Journal of Criminal Justice 40 (2012) 413–424

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Journal of Criminal Justice

Social relationships between prisoners in a maximum security prison: Violence, faith,

and the declining nature of trust
Alison Liebling ⁎, Helen Arnold
Institute of Criminology, University of Cambridge, Sidgwick Avenue, Cambridge, CB3 9DA, United Kingdom

a r t i c l e i n f o a b s t r a c t

Available online 18 July 2012
Purpose: This paper describes significant changes to social relationships in a high security prison, including
the prominent role played by faith identities and fears of radicalisation in shaping prisoner social life.
Methods: The study consists of a repeated sociological investigation of the nature of staff-prisoner relation-
ships at a single site in the UK. Methods included extensive observation, the creation of a regular dialogue
group with 14 prisoners, long, private interviews with 32 staff and 52 prisoners, focus groups, and surveys
with 170 prisoners and 180 staff.
Results: The study found a decline in already low levels of trust, with dramatic effects on the prison's inner
life. Relationships between prisoners were fractured, more deeply hidden than in the original study, and
the traditional prison hierarchy, formerly easily visible in long-term prisons, had dissolved. Longer sentences,
fears of radicalisation, confusion about prison officer power, and high rates of conversion to Islam, reshaped
the dynamics of prison life, raising levels of fear. Clear indications of the anxieties and social unravellings of
late modern society were found.
Conclusions: Increased punitiveness, indeterminate sentences, the intensification of risk-oriented practices,
and anxieties relating to terrorism, have deepened the tone and reshaped the practices of long-term
imprisonment.
© 2012 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.

Introduction effects on the inner life of the long-term prison. Increased punitive-
ness, longer and more indeterminate sentences, the politicisation of
crime and its control, the emergence of risk-oriented practices, and
My sense of the present … is that it is a moment shaped by 30 years of
fears and anxieties relating to terrorism, migration and the economy,
New Right politics that have removed the restraints on finance capital-
have impacted on the tone and ethos of long-term imprisonment
ism … increased the power of the wealthiest elites; and subordinated
in particular, as well as on the numbers and demographic composi-
national economic governance and welfare state protections to the de-
tion of prisoners subject to it. Some countervailing developments
mands of global markets. As a result, structural sociology, class analysis
(a human rights agenda, concerns about institutional racism, and
and the rigorous connection of societal processes to community, house-
some improved physical facilities) have interacted with harder-
hold and individual outcomes have never been more important … in
edged changes to policy and practice in some unintended ways.
the sphere of crime and punishment (Garland, 2012: 8).
Few studies of single prisons have documented resulting changes
to the prison experience, or to the nature of social relationships
This is not an honest prison (Prisoner).
among prisoners (although see Jacobs, 1977; Irwin, 1980; and more
recently, Crewe, 2009). In an unusual, repeat, sociological study of
Criminological and other scholars have described fundamental
a maximum security prison in England, first conducted twelve
changes to penal policy and practice, as well as to the social, economic
years earlier, clear indications of the impact of ‘the new penology’
and political contexts in which penal practices take shape (e.g. Misztal,
(Feeley & Simon, 1992), the shift to a risk-laden late modern society
1996; Beck, 1992; Giddens, 1991; Bauman, 1989, 1997; Boutellier,
(O'Malley, 1992), new fears of radicalisation (Hamm, 2011), confusion
2004; Rose, 2000; Garland, 2001; Simon, 2007; Young, 1999, 2007).
about the limits to and shape of prison officer power, and a decline in
The anxieties and social unravellings of late modernity have led to a
already low but ‘workable’ levels of trust throughout the establish-
‘convulsive penal politics’ (Hope & Sparks, 2000: 3) but also a decline
ment, were evident. Describing this new state of affairs – including
in already low levels of trust, with dramatic but largely undocumented
fundamental changes to the traditional prisoner hierarchy – was ex-
tremely challenging. Relationships between prisoners were complex.
⁎ Corresponding author. They were described as fractured, were more deeply hidden than
E-mail addresses: al115@cam.ac.uk, dk363@cam.ac.uk (A. Liebling). in the original study, and the ‘traditional prison hierarchy’, formerly

0047-2352/$ – see front matter © 2012 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
doi:10.1016/j.jcrimjus.2012.06.003
414 A. Liebling, H. Arnold / Journal of Criminal Justice 40 (2012) 413–424
easily visible in high security and long-term prisons in England and
Wales, had all but dissolved. The traditional ‘liberal-relational’ model
of high security prisons in England and Wales, implemented (albeit
falteringly) following the Radzinowicz report into conditions for pris-
oners in conditions of maximum security 1 (Advisory Council on the
Penal System, 1968) is under threat.
This paper is organised as follows: after a brief introduction to the
literature, the empirical study on which the paper is based is intro-
duced. Some of the changes between the context and findings of
‘study 1’, conducted 12 years earlier, and the current study, are de-
scribed. The remainder of the paper describes the new prisoner popu-
lation and their relationships with each other. The importation of a
more overt and violent ‘street life’ and culture, as well as a sharper
sense of the injustices of social exclusion and penal politics, meant
that prisoners entered prison with an acute sense of both shock
and grievance. Political aversion to ‘pampering long-term prisoners’
meant that some of the activities and sense-making opportunities
for prisoners facing long sentences observed in the first study were
no longer available. Violence, and fear of violence, in prison, particu-
larly in relation to the growing presence of Muslim prisoners, emerged
as major themes in private conversation. Shifting faith identities
(including a high rate of in-prison conversion to Islam) had become
intertwined with the flow of power in prison in ways that were highly
complex and difficult to describe. There were risks that faith had be-
come the new ‘no go area’ in prison. A mixture of coercion and the at-
tractions of faith made turning to Islam appear as one solution to the
problems of fear, lack of trust, and the existential crisis that prisoners
faced.
Prison sociology and the traditional prison hierarchy
Prison is a place where people live (Clemmer, 1940).
The society of prisoners … is not only physically compressed; it is
psychologically compressed as well, since prisoners live in an
enforced intimacy where each man's behaviour is subject both to
the constant scrutiny of his fellow captives and the surveillance
of the custodians. It is not solitude that plagues the prisoner but
life en masse (Sykes, 1958: 4).
Prison sociologists have long been interested in social relation-
ships among prisoners, in the kinds of adaptations prisoners make
to the prison environment, the codes or informal rules that arise,
the nature of allegiances between them, and the formation of groups.
The earliest studies of the sociology of the prison applied the ecolog-
ical insights of the Chicago School of Sociology to the ‘prison com-
munity’, finding inmate leaders, various groupings or social roles
played by prisoners, and a ‘cool rejection’ by prisoners of prison
staff (Berk, 1966; Clemmer, 1940; Grusky, 1959a, 1959b; McCorkle
& Korn, 1954; Sykes, 1958; Sykes & Messinger, 1960). Three key
themes to emerge from the early prison sociology literature were:
the notion of the prison as a sustained social community, with a
flow of power operating through it in complex ways; the division of
prisoners into social roles; and the concept of solidarity 2 – or the
question of whether such solidarity existed and, if so, what function
it served. The assumption made by Sykes is that prisoners display
(if not wholly subscribe to) a certain level of ‘solidarity’ (unity of pur-
pose and mutual moral and other support) in opposition to prison of-
ficers in order to offset the pains and deprivations of imprisonment.
There are limits to how far prisoners are willing to accept the author-
ity of their custodians, and reasons for them to resist staff in both
overt and covert ways.
Mathiesen argued, against Sykes, that prisoners are atomised
and relatively weak, and dependent upon staff (Mathiesen, 1965).
Other sociological studies of prison life have described prisoner
culture as utilitarian, oppositional, and exploitative (Bondeson,
1989; Grapendaal, 1990). The empirical status or degree of support
for the specific theoretical claims made by prison sociologists has
varied over time and between studies (see for example, Useem &
Piehl, 2006) and in general insufficient research of an appropriately
detailed nature exists (see Simon, 2000). All are agreed that away
from the observations of staff, the wings and corridors of the prison
world take on a complex character, comprised of action and interac-
tion, movement and manoeuvre. This hidden world of the prison,
known only by prisoners, and somewhat by staff, is ‘where the action
is’ (Goffman, 1961) in prison. Later scholars were clear that this social
world did not operate apart from the wider community but instead
interacted with it – absorbing the changing political and social con-
text (e.g. Irwin, 1980; Jacobs, 1977).
Scholarship in this tradition conceptualises the prisoner ‘com-
munity’ as shaped in part by importation factors (habits, character-
istics and values brought in to prison from outside; see, e.g. Irwin &
Cressey, 1962) and in part by ‘deprivation’ factors (the conditions,
constraints and deprivations of imprisonment; see, e.g. Sykes, 1958).
