up (…) they sat down and hijacked the meeting (laughs). There were strike threats.” ¹⁴ In this way, prisoners can navigate work-related challenges, negotiate, and assert their agency and resistance (Crewe, 2007; Ibsen, 2013; Rubin, 2014; Sparks et al., 1996; Ugelvik, 2014) without institutional repercussions that could affect their sentence or prison conditions. While their actions may create tensions in workplace relationships, they do not carry the risk of formal sanctions or jeopardize their status within the prison.

The re-centering of work in prison

Prisons differ from typical workplaces as they lack fair wages, social status, career advancement, labour rights, and the benefits of productive employment, resulting in work that is often tedious and devoid of purpose (Liebling and Crewe, 2013: 296; Mantouvalou, 2024: 412–4). Punta de Rieles, however, breaks with these patterns by offering a self-contained labour model in which work is not framed through a rehabilitative or moral lens. Instead, it functions as a pragmatic mode of organizing daily life, emerging from prisoner initiative and shaped through peer negotiation. While work remains central to prison life, its meaning is self-defined rather than imposed by institutional goals such as discipline, reform, or the management of idleness. In this regard, it stands apart from other alternative models, such as Brazil's APAC prisons (Darke, 2014, 2022), where labour is embedded in a religious and moral framework oriented toward spiritual transformation and reintegration. At Punta de Rieles, by contrast, labour aligns with a governance strategy of responsibilization, privileging autonomy, engagement, and economic agency over correctional aims.

This model also challenges the widespread scarcity of prison jobs, which in many institutions turns work into a privilege leveraged for control (Reich, 2024: 113). At Punta de Rieles, by contrast, labour opportunities expand primarily through prisoner initiative, leading to significantly higher participation rates than national and regional averages. The diversity of economic activities and the absence of mandatory labour reframe employment as a self-sustaining system, where prisoners earn an income, support their families, and access goods and services, reducing their dependence on external aid.

Despite this autonomy, labour at Punta de Rieles is formal, state-regulated, and embedded in the prison's governance model. These economic activities unfold within a system of strong but flexible state oversight. Prison authorities act like labour regulators, approving businesses, setting basic parameters, ensuring wage payments, and mediating disputes. Control is redistributed rather than eliminated. Prisoner-entrepreneurs take on managerial roles, enforcing workplace norms and shaping the prison's economic environment within a structured yet flexible system (Avila and Sozzo, 2022). This contrasts with other cases of prisoner-led labour in places like Ethiopia's Isir Bet (O’Donnell, 2023), San Pedro in Bolivia (Cerbini, 2012; Skarbek, 2010), or Venezuela (Antillano, 2017), where entrepreneurship and labour emerge out of survival and state neglect. At Punta de Rieles, by contrast, work is not the result of scarcity or structural deficits but of a governance model that relies on responsibilization and encourages prisoners’ initiative within a framework of state regulation.

Crucially, the separation between work and discipline reinforces the autonomy of labour. Unlike prisons where access to employment is controlled by guards and used as an incentive for compliance, prisoners at Punta de Rieles largely determine their work trajectories. Job negotiations happen between prisoners and employers, whether fellow inmates or external business owners, minimizing the role of prison staff in these arrangements. Moreover, misconduct at work does not result in institutional sanctions, just as general disciplinary infractions do not lead to job loss. The emphasis on agency and responsibilization shifts work from a mechanism of passive rehabilitation to an arena of self-determination (Crewe, 2011; Goodman, 2012a) but with broader levels of autonomy and devoid of classical labour meanings.

While it is difficult to determine the factors that explain this atypical prison, as institutional change is always shaped by multiple and often opaque forces, several conditions clearly influenced the emergence of Punta de Rieles (Avila, 2023). Legally, the system operated within a discretionary framework that allowed local authorities considerable autonomy. Politically, its development was supported by a progressive penal agenda under the Frente Amplio government. Culturally, it drew on Uruguay's tradition of cooperativism. Economically, the model relied on internally generated initiatives and small-scale local market linkages rather than on private outsourcing or state funding. Most importantly, the leadership of a progressive and charismatic warden, who emphasized autonomy, informality, democratic participation, and negotiated authority, played a central role in shaping the institution's design and operation.

