As soon as I walked into the Eastern State Penitentiary, I felt strange chills. I've been to the Otisville Correctional Facility before, but walking into Eastern Penitentiary was something completely different. It was a much spookier vibe. The whole environment, the strange air, the 30 feet walls, the metal doors, the feeling of actually being a "prisoner," it was very depressing. We were just visiting and I felt those feelings. I can only imagine how the prisoners must've felt. I feel the most powerful part of the tour was when we actually stood inside a cell block. I felt trapped and secluded. After we were all inside the cell block, Kevin closed the door and I felt more chills. At that very moment, I felt like a prisoner and I got a sense of how isolated the prisoners must've felt.
As soon as we finished the tour and we walked out of the penitentiary, I felt so much better... Even though we were outside most of the time, actually walking out of the penitentiary gave me such a breath of fresh air and freedom. My first question to you is, what were your reactions/ feelings upon entering the penitentiary compared to leaving? My second question is, what did you feel was the most powerful part of the tour?
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Eastern State is an imposing building. I was actually really surprised by how intimidating its outer appearance was. It just commanded respect and admiration.
Most powerful moment? Probably walking into the first hall of cellblocks. I couldn't help but wonder what it felt like to be in one of those cells, especially during the era of the "separate system." Of course, this was ostensibly an attempt at rehabilitation, but how psychologically destructive that experience must have been.
But, what remains the saddest fact is how little has changed since those times. Incarceration rates are still exorbitantly high. Solitary confinement is still alive in many institutions. We continue to execute individuals in many states (down from 33 to 32, as a result of Maryland changing its laws today). But this brings me to another thought…
Is it principle or is it politics? The shifting notions of justice and what shapes those notions is of particular interest to me (i.e. Rehabilitation v. Punishment models of incarceration, or at least, which model reigns supreme at any given point). I think about the “War on Drugs,” zero tolerance, broken windows… We saw the evolution of Eastern State through the years to a more communal setting. How much of that was due to overcrowding, for example? I wonder what Eastern State would be like today had it not closed.
Thanks to the Professors for setting this up-- especially chauffeur Reitz--and also a big thanks to Kevin again for a great tour.
For the five seconds I wasn't complaining about the traffic (or violating a traffic law of some sort), my most powerful moment was thinking how peaceful the skylight was in the cell. Say what?
When I saw the original sketch Kevin showed us of an early 19th-century prison (drawn by George Cruikshank, actually, who was a frequent illustrator of Dickens's works), crammed with old/young, sane/insane, violent/fearful/drunk -- that is my idea of hell. I like my privacy and my personal space. It took a long time for me to appreciate the chaos of the NYC street and I am still quite happy driving along a deserted Ohio highway. I recalled what I knew about the wretched, crowded, contagious conditions of the Victorian prisons and then I looked down the hallway with its churchy peaked ceiling, the white walls and skylight in the individual cell (with its individual toilet - something not even afforded to the "innocent" in the holding cells we visited last year). In short, I had the opposite experience of Michelle. I was surprised by the light and the privacy. No panoptical gaze here.
Of course, I get it. Isolation = torture. I can only hope that, had I been tagging along with Dickens on his trip to ESP (Top Five Fantasy Moment!), I, too, would have seen inmates subjected to the "Philadelphia System" and would have shared his horror at the unnatural treatment of human beings. I am convinced by Atul Gawande's (remember that article?) more recent confirmation of Dickens's suspicions. I'm sure I'd have gone bonkers, too.
But Michelle asked and honesty compels me to admit that my first impression was not one of horror, but one of peace. So either I AM bonkers or it gives us some access to what those Quakers were thinking back in the 19th century.
I felt despair walking the halls of the Eastern State Penitentiary. Like Michelle, I was uncomfortably chilled between the cold day, the icy wind, and the stone walls of the prison. It was so good to get into the Firehouse restaurant where we could enjoy a warm meal and have the freedom to linger (even if that meant we’d pay for it later by getting into rush hour traffic).
Kevin was awesome. I don’t think we could have asked for a better guide—he was so well-informed, and he so graciously handled our questions. I love that he gave us a taste of the changes over time—the majority of early prisoners were pig thieves, horse thieves, petty burglars. As time went on, a large proportion of prisoners in Eastern State were convicted of serious crimes ranging from bank robbery to murder.
