Note: I’ve decided to devote a series of posts to articulating my views on prison abolition, not in any effort at originality or innovation, but simply because I feel it is important to try to write down and put into words what one believes. The first of these posts deals with what I understand to be the prevailing view on why prisons exist; part two will delve into how the prison system actually operates in reality; the third will look at alternatives and their implications; and the final post will address common criticisms to prison abolitionism.
Why am I a prison abolitionist? To start, it may be worthwhile to briefly discuss the prevailing views regarding why, in our advanced human societies, do we have these fenced-in, barbed-wired complexes, patrolled by heavily armed soldiers, where we forcibly intern large segments of the population. It kinda makes sense that in Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Dispossessed, what the anarchist Odonians find most disturbing about A-lo’s capitalist system are its walls and prisons.
The status quo defense of “the prison” and its role in society is that its existence serves, first and foremost, as an explicit threat that actively discourages people from engaging in behavior that the community deems destructive or egregious. Knowing that, if caught by the authorities, you will be denied your freedom (of movement, association, etc.) for a period of time, is a strong disincentive for engaging in behavior that the community wants to suppress. Second, the prison functions as a place to isolate (and potentially reform) individuals who, in spite of the threat outlined in the previous sentence, have gone ahead and inflicted social harm or broken an established societal rule. The separation and isolation of these lawbreakers from society ensures that order and stability can be maintained.
The assumption at the heart of this defense is that people in society decide not to engage in destructive behavior largely because of the state sanctions they may face. And if the threat of punishment is not enough to discourage them, the next logical step is to isolate them from the community to prevent any further harm. The philosophical core of this view originates in a 16th century English guy by the name of Thomas Hobbes. Hobbes, living through the English civil war, had a generally pessimistic view of people. He thought that the “natural state” of man—i.e. the theoretical condition where no laws or rules exist—is one of constant war. People would fight over glory and resources, and because they would generally distrust of each other. Under this state, “every man is enemy to every man," and there is "continual fear, and ... danger of violent death.” As he famously stated, life under this “state of nature” would be “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” (For a good discussion of Hobbes, I recommend listening to What’s Left of Philosophy’s episode dedicated to his philosophy.)
When applied to modern ideas about criminal justice, this philosophical outlook sees every individual as a potential criminal, kept in check by the state. If the state were not around to enforce laws, people would steal from their neighbors and murder their enemies. Man needs the Leviathan—the sheriff—to ensure they don’t revert to the state of nature.
One can observe the Hobbesian “state of nature” manifest itself in a variety of contexts and ideologies. The thin blue line is the most extreme rightwing expression, and the dominant mantra amongst police officers, prosecutors, and judges. Influential economic thinking on this front, which permeates modern criminology, assumes a self-interested rational individual weighing the costs and benefits of committing a crime. If the state is not there to punish the individual (the cost), then the benefits of theft and murder outweigh the costs (the natural state is therefore one where individuals are looking to satisfy what Hobbes called “private appetites”). The only thing stopping the ordinary person from going out and committing crimes is a rational assessment regarding the likelihood of getting caught and the severity of the punishment that one would face.
A racialized dimension also pervades the application of the “state of nature” to crime and punishment. Since crime and violence are associated with this “natural state,” the poor and racially subjugated communities that are afflicted by those conditions are viewed as primitive, and their behavior is understood as innate. These areas are understood to be lacking proper supervision and control by a consolidated Leviathan. There is a telling moment, 35 minutes into the documentary LA 92, where a white supporter of the police officers on trial for the Rodney King beating has a tense exchange with a Black man outside the courthouse in Simi Valley, just hours before the verdict was announced.
“Do you support those guys?” the Black man asks, in reference to the defendants.
“You better believe it.”
“Why? Those guys are heathens. Those guys are animalistic heathens.”
“They are holding the jungle back, tiger,” the white supporter retorts.
The last line is a perfect encapsulation of a racialized “thin blue line”. The “jungle” is both the “state of nature” and a racialized underclass that must be kept in check.
This Hobbesian philosophy underpins the efforts of even those so-called “progressive” reformers in the US, who blame the violence that afflicts many low-income Black and POC communities on a perceived lack of “state presence.” An influential book among this crowd is Jill Leovy’s Ghettoside, which argues that government racism created enclaves (ghettos) of weak governance that forced its inhabitants into vigilante forms of protection. The book is explicitly Hobbesian, at one point stating, “It’s like a default setting. Whenever human beings are forced to deal with each other under conditions of weak legal authority, the Monster lurks.”
The yearning for the Leviathan is what created mass incarceration; mandatory minimums were seen as a way to address the “revolving door justice” problem of the 60s and 70s (i.e. the inability of the courts to properly punish criminals during a time when crime was perceived to be rising). It is why today, even liberal reformers who lament the consequences of mass incarceration, are calling for more police, under the view that perhaps severity of the punishment levied by the Leviathan isn’t as important as the certainty and swiftness of the Leviathan’s punishment.
An abolitionist should reject this pessimistic anthropology. Rather than viewing these conditions of violence and chaos as the “natural state”, they could just as easily, and more logically, be conceptualized as spaces of repression and active exclusion. Why not understand the “natural state” as one where the community ensures everyone is given the opportunity to thrive, fully develop their capabilities, and satisfy their basic needs? Why not view conditions where the active denial of these basic human needs produces conditions that precipitate vicious competition, jealousy, and violence?
Just this small shift, whereby the “state of nature” is assumed to be the peaceful, thriving community, and the exception is the one where violence prevails, leads to a reconceptualization of what must be done. It is not the lack of a Leviathan that unleashes “the Monster,” it is active abuse of people that cultivates their uglier impulses.
To some this may sound like a meaningless distinction. In both cases, the state is to blame. In one case, due to their passivity and neglect, in the other due to their active repression. However, this is a crucial first step to the abolitionist. The focus on the Leviathan (i.e. the overarching punitive authority that settles disputes) is a misunderstanding of what drives the violence. The violence does not emerge simply because it is innate in all of us and must be quelled by a higher authority. It is cultivated within the society due to the conditions under which people must get by. Poor communities of color are not in need of more police and prisons (the Leviathan), they are in need of radically different social conditions that do not inculcate violence.