It is important to note that the centralization of work at Punta de Rieles is, to a great extent, replicating external logics of capitalism and neoliberalism by emphasizing personal responsibility, individual success, and market-driven competition (Brown, 2019). At the same time, work opportunities are largely concentrated in low-skill sectors, mirroring the precarious job positions many prisoners will find upon release. In this way, rather than fundamentally challenging structural inequalities, the prison's labour system risks merely preparing prisoners to navigate unstable and exploitative labour markets, reinforcing rather than disrupting broader patterns of economic marginalization (Hörnqvist, 2008; Millar, 2014; Reich, 2024). This reflects a key contradiction of neoliberal empowerment (Cruikshank, 1999): while it frames work as a path to self-sufficiency, it often offers only unstable and low-wage employment, perpetuating cycles of precarity.

However, traces of collectivism and mutual aid create a complex mix with the neoliberal ones. While responsibilization at Punta de Rieles aligns with the individualizing dynamics found in late-modern prisons in the Global North (Bosworth, 2007: 74; Crewe, 2007: 273; Goodman, 2012a: 415; Hannah-Moffat, 2000: 525, 2005: 43), a distinctive collectivist ethos emerges in certain practices. One such example is the prisoners’ solidarity fund supporting new ventures. This initiative reflects a counterbalance to individualism, fostering a sense of shared responsibility and support. In contrast to the privatized and depoliticized logic of neoliberalism, where social risks are individualized, and solutions are found through personal engagement, this model reinforces the idea that economic survival and progress can be collective endeavours. Ironically, such accessible and cooperative financial support is something prisoners are unlikely to find upon release.

Given the exceptional and unconventional practices that define Punta de Rieles, it can be understood as an “experiment in government” (O’Malley, 2008: 457). Penal experiments are “opportunistic innovations” that carve out new possibilities, offering “lines of flight” that challenge prevailing penal norms and present alternatives to existing models (O’Malley, 2008: 467). These experiments create opportunities that can serve as foundations for future interventions, highlighting governance strategies that are “attempts to govern with the minimization of domination, the maximal provision of contestation” (O’Malley, 2008: 457). Punta de Rieles model raises important questions about the possibilities for penal reform. It challenges conventional assumptions by prioritizing autonomy and collective participation. While it remains an exception, it signals the potential for alternative frameworks that rethink the relationship between labour and punishment. More broadly, it invites reflection on the benefits of formalizing and monitoring prisoner participation in governance and strengthening the role of labour as an autonomous and self-contained dimension of prison life (Darke and Garces, 2017; Narag and Jones, 2017; Postema et al., 2017).

At Punta de Rieles, labour is embedded in institutional frameworks that are both formalized and state-regulated, yet fundamentally shaped by prisoner initiative and horizontal relationships. This reconfiguration positions work not as an imposed obligation but as a space of agency, economic participation, and social interaction. By combining formal oversight with bottom-up autonomy, the model complicates traditional understandings of prison labour, revealing the blurred boundaries between empowerment and control, autonomy and exploitation. While it does not eliminate power asymmetries or structural inequalities, it establishes a more flexible system in which prisoners actively shape their own labour trajectories rather than passively accepting institutional assignments. Within O'Donnell's (2023) framework, Punta de Rieles can be seen as a case of high integration and high regulation. Unlike other Global South cases where regulation is low and integration emerges from necessity, this model aligns both formal institutional oversight with grassroots prisoner initiative. It achieves a rare combination of vertical legitimacy, through state involvement and oversight, and horizontal legitimacy, through peer-driven economic organization and participation.

However, critical questions remain. Does this model expand prisoner agency, or does it reinforce exclusion within a self-contained economy? Does it facilitate the return to social life after release, or does it function as a system of economic survival within prison walls? More broadly, is Punta de Rieles a neoliberal adaptation of prison labour, where responsibility is individualized and market-driven logics prevail? Or does it disrupt that model by embedding work within peer networks, mutual aid, and participatory governance? Ultimately, does this system offer meaningful autonomy and rights, or does it repackage precarity under the guise of empowerment? These tensions highlight the evolving complexity of prison labour, where economic, penal, and social logics intersect. By tracing how labour is redefined at Punta de Rieles, this case underscores the importance of bringing locally grounded experiences (Carrington et al., 2016; O’Donnell, 2023; Sozzo, 2022) into the analysis of carceral systems. It invites a more nuanced analysis of work in prisons—not only as a tool of control or reform, but also as a site of political possibility and constraint.