Both or combined models have been found to be empirically sup-
ported to some extent, whilst prisons may also vary in the respective
contributions played by imported characteristics, and the pains and
deprivations of imprisonment, and by design (see for example,
Kruttschnitt & Gartner, 2006). There has been considerable specula-
tion in the prison world about the erosion of ‘prisoner solidarity’, as
prisoners have become more interested in drugs, or in their own
material circumstances (see, e.g. Crewe, 2005). The introduction of
‘earned privileges’, and the development of more stringent, risk-
laden parole decision-making, have been credited with contributing
to this overall decline in collective activity and solidarity amongst
prisoners. As Simon argues (2000) there have been few major so-
ciological studies of the prison world and its interior social life since
the pioneering studies by Clemmer (1940), Sykes (1958), Irwin and
Cressey (1962), Jacobs (1974, 1977) and others in the US, and
Mathiesen (1965) in Norway. Sociological studies of prisons in the
UK have been carried out by, for example, the Morris and Morris
(1963), by Cohen and Taylor (1972), McDermott and King (1988),
King and McDermott (1990), Sparks, Bottoms, and Hay (1996),
Jewkes (2002), Liebling (2004) and Crewe (2009). None of these
studies have explored, sociologically, the role of faith and faith iden-
tities in shaping prisoner social life (that is the relationship of faith
to power in prison), although Cohen and Taylor wrote persuasively
about techniques of psychological survival as prisoners struggled
with fears of deterioration, threats to their identity, and crises of
meaning and ‘self-narrative’ (Cohen & Taylor, 1972; Liebling, 2011a,
2011b; Maruna, Wilson, & Curran, 2006). Many prison phenomenon
(e.g. suicide, violence, disorder, or religious conversion) can be made
sense of using a combination of importation and deprivation variables.
This paper attempts to draw out descriptively some complex aspects
of the contemporary prisoner community shaped by a changing con-
text outside.
Some prison scholars have suggested that there is a causal link
between the nature and quality of prisoners’ relationships with
staff, and the kinds of social relations to form among prisoners. Staff
‘police’ the prison environment to different degrees, and in different
ways, thereby allowing different types and depths of prisoner social
life to emerge. 3 A significant contribution to this analysis was made
in 1996 by Sparks, Bottoms and Hay, who showed that the regimes
and ‘policing styles’ in operation at two contrasting maximum securi-
ty or ‘dispersal’ prisons (Albany and Long Lartin), gave rise to radical-
ly different rates and types of violence between prisoners (Sparks
et al., 1996). At the somewhat tightly controlled Albany, assaults
were often explained by ‘spontaneous frustration’ between pairs of
prisoners, whereas at Long Lartin, a more liberal prison, acts of vio-
lence were often pre-planned and deeply embedded in extensive so-
cial and economic networks. Long Lartin was less closely policed, but
 A. Liebling, H. Arnold / Journal of Criminal Justice 40 (2012) 413–424
was generally regarded as the more legitimate prison, except by the
vulnerable few, who felt unsafe (see also Sparks & Bottoms, 1995).
There are trade-offs, then, between safety (as risk management, or ac-
tivity), control and policing, on the one hand, and freedom, personal
autonomy and choice on the other. Both contribute to perceptions
of safety, fairness and legitimacy in prison (on which see, for example,
Sparks and Bottoms, 2008; and Liebling et al., 2005). The (often im-
plicit) conception of order to which prisons work shape the type of
community, or mode of social organisation, to emerge.
Classic sociological studies describe a power hierarchy among pris-
oners, and a tendency for prison staff to work co-operatively with
those at the higher end of this hierarchy, trading freedoms and trust
for co-operation and a certain amount of self-policing among the pris-
oner community. In British long-term prisons, white, professional,
older prisoners sometimes held this role, acting informally as go-
betweens, spokesmen, negotiators and mentors for younger, less ar-
ticulate prisoners, whilst contributing to order on the wing (and ‘get-
ting away with’ some concessions; see. e.g. Liebling, 1999; Liebling, &
assisted by Arnold, H., 2004: 359). Variations on these established
hierarchies existed (and it reached extreme levels and carried dangers
in some prisons; see McEvoy, 2001; Crewe, Liebling, & Hulley,
submitted for publication), but older white prisoners in this study de-
scribed and expressed nostalgia for it.
Theoretical, critical analysis of the prison, as well as moral apprais-
al of it, requires close, sustained sociological-empirical groundwork,
conceptual as well as descriptive clarity, and some understanding of
the prison's changing ‘mission and ideology’ (Simon, 2000: 302).
This is time-consuming work, requiring clear access and almost unrea-
sonable levels of staff, management and prisoner cooperation. This
paper attempts to make current conditions and experiences in one
maximum security prison, already sociologically known to the au-
thors, more visible. As Simon argues, this is critical where the ‘public's
infatuation with incarceration depends on deep ignorance as it its fun-
damental effects’ (ibid.: 303).
The maximum security prison in late modernity:
A sociological study
The study reported here was a repeat of a semi-ethnographic
study of a single maximum security prison conducted by the authors
and colleagues at the request of the Home Office following a negative
Inspectorate Report about the state of staff-prisoner relationships
in the prison (HMCIP, 2008) and some concerns about radicalisation
(Hamm, 2009; Liebling, Arnold, & Straub, 2012). It was generously
funded by the Home Office, a ‘neutral, curiosity-driven’ approach
and title were agreed, and access under the usual terms and condi-
tions (requiring independence for the research team and anonymity,
confidentiality and consent for participants) was facilitated (with one
exception, see Footnote 17). The identity of the prison was difficult to
disguise, as the author had conducted a similar study at the same
prison twelve years earlier, which had led to a well received publica-
tion on the work of prison officers (Liebling & Price, 2001; revised
edition, Liebling, Price, & Shefer, 2011). But for the purposes of this
paper, we shall call it ‘Marchwood’.
Throughout this article, the original research is referred to as
‘Study 1’ (1998–9) and the repeat research as ‘Study 2’ (2009–10).
The methods used included observation, the establishment of a regu-
lar ‘Dialogue’ group with 12–16 prisoners (held weekly), long, pri-
vate, tape-recorded interviews with staff (36) and prisoners (52),
informal conversation, and the use of a detailed survey with staff
(194) and prisoners (159). The research team (of three) spent four-
teen months in the prison, only conducting interviews once relation-
ships were established and staff and prisoners had grown accustomed
to the researchers’ presence on the wings. The first study had found
relatively professional-legitimate staff-prisoner relationships, and a
typical, but policed, long-term prisoner culture in the prison, with
415
prisoner representatives in dialogue with staff and managers about
conditions and privileges in the prison, but a broad acceptance of a
flow of power from staff, through prisoners, to the wings (see further,
Liebling & Price, 1998, 2001). Significantly, at the time of the first
study, the prison staff had been undergoing an ably led and well
resourced ‘claw-back’ following a more turbulent period in the
years beforehand (including disturbances, and six escapes, related
to staff under-policing of prisoners’ day-to-day behaviour). The first
study had arguably captured a ‘peak’ moment in its history, in
which staff were more than typically professionally confident, highly
engaged, and reasonably disposed towards prisoners (on the whole).
The research team mingled freely on the wings, attended regular and
externally-facilitated group discussions, shadowed staff and inter-
viewed prisoners with relative ease. The current study, conducted
12 years later, was completely different.
An overview of a new social organisation at Marchwood
Marchwood prison, in which both studies took place, is located in
a remote Fenland town, a long way from the London (or other major
city) homes of most of its prisoners. 4 The prison was opened in 1991,
and had a modern design with wings of 180 prisoners divided into
three separate ‘spurs’ (Red, Green and Blue) of 60 prisoners each. It
consisted of 440 adult male prisoners requiring conditions of maxi-
mum security and serving over four years (most were serving ten
years to life). It had six wings, A to F. One of these was a special
unit for the dangerous and severely personality disordered. The re-
search took place mainly on the ‘mainstream’ wings. Two of the sig-
nificant changes to take place between ‘Study 1’ and ‘Study 2’ were,
first, the removal of two wings housing vulnerable prisoners (mainly
sex offenders) and their replacement with ‘ordinary dispersal pris-
oners’ 5 (who tend to be younger and less compliant) and secondly,
an increase in the population of Muslim prisoners from a handful in
1998 to 155 or 35 per cent at the time of the Study 2. There had
been a murder of an Asian prisoner by his racist cell-mate in a
Young Offenders Institution in 2001, leading to significant efforts to
combat ‘institutional racism’ in the Prison Service in general (House
of Commons, 2006). The Inquiry to follow precipitated considerable
anxiety about discriminatory behaviour among prison officers. A dis-
ciplinary action against a well-liked (by both staff and prisoners)
member of staff at Marchwood for inappropriate language brought
home the message that staff had to tread carefully on matters of
race, religion and diversity. This was an appropriate message, but it
had some unintended consequences including loss of confidence
among staff in their key ‘policing’ skill: the tactics of talk.
Some important differences were found in the second study, some
of which were related to broader correctional and political changes.
These differences in climate, population composition, regime provi-
sion, prisoners’ psychological condition and relationships, and the
flow of power in the prison, are outlined briefly below, as they
appeared (rather powerfully) to us, before moving to a fuller descrip-
tion of ‘the present’ in the rest of the paper.
