Chapter 7: Gender, Race and Sexuality in Prison

Mary Bosworth

Introduction

Prisons are by nature, sites of inequality, control and oppression. They are the means by which society regulates, and on some level hopes to transform, its criminal, its poor, its unwanted, its disturbed, and its sometimes-violent members. Increasingly, prisons have become the destination for growing numbers of minorities and women. Despite the undeniable restrictions faced by prison inmates, however, much literature suggests that relations of domination and subordination in penal institutions are not completely fixed. Rather, within certain boundaries that are dictated by the practicalities of daily life, power relations are constantly negotiated.

In order to engage actively with the regime and with one another, prisoners must successfully construct themselves as agents, despite the restrictions placed upon them. They must, in other words, transcend their stigmatized identities as prisoners to present themselves as individuals with rights and the ability to ‘get things done’. To do this, they draw upon their lived experiences outside the prison walls, laying claim to their experiences and pre-incarceration identities. Such characteristics, which are generally representative of their race, gender, class and sexuality, in turn, underpin and help structure their means of coping with confinement.

In this article I shall trace the relationship between power and identity by describing research I conducted in three women’s prisons in England in the mid-1990s.[1] I hope to clarify how socio-cultural identities are imbricated in daily prison life by examining women’s accounts of incarceration. In this way, I shall discuss how power relations in the prison, as outside, rest on ideas, experiences and representations of race, gender and sexuality. I shall consider, in other words how power is shaped by identity politics. Radically updating Erving Goffman’s analysis of total institutions (1961) I hope to demonstrate how power relations in prison are negotiated through the presentation of self.

Methodology: Doing Feminist Research

In my research, I visited a ‘closed’, medium security and an ‘open’, minimum-security establishment as well as a remand center where women were held awaiting trial or pending sentencing. I stayed in each prison for an average of about four weeks, conducting detailed semi-structured interviews. In total I recorded discussions with 52 women, who ranged in age from 18 to 58 years, and in sentence length from a matter of weeks to life. These prisoners, the majority of whom were white, were doing time for crimes from shop-lifting to murder. Most of them were drug (ab)users of some sort, mothers, and unemployed. Many were survivors of physical and sexual abuse (for greater detail see Bosworth, 1999a).

Like many feminist researchers, I tried to break down barriers between myself and those women whom I interviewed (Fonow and Cook, 1991; Gelsthorpe and Morris, 1990; Reinharz, 1987). I endeavored to destabilize some of the methodological traditions of prison studies, by creating an ongoing dialogue between my empirical and theoretical research as well as with the women. To do this, I used a variety of interview techniques, from group discussions, to one-on-one sessions. I distributed written questionnaires to some, and spoke informally to others. To tie the interviews together, I collected standardized information about a range of topics including the women’s socio-economic background, previous times in prison, and other issues to do with their experiences in prison (see Bosworth, 1999a: appendix). Such continuity later helped me identify patterns among the prisoners’ testimonies.

Rather than looking for a fully ‘representative’ sample, I aimed for diversity. Similarly, instead of representing the women as the final arbiters of truth, I sought to weave their stories with secondary literature on punishment, imprisonment and gender. Most importantly, I strove to join theory and practice, applying ideas from feminist debates about identity and subjectivity to what I saw, and to what the women told me.

Identity Politics: Destabilizing 'Woman'

In the 1990s, following the demise of Marxism and in response to the political gains made by many social movements in the previous decades, identity or the ‘self’ became the topic of contemporary theorists in a range of fields. Scholars everywhere discussed how ‘self-identity is not something that is just given, but something that has to be routinely created and sustained in the reflexive activities of the individual’ (Giddens, 1991: 52). Most people agreed that who we are and who we perceive ourselves to be is subject to a dialectic of control which is both internally driven and externally defined. We are always at the same time audience and actor. We view others while they look at us. As a result, the formation of our subjectivity is continually ‘in process’ (Braidotti, 1994: 98) and dependent upon repetitive performativity (Butler, 1990).

Feminists, in particular, were often obsessed by identity and their ensuing debates over essentialism and difference were heated (see, inter alia, Fuss, 1989; Butler, 1990; Young, 1990; Braidotti, 1994; Schor and Weed, 1994; Benhabib et al, 1995). Much of their discussion rested on the definition of woman. While liberal feminists had traditionally invoked an undifferentiated figure of ‘Woman’ as the subject and object of their political goals, since the 1980s other feminists had queried this construct. In particular, women of color and lesbian feminists had argued for a long time that the 'woman' in whose name feminists fought often excluded their needs and experiences (hooks, 1981; Wittig, 1978). A sense of self lay at the heart of this argument since, as bell hooks put it, ‘Contemporary black women could not join together to fight for women’s rights because we did not see ‘womanhood’ as an important aspect of our identity’ (hooks, 1981: 1).