While we were touring, I felt a growing sense of anger and frustration….
I thought about how tired I am when “policy makers” (in the broadest sense) seem to be “SHOCKED” when certain of their policy practices turn out not to “work” as they supposedly intended: Oh, you mean putting human beings in cages, purposefully isolated from human contact, doesn’t lead to “penitence” as much as it leads to a sense of dehumanization and abandonment? Kevin told us that the prisoners found ways to connect with one another DESPITE the purposeful effort to keep human being away from human being (and SOCIALTY is a mark of humanity—even monks have each other however silent they may be for periods of time). Can you imagine what energy and innovation it must have taken to bore a hole through those thick stone walls just to find some little bit of contact with one’s neighbor? These “reformist” policies—you know, the ones that turn out not to work as intended—circle around the real intent of prisons. I know, I know, there are some really bad people who do need to be removed from society because they pose a major danger. BUT for every one of those, there was in the past and there are now (and now to an exponential degree) a much larger proportion of prisoners NOT a danger to society, but who are REDUNDANT IN THE ECONOMY. Who were those early prisoners? Pig thieves? Doesn’t that mean some poor schlemiel unable to find a place in the formal economy? We know there can be no full employment in a capitalist political-economy—by definition of that economic system. There must always be that “reserve army of the unemployed” to keep things going. That does not mean the number of the reserve army stays the same. At times of economic crisis and contraction, that surplus grows to dangerous levels (high unemployment). Something must be done to contain and control (manage) that surplus—manage the redundant in the economy. So whether we’re talking about pig farmers in the early 19th century or we’re talking about post-Civil War/Reconstruction when the work force got flooded with “free” wage labor (resulting in competition between black and white working class; ever wonder why lynching got so popular after the Civil War?; see also Jim Crow, of course; and migration to northern cities) or the 20th century, marked by enormous crises (check out who got demonized, imprisoned and/or expelled at each economic crisis moment), something had to be done with the surplus. Kevin told us that the data they have suggests by the late 19th century and during the 20th century, Eastern Penitentiary saw a disproportionate number of brown and black prisoners. We know what today’s criminal justice/prison system looks like. The prison system is intimately tied to the larger economy, a relationship that goes beyond the fact that the prison system is itself a business.
So these reformists are “shocked”? How naïve! Or perhaps they are cynical (most likely some are naïve; those making the real decisions are cyncical). This pretense is as sickening to me as is the idea of (if I could even try to imagine myself—or my child) being trapped in one of those isolation cells.
This analysis is not original. This analysis is there for the understanding if we are willing to consider it.
more....
continued from last post....
Anger and frustration: I guess that summarizes my feelings coming off of the visit to Eastern Penitentiary. I am frustrated when people express surprise or shock when certain policies are (2, 3, 4, decades hence) revisited and demonstrated to have so-called “unintended consequences.” I don’t buy that for a minute. Certain likely consequences had to have been KNOWN (and the policies were put into practice anyway because the real intent was something else; the people subject to those policies just “don’t matter,” they are redundant, the surplus). And it makes me angry because I know that those at the highest level of decision-making know exactly what’s going on and also know they can count on fooling most of the people most of the time.
One last note: On the Panoptican. Of course it can never be complete. Human beings are inventive—they find ways to circumvent constraint (boring holes into the prison wall to talk to a neighbor; resisting surveillance; in the case of empires, resisting colonialism and occupation). The social control system is also subject to the limitations of the tools they have available. Today’s Panoptican is much more technologically sophisticated than earlier designs, ensuring more (not less) all-seeing efficiency (aren’t we all now living in the surveillance state?). This does not mean those who are subject to it don’t find inventive ways to circumvent it.
Thank you Michelle for your great drive-by-blog.
I agree with your comment Michelle, on the feeling that overcomes you upon entering the penitentiary. It is almost an overwhelming feeling of doom, like entering into an old horror movie, were once you enter you never know what can happen to you inside. Like Joseph said, the structure itself, right from the outside and even when we were just entering the building, was very intimidating almost frightening.