The prison was more tense, there were more barriers for the re-
searchers to overcome (with staff and prisoners), and levels of fear
and mistrust in the prison were considerably higher. There was a
new population of relatively young prisoners (in their early twenties)
serving indeterminate sentences, facing 15–25 year tariffs. These
prisoners brought some bitterness, a more oppositional ‘street cul-
ture’ and considerable frustration with them into prison. 6 Changing
social conditions and sentencing practices (new offences, new uses
of existing sentences – such as ‘joint enterprise’ 7 - new mandatory
sentences, longer tariffs, and changes to court practices, as well as
to their lives outside) meant that prisoners regarded their sentences
as ‘less legitimate’. This had not been the case in the first study. Pris-
oners were struggling to come to terms with and find a way of doing
this kind of sentence. The process of adjustment took several years.
416 A. Liebling, H. Arnold / Journal of Criminal Justice 40 (2012) 413–424
Outside organisations were less welcome or visible in the prison
than in the first study, due to security concerns. Many of the kinds
of ‘enrichment’ activities the research team observed, or participated
in, during Study 1 were now regarded as unable to meet a new ‘public
acceptability’ test. We encountered younger prisoners looking for
hope and meaning at a difficult, early stage in their sentences. They
experienced newly introduced restrictions placed by the prison on
finding available ways through their ‘existential crisis’. Prisoners
were frustrated and felt ‘stuck’ and invisible in the prison. They felt
there was a lack of clarity about the purpose of long-term imprison-
ment. The need to belong, and to find meaning and relationships gen-
erated a search for collective identity.
A new population mix, including younger, more Black and minori-
ty ethnic (BME) and mixed race, and high numbers of Muslim pris-
oners, (a significant proportion of whom had converted in prison,
not always ‘willingly’, see further below) was disrupting established
hierarchies. There was considerable evidence of negative social con-
structions and treatment of Muslim prisoners by staff, as well as
some overlapping complaints about discrimination based on eth-
nicity. 8 Some non-Muslim prisoners, regarded faith-following Muslim
prisoners as representing a threat to a ‘British-White-Christian-
Secular’ way of life. There were tensions relating to fears of ‘extrem-
ism’ and ‘radicalisation’ in the prison, confounded by the apparently
high rate of conversion to Islam. Links between recent attacks on the
London Underground and elsewhere, and radicalisation of some of
the individuals involved in prison, were made by the media, and by se-
curity services (see Hamm, 2009, 2011). Staff were unsure of their au-
thority in relation to faith practices, and were nervous of being
accused of discrimination. Some distancing had taken place, so that
staff seemed less sure-footed around prisoners than they had been.
They were uncomfortable with their ‘unfamiliar’ population.
Social relations among prisoners had become complex and less
visible. Too much power flowed in the prison among some groups
of prisoners, with some real risks of serious violence. There were
high levels of fear among prisoners in the prison, which flowed on
to the wings like a mood. Some of the (serious) violent incidents tak-
ing place in the prison at the time of the research were apparently re-
lated to faith or ideological disputes, but were difficult to disentangle
from other forms of prison violence.
Those prisoners who remembered or subscribed to the ‘old hierar-
chy’ agreed that in this prison (and in prisons more generally), ‘it had
broken down’. This was largely to do with population composition
changes – prisoners were younger, more regularly from minority eth-
nic and mixed race backgrounds, and ‘street life’ (and language) was
more prominent in shaping prisoner values, behaviour and attitudes.
Sentences were longer, and the offences for which prisoners received
them more often involved violence, guns and knives. Young prisoners
were more oppositional. They did not solicit ‘friendly’ or civil rela-
tionships with prison staff.
Older professional white prisoners ‘feel like an endangered spe-
cies’, and looked out at the ‘young gang BME’ prisoners, ‘young
white drug users’, and assorted ‘Muslim prisoners’ with some disap-
proval. There were still ‘out groups’: the learning disabled and mental-
ly ill (who were predominantly white, but who had been tolerated or
accommodated in the old order), and sex offenders, who had been
largely shunned, but these prisoners were now ‘targeted by’ or ‘useful
to’ some of the new ‘players’.
Muslim prisoners had accumulated the power in numbers (around
130 prisoners attended Friday prayers, for example), but the power
some of the heavier ‘players’ wielded was hidden, and difficult to
describe or evidence. Some of the prisoners in this group were power-
ful and ‘untouchable’. The rules were different: their code was more
‘us and them’ — they wanted no relationship with authority: ‘don't
talk to staff’, and ‘belong to the brotherhood’ — If you are in trouble
‘we all have to help you out’. Not all prisoners who belonged to this
‘group’ agreed with its code. The new formation was less consensual
and more enforced. Loyalties were linked by fear as well as by shared
interests.
The new arrangements were difficult to disentangle from age.
There were no ‘young generation bank robbers’ coming in to the pris-
on (if there had been, there might have been more competition for
power). That is, there was no-one of the traditional value set vying
for power. There were ‘no older Muslims’ either. Crudely stated, the
types of prisoner groups identifiable included the following: 1. TACT
prisoners 9 (barely visible, but acting as ideological leaders). 2. Anti-
social criminal ‘gangs’ (primarily, but not exclusively, containing
Muslim and Black and Minority Ethnic (BME) prisoners, who had
‘muscle’ and some fear-respect among other prisoners). 3. Those
who ‘tagged along’ with the above group, for acceptance, safety and
status (this group was mixed). 4. ‘Old lag’ prisoners (white, often
London-based professional criminals, ‘respected’ for their crimes. 5.
White ‘gang’ leaders and members (a younger group). 6. ‘Ordinary’
(non-gang-affiliated) Muslims. 7. Non-Muslim, Christian, Buddhist
and Jewish and other prisoners. 8. The individualised, mentally ill or
learning disabled.
It was difficult to do a sentence without affiliation to some group.
The relationship between groups 1 and 2 (above) was difficult to
fathom but did not seem ‘hierarchical’. In the remainder of this article
we describe ‘the present’ more fully, attempting to accurately depict
what we observed, and what prisoners said, about their relationships
with each other, violence, coercion and trust. The opinions of staff,
and further elaboration on prisoners’ experiences of the new prison
world will be published elsewhere.
Relationships and alliances between prisoners in a contemporary
maximum security prison
In general, prisoners described their relationships with each other
as cautious and limited. On the one hand, they were tense, strained,
and temperamental. On the other, they were ‘convenient’ and instru-
mental (as other scholars have noted). Interactions between pris-
oners had little substance: they might ‘look OK on the surface’, but
they were extremely guarded. Prisoners were reluctant to give them
the label ‘relationships’; there was too much fear involved. Several
non-Muslim prisoners were determined to get a transfer to Frankland
(another dispersal prison ‘up North’), where ‘they had heard’ that life
was better. 10 There seemed to be more solidarity among Black and
minority ethnic (BME) and many Muslim prisoners than among
white and non-Muslim prisoners, although ‘counter-campaigns’ (to
increase attendance at Catholic Mass, for example) were described.
Some of this collective behaviour served individual needs and pur-
poses, and the appropriation of power was used by some prisoners
against others as well as to push back staff.
Alliances were cultivated for reasons of safety, and taking into ac-
count the ‘risk to your progression’ or the ‘security consequences to
you’. Certain relationships could hinder progression, and individual
prisoners described their own conflicts about this. Mates were ‘people
who aren't going to get you in to trouble’. Self-protecting prisoners
would not ‘be friends with volatile prisoners’. The emphasis on indi-
vidual progression and risk assessment was one reason why prisoners
did not openly challenge other prisoners they disagreed with.
Relationships outside prison mattered more (that is, featured
more prominently in conversation) than they had in Study 1; as the
prison population nation-wide had doubled since 1992, it was more
likely that other family members were inside, just out, or returning
to prison. Prisoners knew each others’ brothers and cousins, and
their relationships with each other. The street (or the ghetto;
Wacquant, 2008) was less far away. There were far-reaching net-
works, complex outside allegiances, conflicts and entanglements de-
termining who prisoners could and could not associate with in
prison and the terms on which relationships or interactions could
take place. The prison was less ‘sealed’. This made relationships inside
 A. Liebling, H. Arnold / Journal of Criminal Justice 40 (2012) 413–424
harder and made incidents of violence more difficult to untangle (see
further below). Knowing the street was both a risk and a strategic ad-
vantage in prison.
Faith, violence and ‘the street’
These guys in the middle, what are really university geezers, internet
geeks and that, they don't know about the street (Prisoner).
A striking finding was the central and complex role of faith, or
faith identity, in prisoner conflict. Levels of fear and violence were
high. Prisoners and staff suggested that there was a framing of conflict
between prisoners, ‘using the new issues’ of faith identity and prac-
tices. This framing reinforced the power of the perpetrators, provid-
ing protection.