When combined in the early 1990s with the effect of postmodernism, which, everywhere declared the death of man, history and 'truth', such a rejection of essentialism lead to a radical reconsideration of the (literal and figurative) subject of feminism. While some, like Judith Butler, excitedly wondered ‘what new shape of politics emerges when identity as a common ground no longer constrains the discourse on feminist politics?' (Butler, 1990: ix), others were less sanguine. Seyla Benhabib, (1995: 29) for example, wondered how it could be possible for someone to act, and others to organize, if there is no longer a belief in 'a self-reflective subject, capable of acting on principle'.

At the same time as feminists were arguing over the impact of postmodernism upon the goals of the Women's Movement, many male theorists were also discussing the meaning of identity and subjectivity, albeit in a somewhat different form. A range of scholars, from Anthony Giddens (1991), to Nikolas Rose (1989; 1996), proposed that identity and agency were the most crucial challenges of the late twentieth and the twenty-first centuries. According to this view, a defining characteristic of our time is the fluidity of our sense of self and the fundamentally restricted nature of our agency. No longer part of well-defined community groups or other social organizations, people are able to move much more freely through time and space than ever before. Most of us, however, have limited ability to control the shape of our own lives. Whether subject to the whims of global capitalism, anachronistic electoral systems, or entrenched race relations, we are constantly confronted with our own powerlessness.

Although sometimes seemingly divorced from 'real' women's lives due to their philosophical density, such debates over identity provide a fruitful source of inspiration for the analysis of imprisonment. Prisons, after all, are based in large part on the regulation of identity. Not only do penal institutions offer numerous courses in dealing with offending behavior, drug addiction, alcoholism and other matters, but prisoners also have to change their behavior and sense of self to deal with their term of confinement.

Similarly, prisoners, by virtue of their punishment are denied most of the qualities associated with full adult status in a liberal democracy. Most importantly, they have little independence or autonomy. All aspects of their daily lives are decided for them, including what they may eat and what they may wear. As feminist philosopher Iris Marion Young points out, we are usually trained to place much weight on such issues. It is generally thought, according to Young (1997: 126), that:

respecting individuals as full citizens means granting and fostering in them liberties and capacities to be autonomous – to choose their own ends and develop their own opinions. It also means protecting them from the tyranny of those who might try to determine those choices and opinions because they control the resources on which citizens depend for their living.

Despite the apparent benevolence of such views, they also serve to deny certain people from the benefits associated with citizenship. Focusing on single mothers, for example, who are frequently dependent on the state for many things, Young claims (1997: 127) that those who are not fully independent ‘often have their autonomy limited in many ways’, making them’ second-class citizens’.

In other words, those people, like prisoners, who have their choices and freedom severely curtailed, may find it difficult to appeal to the generalized ideas of rights and justice. They may, as a result, turn only to their ‘concrete’ needs, stressing the qualities that spring from their embodied selves rather than their universal identities as citizens.

In the following sections I will discuss how gender, race and sexuality underpinned the women’s sense of who they were. I will further demonstrate how they provided the basis for the women’s interpretation of prisons and for their attempts to get things done. By drawing on theoretical literature outside criminology I will suggest how identity and agency are linked in women’s prisons.

Gender: Femininity as Entrapment or Resistance

According to feminist theorists and others, gender is crucial to a person’s sense of self. As Butler writes,

It would be wrong to think that the discussion of ‘identity’ ought to proceed prior to a discussion of gender identity for the simple reason that ‘persons’ only become intelligible through becoming gendered in conformity with recognizable standards of gender intelligibility (Butler, 1990: 25).

Gender, is, in other words, a fundamental aspect of identity and, as a result, a profound source of self-identification (Goffman, 1977: 304). It is not, however, something fixed. Rather, as Simone de Beauvoir (1953) recognized so long ago, our identity as women is something we become. In the language of more contemporary feminists, it is a quality we act out, or more accurately, an identity or role that we constantly try to perform. Categories like ‘woman’ or ‘man’ are, in other words, labels we hope to merit through consistently conforming behavior patterns.

The inherent flexibility accorded to gender by feminist theorists like Judith Butler is intriguing for interpreting prison life since it may offer new ways of understanding women’s experiences of incarceration that can take account of their agency. While the existence of hegemonic notions of gender in any society mean that individuals usually conform to certain types of behavior, Butler and others suggest that at certain times, people may also mis-perform their gender. The potentially destabilizing effects of such activities evident in the variety of ways in which normative gender identities are enforced throughout society, demonstrates the inherent power of gender, and its centrality to social relations. The question arises then, whether women in prison may somehow harness this power of gender to ‘get things done’.