My most powerful moment was walking into the one cell that we all walked into. I imagined myself living there in such a small room, without any other human contact and not being able to leave that cell at all. I know I would not be able to handle it for more than a couple a days (and I really enjoy being alone and quiet with no one around). Knowing that I would not and could not get out of that small space would drive me insane even after a couple of days. I was also taken aback by the cells that were down in the basement, (you know that ones that were meant for people my height), I forgot the name Kevin used in describing these cells, but to think that a prisoner would be sent to that horrible place for breaking any of the rules of the penitentiary was unthinkable for me. It was inhumane enough to keep prisoners locked away from any human contact every day but to put them in that basement without any light, water, food, toilet, or basically without any air, is beyond my understanding.
On the bright side of our tour, like Professor Waterston mentioned, I think we were blessed with our guide. Kevin was amazing and very knowledgeable. I was also very pleased with all the extra details he offered in regards to the early prisoners, he also had a story to tell for different times and situations. Kevin brought the images of what was happening at the time to my mind and almost made it feel like I could actually see these things taking place. I really hope that every tour guide is as informed in regards to the stories behind Eastern State, as Kevin is, so that every person that visits the penitentiary can come away with the same experience we enjoyed.
The whole experience was worth it for me because it is one thing to imagine the penitentiary when you read about it but it is very different to actually walk through the halls and see where people spent their days locked away from humanity.
I am always moved by how much the symbol of the Panopticon resonates in modern society, not just in terms of the ubiquity of surveillance that is both unseen and potentially lethal (drones, anyone?) or as a potent symbol of State power which is everywhere but largely invisible. It is also a metaphor for what Augusto Boal, the creator of the Theater of the Oppressed, called “the cop in the head”, what Freud called “superego”, what Foucault described as the internalization of the policing function. If you do not know when you are being watched, you always behave. The “guard” (or teacher, parent, priest, etc.) becomes unnecessary. In both public and personal life, invisible control is much more damaging (and far more effective) than physical restraint because it makes us complicit in our own oppression. As Professors Reitz and Waterston write, there are many attempts at both passive and active resistance but, for most of us, we stay in our cages even when they are not locked.
On a less abstract note, it is scary to think that despite the fact that this experiment in solitary confinement failed, it is being implemented more than ever before in today’s prisons. This underlines Prof. Waterston’s point that none of the consequences are actually “unintended”.
Thank you Michelle for your drive by posting late thursday evening while we waited patiently in traffic. It certainly makes for a good story.
I am going to answer your questions directly. I actually had three sticking reactions. My first reaction was one of awe. I could not believe how structured the prison was. I was amazed at the castle like image that caused many others to lose hope in the past. As we walked through the prison I stumbled upon my second reaction which was defeat. I tried to empathize with the past inmates as to how they may have felt while they resided in the prison. Our experience ranging from waling into the cells to standing in the yard of the prison made me feel gloomy and hopeless. Finally, as we exited the prison, I felt joy. I was happy because I was able to have this experience but also happy to feel like I was free again. It was truly an experience worth having.
All that aside, the most powerful part of the tour for me came early on. When we stood at the center of prison and we all had the chance to view every cell standing in on spot, I got goosebumps. Standing in that circle made me feel powerful but all the while worried to have so much control over what I see. I feel as if one wo/man should not be given so much power or vigilance over other people. It truly shook me but all in all, I highly enjoyed the experience and I look forward to more trips like this one.
Thank you, Michelle, for these concise and straightforward questions. Your questions serve as a good starting point for me to organize my complicated and often contrasted feelings about the Eastern State Penitentiary.
Up until this day, I have had ample opportunities to read and study about the significance of the Eastern State Penitentiary in the history of penal system, but none of these textbook reading and essay writing experiences could overshadow the opportunity of looking at the system from a less romanticized perspective, namely experiencing the facility from within. Prior to the trip, my understanding of the Eastern State Penitentiary was fixed to a historical context. That is if I was to reflect on the nature of the Eastern State Penitentiary, I immediately associate it with the enlightenment movement, which introduced positive transformations into Western criminal justice system such as advocating rehabilitation over corporal punishment, and indoor correctional facility over public execution (special thanks to our beloved Cesare Beccaria). In short, my view on the Eastern State Penitentiary, derived from the Pennsylvania System, was very much one-sided: all I was able to see was the noble intention behind its establishment—to rehabilitate and to introduce humanitarianism to criminal justice system.