One of the significant new population groups to enter high secu-
rity prisons (‘since 9/11’) were individuals convicted of acts of
terrorist-related violence or planning. There were seven (known as
TACT prisoners) in Marchwood at the time of the research. They
often had powerful ideologies, but, according to many prisoners, no
street craft. They were disproportionately, but not exclusively, Al
Quaeda-inspired Muslim prisoners. Their role in the new prisoner
dynamics was unclear. But other prisoners adopted faith-inspired
narratives for their violence, as we describe below. More streetwise
prisoners dealt with interpersonal conflict indirectly and at a distance
(including over long periods of time) via what was frequently
referred to as ‘the Muslim issue’. Imposing religious expectations –
‘you're not praying …’ - became a way of addressing conflict, under
an umbrella. An example of a prisoner who had his eyes slashed in
an assault, allegedly ‘because he was not conforming to the faith’
(he had been watching television, at night), illustrated this trend –
the apparent enforcement of religious practices becoming the route
via which ‘come-uppance’ occurred, sometimes months later. This
was an effective shield for prisoners who wanted to exert power,
and use violence in the prison, precisely because it was so difficult
to police.
Normal prison issues were becoming ‘channelled into faith-related
deviations’. There were powerful incentives to draw on faith as a re-
source for structuring violence. Such disputes held power, were safe,
and did not ‘hinder progression’. ‘Telling my brother you are not
praying’ was a good mask for retaliation for ‘the fight we had the
other day’. Much conflict arose, was expressed, or simply felt among
Muslim prisoners, because faith following was becoming the orga-
nising principle around which violence was ‘justified’ within the pris-
oner community. It was impossible to trace the origins of acts of
violence (the research team interviewed more victims than perpetra-
tors), but there was some evidence that violence in the prison dispro-
portionately involved Muslims against ‘reluctant-’ or non-Muslims.
Of 61 assaults the research team were able to collect information
on, some were spontaneous, interpersonal ‘thin’ assaults. But others
(including the most serious) were part of a developing interpersonal
situation, in which faith became a reason for action, somewhere into
the narrative. 11 Retaliation did not take place ‘there and then’, but
perpetrators waited for an opportunity to ‘frame the conflict’ in the
new context of faith. These assaults seemed calculated and meditated
(‘guns at noon’). People ‘know its coming’. What made disentangling
the situation at Marchwood difficult was that some conflicts may
have been about ‘faith’ and ideology, others were framed in that
way by the prisoners involved or witness to them, and still others
were attributed to faith conflict by staff or those reporting on the in-
cident. Some of the violence reported in the prison was related to the
new sentence conditions and a combined frustration with relation-
ships and the regime. More is said about these assaults and about
fear and violence in the prison more generally below.
417
Violence, fear of violence and safety in prison
Violence is currency in prison (Prisoner).
Violence is not a good thing and I don't really condone it yeah? But I
know if you're rattling the cage, with the door open yeah? Then it
might bite, you know what I mean? (Prisoner).
I grew up around violence; I mean my life's really been around vio-
lence (Prisoner).
The research team were aware that the threat and fear of violence
in ‘Study 2’ seemed more present in day to day life and conversation
than it had been in ‘Study 1’. This was in part an outcome of the dis-
tant and complex relationships and population changes outlined so
far. Staff and prisoners were aware of the risk of serious violence
and their vigilance and social distance made the environment feel
unsafe. A number of serious assaults, which the research team were
made aware of, had occurred either just prior to, or during, the field-
work period; these are outlined below. The negative effects of a ‘fear-
distance-conflict-violence-fear’ cycle were evident.
The general perception that violent incidents in the prison had in-
creased in frequency and severity over the past two years was a source
of concern throughout the interviews and informal conversations
with staff and prisoners. There were four main narratives: i) frustra-
tion with long-term imprisonment, over-complex routes out, and
poor relationships with staff (that is, general frustration and griev-
ance), ii) the new prisoner world (a remaking of the prisoner hierar-
chy and responses to this), iii) the presence of prisoners with serious
mental illness in the prison, and iv) coercion relating to conversion
to Islam. Levels of assaults decreased significantly towards the end of
the fieldwork.
Between March 2009 (three months before the fieldwork began)
and October 2010 (two months after the fieldwork was completed)
there were 66 assault-related incidents reported at the prison. Of
these, 15 (23 per cent) were deemed serious, due to the nature of
the injuries received. Data were obtained on 61 of these incidents:
in 30 per cent of cases the police were informed; in 28 per cent of
cases there was a police investigation; and in 41 per cent of cases
major injury resulted. Forty-one (67 per cent) were assaults on pris-
oners and 20 (33 per cent) were assaults on staff. In terms of location,
although this information was missing in several cases, the highest
proportion of assaults (20 per cent) took place on D Wing (the
DSPD Unit); 13 per cent each took place on A Wing and C Wing, 12
per cent took place on B Wing, and ten per cent took place in the
Gym. In 18 (30 per cent) of the incidents a weapon was used; most
commonly a knife or sharp blade. Incidents not involving weapons
were likely to involve a prisoner being punched or hit (35 per
cent); 26 per cent were fights between prisoners. Whilst the assaults
on staff were serious and significant in shaping the prison's climate,
we have focused on prisoner-on-prisoner assaults in the analysis to
follow. 12
When violence occurred, it tended to be serious. Planned assaults
were more common than spontaneous ‘fights’:
If two guys had a problem, they'd go in the gym, they'd have a little
fight, shake hands after they were finished, which is called ‘a straight-
ener’, do you know what I mean? That was the olden days, but that's
disappeared now (Prisoner).
One explanation for ‘higher than necessary’ levels of violence was
the lack of places or opportunities to release frustration:
You can see how much violent incidents have happened. People have
got burnt up with ghee and things have happened to people in the
gym. The violence is going up. This is prison, Miss, yeah, things are
418 A. Liebling, H. Arnold / Journal of Criminal Justice 40 (2012) 413–424
going to happen. You can't stop all forms of violence. Prison is for vi-
olent people, isn't it? So when a prisoner gets angry, who's he going to
take that out on? On a fellow prisoner. That's what people tend to do.
… if someone pisses me off right now, if I've got a family problem and
these lot are getting on my nerves, yeah, I just wait for a prisoner to
just get out of line … It's like, you know, you're not angry with him,
you just want somebody to direct the anger against (Prisoner).
In describing violent incidents they had witnessed, prisoners de-
scribed how they adapted and responded:
There was an attempted murder on Red Spur when I was on it. I didn't
see it, but I saw the aftermath, I heard the screams, and I saw him
coming out of his cell. The way it challenged me was, I wasn't happy
with the way I reacted … I think this environment makes you numb,
because you see a lot of violence in here, so I've become numb to vi-
olence in a lot of respects, and I can honestly say when I first saw him
coming out of his cell, and there was blood spurting out, my first
thought was there's going to be a lock down, I'll have to go and get
the papers so I've got something to read, and I've gone over that reac-
tion a lot of times. I've thought on the outside I would be somebody
who would have been straight down there helping him and trying
to resolve the situation. In here I'm a participating observer, I can't
get involved, and life almost unravels as if you're not there, as if it's
part of somebody else's life, but I think that's another coping strategy
(Prisoner).
I seen a lot of violence in this prison. I see someone get burnt. I was a
bit shocked ‘cause I was new to this. I haven't seen violence like that
outside, like, I haven't seen a person scream like that before. … that
kind of scared me … disfigured the geezer's face … that was shocking,
shocking … (Prisoner).
The prisoner survey results showed that just over a quarter of
prisoners (28 per cent) feared for their physical safety and 31 per
cent did not ‘feel safe from being injured, bullied or threatened by
other prisoners’. Sixty-six per cent of prisoners either ‘agreed’ or
‘strongly agreed’ with the statement, ‘Staff respond promptly to inci-
dents and alarms in this prison’. Fifty-five per cent ‘agreed’ or ‘strong-
ly agreed’ with the item, ‘In this prison I have to be wary of everyone
around me’ (see Liebling et al., 2012).
When prisoners’ survey responses were analysed according to the
two main religious identifications (Christian and Muslim) in the pris-
on there were some interesting differences. Muslim prisoners were
significantly more likely to ‘disagree’ or ‘strongly disagree’ with the
statement, ‘There is a lot of trouble between different groups of pris-
oners in here’. They were not as confident that staff would ‘respond
promptly to incidents and alarms’ as Christian prisoners were. 13
They were more likely to report that they could ‘relax and be them-
selves’ around other prisoners. Muslim prisoners also reported feeling
slightly more physically safe than Christian prisoners, although this
difference was not statistically significant. These results support a hy-
pothesis that Muslim prisoners felt more ‘collective’ as well as ‘oppo-
sitional’ or distrusting of staff.
The atmosphere could feel tense when tempers flared. Prisoners
were sensitive to both the potential for violence and of the complex-
ity of decisions to get involved: that is, loyalty to others versus risk to
themselves:
Interviewer (I): When do you feel less safe, are there certain occasions
or places? Prisoner (P): When you can feel that there is … aggression
say, on the wing, when you can feel that someone's got a problem with
someone else and it might go off at any time. I: Yeah, a bit bubbly?
P: Yeah, I feel unsafe then because … have I got to get involved in it?