Feminist criminologists commonly analyze how experiences of imprisonment for women are conditioned by discourses, or ‘regimes of femininity’ which seek to regulate behavior through policing women’s appearances, labor and behavior (Carlen, 1983; Hannah-Moffat, 2001). Such scholars frequently discuss how female prisoners are offered predominantly gender-specific tasks and activities like sewing, cooking and cleaning courses, and tend to be disciplined more harshly for minor infractions of prison rules. Likewise, they point out that women tend to be over-medicated both in the community and in prison if they are perceived to be refractory (Sim, 1990; Liebling, 1994; Auherhahn and Dermody Leonard, 2000).

However, criminologists have been less interested in the ways that the women themselves interpret the gendered restrictions they face, and their means of dealing with, or resisting their control. In particular, they have tended to ignore the manner in which female prisoners often recognize the gendered machinations of power and punishment and how they are, at times, able to use similar ideas to attain their aims (although see Bosworth, 1999a, Shaw, 1992). Without wishing to discount the very real paternalism of prison regimes, nor the well-documented ways in which women are constantly taught outmoded feminine skills and behavior instead of practical or employable ones, it may be possible, using ideas from feminist theory to investigate how gender works in a more nuanced way that does not always fully restrict the agency of prisoners themselves. After all, as Erving Goffman observes, (1977: 324), ‘every physical surround, every room, every box for social gatherings, necessarily provides materials that can be used in the display of gender and the affirmation of gender.’ Consequently, unlike other aspects of their identity, particularly those associated with practical tasks, women are able to draw on their gendered identity while incarcerated. It may even be possible that women are able to lay claim to certain ideal of femininity for their own benefit.

First, it is important to recognize that many of the women themselves are cognizant of the dominant ideas of gender by which they are judged. As T. put it, ‘You get sentenced to prison and you get categorized don’t you? You’re a woman, so you get this. You do dress-making, you do sewing. Because you’re a woman.’ Some, like D., traced these ideas earlier within the criminal justice system, commenting that ‘it’s seen as a man’s thing to commit a crime, but women are supposed to be barefoot, chained to the sink and pregnant. They are the mother figure.’ These same woman, many of whom, like J claimed not to have ‘noticed’ or been ‘bothered’ by gender stereotypes in their lives outside prison, were often more attune to them inside.

At least part of the reason for the women’s new-found sensitivity to sexism may have been related to the manner in which each of the three prisons included in this study offered only highly gender specific classes and employment. Other than a limited amount of maintenance work and gardening to keep the institutions going, women were instructed all but exclusively in activities involving traditional feminine skills like sewing, cooking and cleaning. Many extra-curricular courses or training reflected old fashioned ‘women’s skills’ as is evident in classes in hairdressing, flower arrangement and beauty. Although many women appreciated any further education offered to them, like D., they generally agreed that ‘they’re not very practical things’ asking ‘who’s got the time to do silk painting on the outside?’

Another gendered characteristic of each regime that generated a lot of frustration was the experience of living in a community made up solely of women. In contrast to the situation in many U.S. prisons where women may be at risk of sexual abuse from prison staff, most women appreciated the presence of male guards and personnel. Some like JA exclaimed ‘can you imagine if there weren’t male officers?’

Despite their criticisms of the restrictions placed upon them as women, the prisoners themselves were clearly influenced by fairly rigid gender norms. Thus, they commonly asserted that the most important need of women in prison was increased access to children, even if they themselves were not mothers. Just as outside the prison walls, for most prisoners, women were ‘supposed’ to be, or at the very least to want to be, mothers. Similarly, most prisoners found the notion of ‘women’s needs’ a little mystifying as a category of analysis. Despite their criticism of specific examples of sexist treatment or behavior, the general category of ‘gender’ as a basis for either judgment or action was, on the whole, unfamiliar to most. Few women self-identified as feminists. Given this situation, it is interesting to reflect on what role gender played in their negotiation of power relations in prison.

In my research experience, a gender identity enabled some women to recast themselves as more than just ‘prisoners’. It even sometimes enabled them to reject some of the more negative associations with which they had become stigmatized as a result of their law breaking. K.’s claim that ‘I’m a 100% mother. I’ve never spent a night away from my kids before’ provided a buffer to the self-image she would otherwise have to adopt, that of a prisoner. Being a mother suggested that she had responsibilities, legitimacy, things to do. The implicated was that she deserved a little respect. By insisting, moreover, that she was a ‘good mother’ despite being in prison, K raised the possibility, however fleetingly, that this loaded term, may be more elastic than is usually thought.

A crucial result of confinement and punishment is that prisoners are disqualified from many rights and expectations associated with full agents. They have, in other words, lost their legitimacy. Though, (usually) protected by certain legal, minimum standards of care, they are rarely constructed as, or encouraged to be, reasoning agents deserving to participate freely in their own decision-making. While feminist criminologists have long pointed out that traditional ideas of femininity tend to exacerbate this situation, they also paradoxically sometimes provide women with a means of resistance.