The movement I stepped inside a jail block, however, I instantly felt a strong urge to “betray” my own beliefs. It is truly saddening to see how one person’s noble and revolutionary inspiration could turn into another’s nightmare. In theory, the facility should be distinguishable from the deficiency and cruelty of traditional crime punishments; in practice, however, its supposedly humanitarian approach is fundamentally flawed. First of all, the system falsely equates isolation with rehabilitation, a presumption that undermines the psychological impacts of being deprived of human interactions. The solidary confinement approach might have been viable in dealing with minor offenses. But as the numbers of violent crime began to upsurge uncontrollably starting in the 19th century and the average length of prison sentence witnessed an dramatic increase, Eastern State Penitentiary’s founding purpose, to rehabilitate and to reintegrate prisoners, because less meaningful. After all, what is a purpose of rehabilitating someone who serves life sentence in prison and trying to reintegrate a prisoner on death roll to society? Secondly, the system’s principal of isolation is based on an impractical vision. Though the Eastern State Penitentiary strove to realize its utopian-like vision of providing perfectly isolated environment to each and every single inmate, such goal became unfeasible when the prison became overwhelmed with overpopulation.
In general, the strongest emotion that I experienced during the trip was sadness; an inevitable emotion response resulted from having to witness the ruin of a supposedly momentous innovation in the criminal justice system.
Great drive-by-blog Michelle! While I share a number of the same sentiments as some of you have mentioned when I first saw the penitentiary—intimidation and doom—the penitentiary reminded me of a castle. However, as I entered the penitentiary, my infatuation with the outside structure and my imagination on how other perceived it disappeared.
Throughout the whole tour, I tried to place myself back in the 19th century. As easy as it was to be in shock and awe regarding the atrocious conditions, I could not help but notice that some of the solitary confinement cells seemed bigger than in modern-day prisons. Did anyone feel the same way or were there similar parallels to different prisons and jails—from a structural standpoint—that stood out for everyone else?
As Joe and Professor Stein mentioned, trying to understand the “separate prison” system of isolation is so difficult. Listening to Kevin explain that there were strict rules referring to the inmates and their ability to talk to one another reminded of similar approaches that are used today to prevent unity and social contact among the prisoners.
To piggyback off Professor Waterston and Professor Stein mention of the Panopitcon, seeing this was most the most powerful part of the entire visit. As Sylvie mentioned, reading about the penitentiary did not match the overpowering experience of walking through it. I felt like a God standing in the Panopitcon; individuals who were responsible for staying in the tower would have been able to see and hear everything. Standing in it for me made realize the tremendous power that individuals who were in it had and that they could easily fall vulnerable to letting the power dictate their emotions in a negative way.
While we walked through the museum, I asked myself why the penitentiary remains as a museum. Without a doubt, the penitentiary serves as a symbol to a time period that should propel us—as a society—to never make the same mistakes. However, I am a bit concerned that individuals who visit the penitentiary fall lure to the congratulatory feeling that we have made “progress” and that this type of system does not exist now. On the other hand, individuals like us who share certain views on prison are propelled to action and to vent—as Professor Waterston so gracefully did.In short, does the penitentiary serve a beneficial role in raising social consciousness for individuals who are not aware about mass incarceration, the war on drugs, the use of solitary confinement, and other more ineffective, useless policies?
Sally raises a great question about the role and purpose of museums -- something Kevin is getting his PhD in! -- and we should try to spend some more time processing how memory gets institutionalized, etc.
Sally also mentions that she felt like God standing at the center of the Panopticon able to "see and hear everything." While this might have been true in Foucault's theorizing of the guard in the center, it would not have been true of the guard at Eastern State. He could stand at the center and see the hallways -- he could see if anyone got out, a transgression of the rules of isolation. He could not see inmates in their cells. I doubt the dude in the center could hear anything, though certainly a loud noise would have been heard. This is not to continue my defense of ESP (mine was a very personal, perhaps deliberately perverse reaction), but rather to argue for our attention to the differences between theory and practice. In Bentham's theory, he wanted the public to be able to go freely into the central watchtower so as to be able to keep an eye on the guards! In Bentham's theory, it was to be an instrument of making transparent the operations of incarceration. In Foucault's theorizing of modern power, this criteria drops out and the operations of power are less transparent, more internalized. It feels very important, in this discussion of "good intentions" (however problematized by Prof. Waterston) gone awry, to be as precise as possible about the differences between the theory and what gets put into practice.
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