You know what I mean? Is it one of my mates? Like the officers are go-
ing to come and jump on him and bend him up, that means I've got to
definitely get involved because that's the way life is in prison. If one of
your friends is done you've got to help them (Prisoner).
There was some scepticism amongst several prisoners, shared
with the research team in informal conversations as well as in inter-
views, as to how seriously staff took prisoners’ admissions of threat
from other prisoners whom they knew were located on the same
wing and had ‘enemies’ whom they had reason to believe had a ven-
detta against them:
They was trying it with me … and I said no, I've had enough of this, I
went and told an officer, I said these are putting pressure on me …
the SO [Senior Officer] went and got the two people and told them
what I'd said. How about that? I had eight of them come in my cell
which was a bit intimidating … ‘oh what you been telling the SO’
… and the only thing I could think of off my head was … ‘oh, well
you believe a screw do you?’ … When I told the SO what was happen-
ing, he was trying to make it something different, he was saying to
me, are you in debt? Do you take drugs? He was trying to twist it
round like to make that problem not an issue (Prisoner).
At the beginning of the fieldwork a prisoner was seriously
assaulted in the gym with a dumbbell. The victim of the attack was
a white Muslim prisoner who had converted whilst in prison; he
was suspected by some prisoners of supplying information to staff.
He was vulnerable in many respects, including having some mental
health problems. Whilst the gym was highly valued by prisoners, it
was noted that the potential for violence there was higher than in
other locations since there were no security cameras installed (they
were fitted towards the end of the fieldwork). Similar observations
were made when prisoners talked about the spur kitchens, the ten-
sions around cooking, and the availability of weapons:
If ever anything's going to happen in this prison, nine times out of ten
it'll happen in the gym … because there's no bloody cameras down
there, that's why. And you've got heavy weights, dumbbells and all
that, you could do some serious damage in an environment where
you're not going to be seen (Prisoner).
If anybody's got a problem they just say “I'll see you down the gym”
… and it is a bit like ‘OK Corral’, so they go down there (Prisoner).
Violence had played a large part in the lives of many of the pris-
oners at Marchwood. They explained that the nature of violence out-
side prison (and the offences for which prisoners had been convicted)
had changed:
You've got people in here doing a long, long, time, who've done a long
time, who aren't getting out, so when it comes to assaults, in other
prisons, some people have an argument over the showers and they
have a fight, a fisticuffs, whatever, but in here, ‘cause of the serious
nature of the crimes what people are in for, any incident's going to
be much worse in here than it is going to be in a normal prison and
I don't think it's just here. I think that's all dispersals (Prisoner).
Violence, fear of violence and safety in relation to
Muslim prisoners
A significant number of prisoners talked about violence in relation
to Muslim prisoners in interviews; several believed that ‘the Muslim
influence’ was responsible for much of the violence in Marchwood;
others felt that it was simply a part of prison life that had to be accept-
ed and that it was unrelated to faith issues:
When you start talking about gangs you start to relate it to violence,
you start to relate it to solidarity of a gang, prisoner on prisoner
 A. Liebling, H. Arnold / Journal of Criminal Justice 40 (2012) 413–424
retribution …, I wouldn't say it's anything to do with a Muslim gang
or anything to do with religion, it's more to do with just prison life
and that's how prison life is, it just so happens that because there's
a large population of Muslim prisoners, then they say ‘oh, there's go-
ing to be conflicts between Muslims and non Muslims’. Not because
the Muslims target non-Muslims, because that's not the case, but
more because that's prison life and it's inevitably going to happen
(Prisoner).
The alliances and allegiances amongst prisoners were complex:
loyalties were equivocal, and the traditional sub-cultural expectation
that other prisoners would ‘back you up’ was fragile. The risk of being
involved in the sub-culture or in violence was too great a threat to
progression for some prisoners, whilst others maintained that they
would step in to protect their friends in prison, even if reluctantly:
There was a sense of insecurity amongst prisoners: to identify a
friend or foe was not straightforward. White, non-Muslim prisoners
feared Muslim attacks and were aware of the possible consequences
of an altercation with a Muslim prisoner:
You can't have a fight with one Muslim without all of them getting
involved (Prisoner).
If I had an issue now with a fellow that was Muslim and I hit him or
he hit me and I defended myself or something, then nine times out of
ten you're watching your back now ‘cause you're getting it with a
weight down the gym or something because they say, like, if you hit
a brother, we'll defend our brother and that's how it's escalated, like
a vendetta, do you know what I mean? (Prisoner).
One thing it says in the Qur'an is basically if you see another brother
getting attacked you should always intervene and try to stop the fight,
so I think that's why a lot of people is converting into Muslims because
if they become a Muslim now … that person over there can't attack me
because … the brothers will stop it from happening. (Prisoner)
In general, Muslim prisoners said they did not ‘let each other fight’
(although when incidents did occur, they were serious – see the at-
tack on a prisoner in Friday prayer service, below).
Among the prominent incidents that took place during the field-
work (which structured staff and prisoners’ experience significantly
at the time) was an altercation during the serving of lunch on B
Wing. Two prisoners were involved in a fight (three other prisoners
subsequently actively stepped in). The incident resulted in a lock-
down of the wing for over three hours and the planned removal of
two prisoners to the Segregation Unit. Whilst conflict amongst
prisoners was expected, and quite frequent, what was considered
unusual and, to some Muslim prisoners, disappointing about this in-
cident was that the original fight involved two Muslims (one of
these prisoners was a TACT prisoner and it was the research team's
interpretation that the clash was to do with issues of power, honour,
and pride):
Even the screws must have been surprised when that happened, be-
cause they don't normally see that. Where they normally see either
a Muslim guy's fighting with a non-Muslim and then all of the
Muslims will jump in, when they seen two Muslims fighting like
they're saying ‘oh, what's going on there?’ but at the same time ev-
eryone has disputes, you understand? (Prisoner)
It was crazy, I don't know, a misunderstanding between the two lads,
tensions build up from before… and they ended up fighting. People
got involved, people want to protect their friends, as someone that
knows all of them, I was disappointed that some lad would try to at-
tack another lad, but these things are to be expected, a lot of prisoners
are getting heated (Prisoner).
419
One of the prisoners present at the incident gave his perspective:
I: Have you ever had to jump in and help one of your friends? P: Near-
ly. I was very close to jumping in, I didn't agree with what the officers
did and I was going to sort of jump in, there was three involved, four
altogether. I: Would you say that they represent different groups on
this spur? P: No, I don't think anyone represents anything on here on-
ly your own person at the end of the day. What I think it was just …
an argument got out of hand, one person was saying something about
another person, as they call it ‘Chinese Whispers’, and he put it on
that person and that person then got a bit aggro about it; it was
handbags at 50 paces. But I don't like to see violence, I come in like
a violent person, I've got two uncles just finished life sentences for
murder, all my life I've been around violence or drugs and drink. I've
come away in prison and I've tried to change that and get away from
drugs, violence (Prisoner).
Another prisoner provided an explanation for what happened,
illustrating the expectation that Muslim prisoners did not fight
amongst themselves:
… there's a lot of politics that goes on around in prison and what
should have happened that day, if two people are fighting, according
to Islam what's supposed to happen is, you're supposed to stop them,
you know, we're not supposed to allow them to fight. But what hap-
pened that day was you had some people that were trying to stop it
and you had some people that was joining in, and that caused prob-
lems with the rest of the place because we're thinking “hold on, you're
jumping in? You're not supposed to choose sides, you're supposed to
just stop it”, you know, and just pull them apart sort of thing, and that
caused then like little waves around the place (Prisoner).
In a follow-up incident to this fight on the wing, just over five
weeks later, one of the prisoners was seriously assaulted by several
prisoners whilst attending the Muslim Friday prayer service in one
of the workshops; he had had his face and throat slashed. The injuries
he sustained led to severe bleeding and he was taken to hospital for
surgery requiring fifty stitches. The incident was referred to the police
for investigation and was, apparently, considered to be a case of
attempted murder, possibly to avenge the previous attack. Prisoners
talked about the divisive impact the location of this incident had
within the Muslim community; that it was instigated in a place of
worship was considered disrespectful:
This assault happened two Fridays ago. That's created a huge divide
in the Muslims, that has. I knew who it was but he's such a nice fella
but wolf in sheep's clothing, isn't it? That's shook everyone up, that
has ‘cause of where it happened; in the prayer service. I mean,
churches don't even get done because you don't do things in sacred
places so, you know, a lot of the Muslims now are, sort of, saying it
shouldn't have happened and they're bang out of order. Whereas
the other Muslims were saying well no, he was right to do it ‘cause
the fella was a wrong ‘un. They were all of them Muslims, yeah, at
Muslim service (Prisoner).
A few months later there was another incident whereby a pri-
soner's throat was slashed, this time on A Wing. Due to the severity
of the injuries (which required forty stitches) a decision was made
to call an Air Ambulance: the police were called to investigate.
These incidents shaped staff and prisoner perceptions and behav-
iour. Beneath the violence, there were complex pressures exerted.
