Can I bring you on a thought journey with me? Yay! Thanks! All right, which is better, a million dollars in your hand or a dollar in a million people’s hands? I’m seriously curious about your answer.
Better yet, what if it was a million hands holding each other? Or those hands playing a rhythm, so no monetary exchange at all? Would you trade being given a million dollars to instead have millions of hardened criminals sing cumbaya while holding hands simultaneously?
What if, out of those million hands holding each other, someone goes around and picks several other’s pockets? If you were a prison administrator, what would you choose? No holding hands or no pickpockets? It turns out that versions of the security vs. convenience dilemma have been discussed for centuries.
Welcome to the domain of philosophy, which frequently raises questions about what is best in a given context. Overlapping this domain are also interesting psychological questions. Let’s assume that some degree of knee-jerk instinct drives our approaches toward policing, sentencing, prison activities, and community health. We value distinct narrow outcomes higher than diffuse, broad benefits. We are also risk avoidant and frequently ban useful efforts on the chance that someone could “game” the system.
The risk of someone cheating prevents us from experiencing and embracing our fullest humanity.
With so much of the framing around prison programming revolving around the elusive concept of “rehabilitation,” it’s even more important to highlight the psychological forces behind decision-making in these areas. Essentially it comes down to a question of “is this program worth it?” Let’s say for example, I find ways to distill metrics for the benefits of prison arts programming. I’d use longitudinal studies that would assess emotional and psychological well-being, collaboration and teamwork, prosocial behavior and rewards, conflict resolution and personal growth, and resilience of artistic communities. Awesome. I’ve proved the benefit, so all stakeholders would be on board, no?
What if we felt the benefit emotionally as well? What if a rousing, multi-state chorus of diverse people living in depravation collaborated to lift their voices in response to our societal challenges? What if this performance had interwoven threads from classical dominant culture and renowned European composers mixed with a book, performers, and videography evoking deep pathos and a push for social justice? Heartbeat Opera managed this incredible feat with the production of Beethoven’s Fidelio that moved many people, including me, to tears, and a sense of the intrinsic value of the power of music in prison.
As it turns out, similar to school funding for the arts, prison administrators are reluctant to even let volunteers from organizations work with incarcerated artists and writers. Over the last 75 years, the trend has been toward a radical decrease in robust programmatic and artistic opportunities in prison. In Music-Making in U.S. Prisons: Listening to Incarcerated Voices (2022. Wilfrid Laurier University Press) authors Mary L. Cohen and Stuart P. Duncan put historical research in context with current prison arts programming efforts. They demonstrate the restrictions and challenges for arts education providers in our current carceral system. In a sense, a collective skepticism prevents prison administrators from enthusiastically supporting activities that affirm our dignity and humanity. Why is this?
The answer goes back to one of our psychological pitfalls. When deciding what is best to do, we observe that the “burden of proof” usually falls on the positive claim. For example, “prison arts and music are good for society”. It takes effort, but we could prove that claim with research and study. The negative claim, “incarcerated people are always gaming the system and leveraging all opportunities for personal or nefarious benefit.” is difficult-or-impossible to disprove. In fact, the prevalence of this negative claim can be witnessed in a broad set of demonstrably unfair practices when evaluating the opportunities that could be available to incarcerated individuals, from in-prison activities, access to books or writing materials, contact with family members, programming and education options, the ability to gather at all, and chances for release either through parole or clemency. When cynicism reigns, humanity suffers.
There is still room for positivity, as demonstrated by the 200+ prison arts programs listed on the Justice Arts Coalition’s non-comprehensive Program Directory. These programs are testament to the fact that positive arguments for the role of the arts in prison can be made even in a cynical environment. Some of these arguments are rhetorical, and I’ve used many of them often.
The “neighbor” argument, simply put, goes like this. If 90% of incarcerated people are coming home to their communities, who would you rather have as a neighbor: someone who has been sitting and stewing in isolation and negativity, or someone who has grown socio-emotionally through lots of collaboration and vulnerability?
The “money” argument focuses on how effective our investments are. If we are judging outcomes based on a simple return-on-investment model, then it can be demonstrated that for a 100 dollars spent on programming versus 100 dollars spent on barbed wire or surveillance gear, we get more return on the programming.
Counterarguments to prison arts programming might not even focus at all on benefits or positive outcomes, but instead may center a sense of retribution. These are typically deeply emotional, rhetorical arguments and can even misrepresent or distort the needs of the people harmed themselves. In our criminal legal system, it benefits state prosecutors and the prison apparatus to take the harshest stance, even against the wishes of victims.
Other arguments against programming include the idea that participants are “gaming” the system by fraudulently pretending to be artists, selling themselves and low-effort work to gain some reward. My response to this is, yes, this absolutely will happen. In fact, there is little distinction between someone perpetually collaborating, generating content, practicing for performance for show and someone doing it for some more intrinsic motivation. Because the “gamer” is getting rewarded for their depth of contributions, the quite likely chance exists that what begins as fraudulence can become a real commitment to engagement.
In the case of overcoming staunch opposition to the arts in prisons, it might be helpful to meet cynics where they are. Many of the jaded opposition may have measurably harmed our society while they go on to reap personal benefits and move with impunity. It is extra important to provide experiential, artistic, and multi-modal opportunities for learning and engagement for people separated from the impact of their decisions, including us.
Basically, you’ve got to always be experiencing creative vulnerability.
Many readers seeing this piece may feel a mix of aversion at the very mention of prison, or a hint of voyeuristic curiosity. Both responses are human, and I trust that deep interrogation of our physical and emotional resonances leads us to valuable realizations. I welcome your feedback, and I am grateful for your attention.
(cover image: an audience viewed from the back in a darkly lit open auditorium. Three presenters stand in the distance, the center presenter is wearing an all-white outfit. Image taken at The Poetry Project, 2019 during a reading of the Prison Writing Awards.)