Prisoners and staff talked about other forms of coercion, in particu-
lar, in relation to ‘forced conversions’ to Islam. Coercion was a con-
stant feature of prison life, and this was one of its contemporary
manifestations.
420 A. Liebling, H. Arnold / Journal of Criminal Justice 40 (2012) 413–424
Coercion, intimidation, and the flow of power
I've worked on the landings for God knows how many years, I know
what threat these people are under, what life is like, it's an animal
world in here … they have no choice, it's either they do that or they
die, or they end up in hospital with severe injuries (Officer).
Prisoners compared living at Marchwood to ‘swimming in a shark
tank’. A high-security prison environment held multiple potential
threats to one´s life and safety, and required rapid adaptation. ´Surviv-
al’ meant, amongst other things, finding out about and complying
with codes of conduct imposed by powerful groups. Some prisoners
exerted influence, and prisoners and staff were aware of the univer-
sality of these social and group mechanisms in prison but argued
that the power being wielded had become confounded by faith dis-
putes, identities and presentations.
Staff described the pressure that prisoners were under to choose
sides, or strategically join the most dominant group and thus be
protected, or to fight alone. Any weakness constituted a point of at-
tack for leaders and other influential prisoners wanting to gain fol-
lowers to build up or strengthen their own powerbase:
I think it's just about … getting more people on side, it's kind of like
the football mentality, you know, you get football hooliganism when
people go just to cause trouble and you get big groups? I think it's
kind of like that, the more we have the more powerful we are, and
then the fear comes from what that big group could do, the potential,
you know? (Officer)
Once a group were high in numbers, they held more power to
exert serious pressure on others. The group were able to capitalise
on feelings of fear, hopelessness or loneliness to make people join
in. The most effective means to gain immediate power over individ-
uals were threats to life, or the promise of violence.
The current powerful group were represented by Muslim pris-
oners at Marchwood at the time of the research. Prisoners and staff
described some acts of intimidation and coercion as follows:
I had to take the poppy off and then they found out me brother was in
the army so I went through a lot of shit. People shouting out the win-
dows. Yeah, when the squaddies were getting killed, out the windows,
hope it's your brother … Your wife's burning in hell ‘cause she's not a
Muslim and, like, ridiculous shit, like, but it gets you down. It does get
you down (Prisoner).
We had a fellow come into the Seg, I took him to hospital, big black
fellow, and he had been scalded with whatever they had used …
and it had gone over his head, his shoulders, chest and arm I think,
and he was in [a] Serious Burns Unit … because he had refused to
go over … So that's what they do … it's not a faith, it's a gang … I
mean there's threats to their families … threats to them, there's pres-
sure too (Officer).
According to staff and prisoners ‘the Muslim issue’ represented
one version of a typical prison and social phenomenon:
I think there's fears because there's always been prisoners who will
bully, as the percentage of Muslims rises the chances that one of those
bullies is a Muslim is always there. I think we've got a prisoner on the
anti-bullying scheme at the moment who is a Muslim but is also a
prisoner who's always been a bully, he's very unpredictable, he's
assaulted lots of members of staff at this and other establishments,
but I don't for one minute think that if he became a Christian tomor-
row that would stop, he's always going to be a bully, I've seen his sen-
tence, his report, his pre-convictions, what his offence was, what his
upbringing was, how he grew up, and that's what he's like, that's
his circumstance, that's not to do with him being a Muslim (Officer).
Actions and loyalties were strategic: everyone ‘used’ others within
the prisoner population to follow their own agenda. Individual rea-
sons for action were diverse and well hidden, but they revolved
around self-protection and integration with useful others. Any kind
of outsider status, like having no income, no family-ties or friendships
on the outside, or no associates on the inside, constituted a point of
weakness:
The money we provide for the new guy coming in to become a Muslim
… you know that if I look after you in prison … for example, buy you
clothes, buy you shoes, buy you canteen, outside money, then I can
use you … like you are slave [sic], you understand? (Prisoner).
If you don't join the Muslim population some people say, then you get
taxed … you have to pay a price for not joining, so you get looked after …
It could be a chicken or it could be tobacco, it could be anything, so that
you get protected (Officer).
This ‘entrepreneurial’ or racketeering behaviour made vulnerable
prisoners enter into dependency relationships that could be abused
by dominant groups. It was important to be a member of the most
powerful group, to attain other advantages, like preferred access to
hard-fought territories. One particular sphere of space control was
the spur´s kitchen where prisoners could cook their own food. It
was one of the most coveted facilities by long-term prisoners. Because
its space and opening hours were limited, it was a scarce good:
P: We have kitchens here and we can go and cook meals, we've had
incidences on this spur even, going in there, try and do yourself a ba-
con sandwich, or cooking a bit of pork in the oven. I: So it restricts or
makes you feel like you can't do what you would normally do? P: No,
they tell you straight! “Take that off the oven I want to cook”, what-
ever they're bloody cooking. You point out “I was here first” and
you've got every other bloody Muslim on your back then as well.
I: Right, so is there an element of fear amongst other prisoners that
aren't Muslim prisoners to not do that then? P: [Affirmative noise]
most of them won't own up to fear but there is that fear there, you
have a problem with a Muslim you've got a problem with however
many hundred there is here (Prisoner).
Me and me mate used to cook every week, but we've stopped that be-
cause it was just not worth the aggravation. If you want that many
Muslims in here you need to set up kitchens for them as well. I: It's
only a small kitchen anyway. P: Yeah it's poxy for forty-odd blokes,
one bloody cooker and that's it. I: So it's quite easy to get control of
that area in a way? P: Yeah they just dominate it, they do (Prisoner).
Membership of the Muslim community and certain tenets of the
faith could be abused by subgroups or individuals to “legitimately”
perpetuate outside criminal and gang behaviour:
Obviously, you have got the knobheads that are using it for power. It's
mostly the black geezers who got this, kind of, gang type of mentality,
who are using it because they're supposed to look after each other
and no one else should be able to harm a Muslim and all this kind
of stuff. So that is, like, breeding gang rules. It's kind of an underlying
thing, like, in the street, that's the same type of thing you'd apply in a
gang, where you'd say “You can't touch him ‘cause he's with me.”
(Prisoner).
What it is, is people get into arguments with people over things and
then these guys, what are using it as this gang, type of thing, they then
find something that is agreeable to the real staunch Muslims. So for in-
stance, me and you are alright, you're not a Muslim, we have a little
 A. Liebling, H. Arnold / Journal of Criminal Justice 40 (2012) 413–424 421

argument. I want to do something to you but I don't want to do it myself 3. Conversion of others – recruitment into the faith.
or I don't want to be seen to just be doing something to you … let's say 4. Violence and ‘enforcement’ of religious practices (such as forbidding
me and you are selling drugs, yeah? Something goes wrong and I'm an- the cooking of bacon in spur kitchens, or of undressing to shower).
gry with you. I'm a Muslim. I'm not supposed to be selling drugs, so I 5. Use of the law (e.g. application for judicial review of segregation);
can't go to my Muslim brothers and say I was selling drugs ‘cause and
they're going to say what you doing selling drugs? But if I wait a couple 6. Rejection of the authority of ‘prison Imams’ by ideological leaders.
of weeks and I can say he keeps playing music loud when I'm trying to
Most of the above strategies fall into Cohen and Taylor's categories
pray, someone speaks to him, couple of weeks later you say it again. He
(outlined in their classic prison text, Psychological Survival) of ‘self-
keeps doing it. He keeps playing his music. Next thing you know, now
protection’ and ‘campaigning’ and a new category of ‘recruiting’. Evi-
someone wants to do something to him and really all it was is that he
dence of ‘confronting’: escaping, hunger strikes or dirty protest was
ran off with your drugs or whatever else, but you just used the situation,
not seen. Cohen and Taylor suggest that prisoners are shown in most so-
manipulated the situation (Prisoner).
ciological studies to adapt rather than resist.15 These strategies were
undermining, in the sense that staff were unclear about their authority
There was dispute about what was ‘respect’ for each other's rules,
in these areas, but they included legitimate claims. There were many
and what constituted intimidation, or what constituted a ‘gang’ and
ways in which prisoners could ‘appear resistant’ visually, or by accumu-
what was ‘a few of us with a nice atmosphere’. It was difficult for
lating ‘controversial’ material goods like multiple foreign language reli-
staff and prisoners to know what was ‘really’ going on. Action was co-
gious texts, but these activities and signals were contestable (they could
vert. Interpretations of events were inconsistent, and myths emerged.
be ‘mere assertions of identity’) in a way that efforts to ‘control space’
Prisoner relationships were difficult to evaluate because much ac-
(i.e. determine what went on in the kitchens) were not. It seemed to
tivity was instrumental and strategic. Faith was confounded with
be the case that few of the faith-related behaviours defended by many
race. Individual prisoners would relate to groups or other individuals
whilst in prison had been imported from prisoners’ lives outside. A pris-
because they were forced to do so, or wanted to take advantage of
on specific version of faith-related claims had developed.
them. They would not have related to them in this way on the out-
The relevance of the Cohen and Taylor analysis, as applied to
side. According to staff and prisoners, life in the high-security estate
Marchwood, is that as the authors argued in their study, prisoners
resembled a ‘parallel universe’ with its own reality and rules. People
needed a workable sustaining ideology in order to survive long-
within it would rarely display their true allegiances or their true
term imprisonment. Those without retreated or fought in self-
self. They were preoccupied with their own adaptation:
destructive ways; their day-to-day problems became easier to deal
with in un-reflexive ways, but the ultimate existential problem
At the end of the day this thing is not real. This thing what everyone's
(which was, then, fear of deterioration) became more and more
doing, it's not real. And obviously, if you have a real friendship, it can
acute. In Marchwood in 2010, the major existential problem was no
combat it. But it's all these kind of fake friendships (Prisoner).
longer, ‘how am I going to be when I get out?’ but ‘how can I create
meaning and identity in an environment with so little hope?’ This
There was a clear perception among prisoners that a new power
was a fundamentally different kind of problem related to the length
base had emerged. It was not clear how far faith mattered in its com-
of sentences, their indeterminate nature, and aggregate or non-
position and appearance in prison or how willing its members were
personalised as well as cautious approaches to risk assessment. The
to ‘belong’. Some organisation and strategy was detectable, with
authors argued that whatever ideology is adopted for surviving im-
some resonances with (but also some important differences from)
prisonment is related to prisoners’ view of authority. The appeal of
other periods of penal history.
the Muslim faith was understandable under current conditions.
Finally, the ‘problem of trust’ is considered. Given the account so
Identity and resistance: Pushing back the application of power
far, we could conclude with some confidence that the low but work-
able levels of trust found in the prison twelve years earlier, that
To the extent that there was evidence of growing bids for power
helped prison life to ‘go on’, had diminished.
made by new Muslim sub-groups, many similarities (and some
important differences) could be detected between the phenomenon
Trust and its decline at Marchwood
of politicised prisoners organising themselves to push back staff in
Northern Ireland and elsewhere, and a (less politicised, and less
If distrust reaches upper limits, it can produce escalation of mutual
organised) group of prisoners exerting a form of collective power at
suspicion and hostility. Trust operates as a ‘lubricant of social co-
Marchwood. Prison scholars have described the ways in which para-
operation’ but is also necessary for individual mental health’
military prisoners ‘resisted’ (that is, generated and displayed opposi-
(Liebling, & assisted by Arnold, H., 2004: 243).
tion to the application of power) during their imprisonment over
Trust had declined at Marchwood, for complex reasons relating to
several decades, including strategies of a) escape, b) dirty protest
the changing conditions and terms of imprisonment, population char-
and hunger strike, c) violence, and d) attitudes towards and use of
acteristics and relationships, and official priorities outlined above. The
the law (McEvoy, 2001). They also resisted the prison regime in
difference between ‘a little’ trust, and ‘even less’ was small (statisti-
other ways, establishing accepted practices that gradually enhanced
cally speaking) in a prison setting (see Liebling, & assisted by
their living conditions. This kind of campaigning was often regarded
Arnold, H., 2004: 240–51), but had major sociological implications.
as ‘legitimate’, but merged into ‘conditioning’ – a form of pushing
Trust was a requirement of hope and also of human flourishing
back (e.g. resisting searching) that culminated in the escapes of six
(Liebling, & assisted by Arnold, H., 2004: 240), and identity.
High Risk Category A prisoners (five of whom were convicted IRA ter-
The research team's conversations with prisoners, both in the Di-
rorists) from Marchwood in 1994.
alogue group and in interviews, confirmed their early impression
Drawing on these insights, it might be plausible to characterise the
both that trust mattered (‘It's all about trust, innit?’) and that there
‘resistance’ of a minority of activist Muslim prisoners at Marchwood
was a major ‘problem of trust’ in the prison:
as follows: 14

1. Strengthening their claims to religious practices and identities (the That is difficult, who to trust in prison (Prisoner).
collective assertion of religious status).
2. Avoidance of and distancing from staff. Trust is the biggest thing (Officer).
422 A. Liebling, H. Arnold / Journal of Criminal Justice 40 (2012) 413–424
If trust involves a ‘willingness to be vulnerable to another party’,
an expectation that the trusted party ‘will behave in a way beneficial
to the trustor’, ‘risk of harm to the trustor if the trustee does not be-
have accordingly’ and ‘the absence of control over actions performed
by the trustee’ (see Stompka, 1999), in many ways it is not surprising
that a maximum security prison is a generally low trust environment.
It is also the case, however, that: higher levels of trust were found in
Marchwood in 1998/9; and levels of trust in Marchwood were lower
in 2009 (although not to a statistically significant level) than in three
other high security prisons (see Liebling et al., 2012).
There was a newly powerful ‘culture of distrust’ at Marchwood.
Only 12 per cent of prisoners ‘agreed’ or ‘strongly agreed’ with the
statement, ‘I trust the officers in this prison’; nine per cent felt that
‘this prison is good at placing trust in prisoners; 54 per cent ‘dis-
agreed’ or ‘strongly disagreed’ with the statement ‘I feel that I am
trusted quite a lot in this prison’; and 24 per cent ‘agreed’ or ‘strongly
agreed’ that they trusted other prisoners. Levels of trust were lowest
between Muslim prisoners and staff, and (according to broader dis-
cussions) between prisoners in general and psychologists (see Warr,
in preparation).
Trust had a significant impact on relationships within the prison:
to trust carried considerable risk and so had limits. Whilst some pris-
oners acknowledged a need for trust, many denied it to themselves,
claiming not to trust anyone, and tried to negate the need (‘I don't
put myself in a place where I need to trust someone’). Prisoners
trusted most other prisoners they had known outside prison and
only extended this to one or two other prisoners. For several pris-
oners their trust in others (or ‘the system’) had been ‘destroyed’ as
a result of the way in which they had been convicted in situations
where they had granted trust and this had been betrayed by another
prisoner or by the police. Prisoners’ general lack of trust in the crim-
inal justice system pervaded the prison environment. They were
distrustful of risk assessment processes and the procedures for pro-
gression. This led to disengagement, frustration and bitterness. As
one prisoner said, “You've got to trust the system to work with it”.
Another said:
I feel alienated, I feel strange. The mental effect is there. You don't en-
gage, you don't trust, and it makes you very lonely and anti-social in
a way (Prisoner).
Summary and conclusions: Prisons and the problem of trust
Returning to a prison after a twelve year break to repeat a sociolog-
ical study was a surprisingly instructive and difficult exercise. Major
changes in the structure and nature of staff-prisoner, and prisoner-
prisoner relationships were evident, and faith identities (real and
adopted) were playing a new and complex role in prisoner dynamics.
Allegiances, identities, and motives were ‘fake’. Marchwood was suf-
fering from a major ‘problem of trust’ at the time of Study 2 and this
seemed to be linked to growing levels of fear and violence. Paradoxical
perhaps, in a high security prison, but it is significant that some trust
flowed in Study 1, and this small quantity of guarded trust helped
the prison to function, and the prisoners to feel treated at least reason-
ably humanely. It is not the quantity of imprisonment (alone) that
threatens order and perceptions of legitimacy, but its quality and
tone, and the nature of the prison's management and mission (for a
useful discussion, see Useem & Piehl, 2006; also Bottoms & Tankebe,
2012). Explanations for the low levels of trust of prisoners by staff
included the emphasis in the prison on the risk of ‘conditioning’ and
manipulation by prisoners; the emphasis on the threats posed by ter-
rorist risk, extremism and radicalisation; the lack of opportunities for
interaction outside of brief and formal regime or sentence planning
processes; a moderate risk of serious assault; a shift away from per-
sonal officer and personal development work in high security prisons
in favour of intelligence gathering, security, and risk management;
previous abuse of trust by prisoners, with reference to the escapes of
1994 (“Fundamental to the lack of trust is the escapes”; Officer) but
also to other breaches of boundaries; and an increased reliance on for-
mal authority and Security Information Reports rather than human
relationships:
Explanations for the low levels of trust of staff by prisoners includ-
ed an increasing social and cultural distance between staff and
prisoners — ethnicity was a ‘barrier to trust’; information sharing, re-
port writing and the lack of confidentiality in the prison (prisoners
felt ‘misrepresented’ on file); a (growing) prisoner culture of disen-
gagement from staff, with negative peer perceptions of extended con-
tact (he's a ‘screw-boy’); experiences of inconsistency in the rules,
staff attitudes; the job description of an officer, which denotes that
in some circumstances a good relationship is irrelevant and is over-
ridden by security; and prisoners witnessing staff breaking the rules
(for example, taking short cuts) or acts of ‘unprofessionalism’.
Explanations for the low levels of trust of prisoners by other pris-
oners included perceptions that relationships were not genuine, but
were based on convenience, usefulness and personal or group agendas.
The prisoner culture was more individualistic than ‘solidarity’ as a result
of the emphasis on risk assessment and a desire to progress through the
system. The group dynamics were newly complicated (that is, a new
order was under formation), with changing allegiances and identifica-
tions one of the features of this new order. There were unknowns in
the environment, including the reputation, nationality, offence, and
(often fake) identities of other prisoners; and there were assumptions
about the increased use of informants, involving disclosure to the au-
thorities (police) and officers.
Explanations for the relatively low levels of trust of staff by other
staff included the potential for conditioning and corruption; inexperi-
ence and a belief that (female) officers and specialists were easily
influenced or manipulated; officers witnessing other officers turning
their backs on incidents and not going to the aid of colleagues; a de-
veloping culture whereby officers were encouraged to ‘paper’ each
other (report on inappropriate conduct); an erosion of traditional of-
ficer cultural norms (such as not disrespecting other officers in the
presence of prisoners); lack of trust from managers (to make deci-
sions, use discretion and initiative and problem-solve on the land-
ings) filtering down to wing staff; a lack of consistency in applying
the rules and some apparent prisoner appeasement: there was ‘con-
flict’ between two groups of staff: those who challenged prisoners
and those who did not.
So prison life went on ‘without trust’ and this was experienced as
difficult and painful. This meant that there was almost an ‘anti-infor-
mation flow’ rather than a ‘dynamic’ information flow in the prison.
Talk and contact had been replaced by recorded information and Se-
curity Information Reports (SIRs), and prisoners were careful about
their presentation and talk. This made working out the role and alli-
ances of different prisoner groups and individuals, as well as manag-
ing the prison on a day to day basis, extremely difficult. For prisoners,
the problems of friendship, authenticity, meaning and survival were
intensified. Feeling mis-recognised, distant and ‘other’ was painful,
and a search took place by most prisoners for a solution to this new
pain of imprisonment.
This study was unusual, in that the same researcher (with a differ-
ent team) conducted the research after a twelve year gap (whilst
doing other prisons research, elsewhere). There were complex rea-
sons for the research request, related to fears about radicalisation
in the prison, and apparently distant relationships between staff
and prisoners. The research was not designed to be a replica of the
original study methodologically, as additional methods, developed
since the first, were also used. It was significantly more generously
funded, and it took place after considerable ‘conceptual and empirical
maturity’ had been gleaned from other research projects, wise col-
leagues, and experience.
 A. Liebling, H. Arnold / Journal of Criminal Justice 40 (2012) 413–424
Repeat sociological studies of the prison are not without their
methodological limitations and challenges. Acquiring access, funding,
and finding the time for close ethnographic exploration of any prison,
are (as Simon argues, 2000) major difficulties. The point of the re-
search was not the comparison per se, but an investigation of the
prison's current state. The impact of the principal researcher's per-
sonal observations and responses to the (very different) experience
came as something of a shock, and has been the subject of consider-
able reflection ever since. Researchers change, over time, and it is
possible that we become sensitised to different aspects of the prison
environment as our lives and expertise develop in different ways. It
was impossible to disentangle with confidence the effects of ‘fear in
the air’ from real changes in levels of risk and violence. There are
major difficulties for (in this case, white, British female) prison re-
searchers exploring matters of faith and ethnicity in high security set-
tings where identities and risks are highly contested and largely
hidden from view (see Quraishi, 2008). 16 What this account suggests,
we argue, is that changes in the structure, culture and values of larger
society are powerfully reflected in social relationships and experi-
ences in prison. A different kind of long-term imprisonment is de-
scribed here – a more intrusive, brutal, pointlessly long, and less
endurable kind – with power flowing in new directions and trust
hard to come by. In only 12 years, the prison felt like a different place.
David Garland has argued that social theory and history can contrib-
ute significantly to our understanding of punishment, but that theoretical
projects should be integrated with close empirical detail (1990). So we
should constantly be asking, how are specific punishment practices expe-
rienced, and delivered? This study raises many questions about the kind
of imprisonment we are creating, as well as about the fast-changing so-
cial world and interpersonal relationships the prison reflects.
Acknowledgements
We would like to acknowledge the outstanding research assistance
of Christina Straub throughout this study, with whom we plan to write
much more, and the encouragement and guidance of Shadd Maruna,
Richard Sparks, Jonathan Steinberg, Monica Lloyd and Tony Bottoms
in this project. We are indebted to our ‘Dialogue’ group, and to many
other individual prisoners and staff for their time, trust, and for going
out of their way to explain the complexities of their world to us.
Notes
1. This report, led by Sir Leon Radzinowicz, recommended the establishment of a
dispersal rather than concentration system for maximum security prisoners, so that a
‘liberal regime within an extremely secure perimeter’ could be established, allowing
for some element of choice, self-respect and change. See further, Advisory Council on
the Penal System, 1968.
2. Solidarity denotes something quite different from ‘friendship’ but means the
propensity of prisoners to act collectively, or to be bonded by common deprivations
and a need to resist authority.
3. At the prison we describe, in 2010–11, prison staff had retreated from the liberal
negotiation model (‘light, absent, polite’), and their approach to order was now ‘heavy
absent’, rather than ‘dynamic’ and not particularly respectful; that is, characterised by a
‘thin’ style of task completion, without always including meaningful interaction. On
this terminology, see Liebling & Crewe, in press; Crewe, Liebling, & Hulley, 2011; and
Liebling, 2011a, 2011b for further elaboration.
4. Fenland is a rural district in the East of England and is a primarily agricultural
area, with very little ethnic diversity. Fenland has the lowest average house price in
the area and an ageing population. It was noted by prisoners throughout the period
of an election campaign that the United Kingdom Independence Party (UKIP) and
the British National Party (BNP) attracted a proportion of the vote in the Fens. There
were placards and posters advertising UKIP on the journey into the prison.
5. Maximum security prisons in England and Wales are still sometimes referred to
as ‘dispersal prisons’ even though the original principle of dispersing the highest secu-
rity category of prisoners among slightly lower security prisoners to enable the estab-
lishment of a more ‘liberal regime within a secure perimeter’ has become diluted. See
Home Office, 1968; and Liebling, 2002.
6. Elijah Anderson (1999) described how, in the context of persistent poverty,
‘street life’ (in the US) is characterised by alienation, interpersonal violence, drug use
423
and trade, the battle for respect, intimidation and testing, a primitive but intricate
and defensive code of vengeance, and much anxiety about safety and reputation. ‘Insti-
tutions have little legitimacy’, legal codes are ‘not trusted’, and ‘frustration has been
powerfully building’ (p. 11). People ‘watch their backs’ and are ‘careful how they pre-
sent themselves’ (p. 21). Prisoners talked about their lives on the street (significantly
more than they had in the first study) in these terms.
7. A common law provision used to convict people of murder on the basis of their
association with the principal killer.
8. See further, Dix-Richardson, 2002; Beckford, Joly, & Khosrokhavar, 2005.
9. Prisoners convicted of offences against the Terrorism Act.
10. What they meant (or had heard) was that there were fewer Muslim prisoners,
and less tolerance towards them in a less ‘liberal’ (and more Labour-voting) part of the
country.
11. An attempt to analyse the 61 assaults for which data were available more sys-
tematically was hampered by lack of relevant information. No data were available on
the ethnicity, faith or age of most of the perpetrators or victims.
12. For further detail on the staff assaults, see Liebling et al., 2012.
13. Of the 159 randomly selected prisoners to take part in the survey, 50 described
themselves as ‘Christian’ and 52 as ‘Muslim’. Since these were the largest categories by
which prisoners self-identified, and because of the dynamics reported in interviews, a
comparative analysis of the survey responses of ‘Christian’ and ‘Muslim’ prisoners was
conducted. Other self-descriptions included ‘No faith’, Buddhist’, and Rastafarian’.
14. Resistance might be used as a term in situations where rebellious acts are con-
nected to perceptions of repressive behaviour and values, aspects of the social struc-
ture, and class relationships.
15. These modes of resistance or adaptations are historically sited. The authors
identified five ‘types of resistance’ at the time of their research (late 1960s/early
1970s): (i) Self-protecting. This has been called ‘gleaning’ in other studies — taking
things from prison; assertively playing ‘real’ roles, making active sense of what is hap-
pening; mind-building, realising the self against the institution rather than within it.
This is a quest for a legitimate deviant identity. (ii) Campaigning. This is persistent pro-
fessional complaining (what Mathiesen called ‘censoriousness’) — on individual and
collective issues. (iii) Escape. Contemplating escape is an effective diversion and serves
an important function in a prisoners’ relationship to authority (whose main role is to
prevent escapes). (iv) Striking. Hunger strikes are powerful and evoke a sympathetic
response. (v) Confronting. Political campaigning (anti- authoritarian). This may unite
some prisoners on race or class grounds — touching a collective political sentiment,
building a common identity and sense of purpose. Prisoners responded to prison differ-
ently, but there were links between their outside criminal characteristics and careers
(and especially the nature of their relationship with authority) and their prison adap-
tations (Cohen & Taylor, 1972, p.151). Some adaptations ‘work’ better than others.
16. The third team member, Christina Straub, is a German cultural scientist. Our ef-
forts to recruit a Muslim ethnographer were confounded by ‘security concerns’.
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