Work in Long-Term Restrictive Housing and Prison Personnel Perceptions of the Humanity of People Who Are Incarcerated

Abstract

The punitive era in the United States and other countries has included reliance on long-term restrictive housing (LTRH)—consisting of solitary confinement with few privileges—as a means of managing violent and disruptive individuals in prison. We examine how work in such housing may influence how personnel, including officers and staff, view individuals in prison and assess two hypotheses. First, those who work in LTRH will be more likely to hold a dehumanized view of these individuals. Second, the theoretical mechanisms through which such a view may arise involve brutalization, organizational context and culture, role conflict and distancing, and empathy fatigue. We assess these hypotheses using a mixed-methods study, analyzing data from a large-scale prison personnel survey (n = 9,656) and qualitative focus group and interview data (n = 144). Implications of the study’s findings for theory and research on restrictive housing, corrections, and the punitive era are discussed.

Keywords

correctional officers correctional staff corrections incarceration perceptions

The punitive era in criminal justice in the United States and other countries introduced many get-tough responses to crime, including changes in sentencing and corrections (Garland, 2013; Spohn & Brennan, 2020). Prison systems, for example, have shifted toward a more punishment-oriented approach (Phelps, 2011; Wooldredge & Smith, 2018). Research has identified the impacts of the broader punitive turn on families and communities (Beckett & Herbert, 2010; Clear & Frost, 2014; Huebner & Frost, 2019; Kelly, 2014; Travis et al., 2014). Less attention, though, has been given to the effects of get-tough correctional system practices on personnel, including officers and staff, and how they view people who are incarcerated.

In this article, we focus on one of the most punitive shifts in correctional policy in recent decades—the use of long-term restrictive housing (LTRH) as a means of managing individuals deemed to be especially violent and disruptive. LTRH involves isolation alone in a cell for many months, with only an hour or two of possible out-of-cell time each day, little contact with personnel, and few privileges (Garcia, 2016; Labrecque, Campbell, et al., 2021; Mears et al., 2019). To illuminate the potential impacts of work in this housing on personnel views of people who are incarcerated, we draw on several lines of research to develop two hypotheses: (1) Those who work in LTRH will be more likely to hold a dehumanized view of the incarcerated and (2) the theoretical mechanisms through which such a view may arise involve brutalization, organizational context and culture, role conflict and distancing, and empathy fatigue. We then assess these hypotheses using a mixed-methods study, analyzing data from a large-scale prison personnel survey (n = 9,656) and qualitative focus group and interview data (n = 144).

Background

The Punitive Era in Corrections and the Emergence of LTRH

In the 1980s, state and federal policies began shifting toward sentencing laws that mandated longer sentences and that, more generally, promoted a more retributive-oriented approach. The changes included a greater emphasis on increased punishment, control-oriented probation, imposition of community notification registries, restrictions on voting rights and housing support, and more (Beckett & Herbert, 2010; Garland, 2013; Mears, 2017; Sherry, 2020). They also included a move toward not only greater use of incarceration but also more punitive, less rehabilitative prison conditions (Phelps, 2011).

One prominent example of this change in prisons can be seen in the rise of LTRH as a policy for managing individuals thought to be otherwise unmanageable or the “worst of the worst” (King, 2018). Sometimes termed supermax incarceration, this housing entails solitary confinement in a cell for all but an hour or two a day for months or years (Labrecque, Campbell, et al., 2021; Mears & Watson, 2006; Naday et al., 2008). The purpose of LTRH is to control individuals deemed to be too violent and disruptive to be managed any other way.

In the past, such individuals generally were managed by dispersing them across the prison system. During the punitive era, states increasingly turned to a concentration approach. They housed these individuals in facilities that operated on a perpetual lockdown mode centering on isolation, limited to no time out of cell, and other restrictions (Shalev, 2009). Adopted not only in the United States but also in many other countries (Ross, 2013), this approach resembled the solitary confinement used in the 1800s that subsequently was condemned as inhumane (Rubin & Reiter, 2018). LTRH is similar to other types of restrictive housing in some respects, such as more time in a cell and limited privileges. For example, disciplinary confinement (DC) is a type of restrictive housing, which generally entails stays of a few days or weeks, can include cellmates, and allows for more privileges (Shalev, 2009). LTRH differs in its focus on managing individuals who are violent and disruptive, reliance on solitary confinement, longer durations of such confinement, and greater restrictions on movement and privileges (Mears et al., 2019).

The shift toward LTRH over the past four decades has led to criticisms. For example, scholars have argued that LTRH is retributive, with its focus on control and de-emphasis on rehabilitation (Garcia, 2016; Kurki & Morris, 2001). LTRH assumes that violence stems primarily from individual characteristics; it ignores environmental and social or external factors that may contribute to it (Lahm, 2009; Wooldredge & Steiner, 2015). Scholars have also argued that LTRH is punitive and inhumane (Haney, 2018; Jeffreys, 2013; Kupers, 2017; Ross, 2013). And they have highlighted harms that those incarcerated in the housing may experience, including adverse effects on mental health, prison behavior, and recidivism (Labrecque & Smith, 2019; Mears & Watson, 2006; R. D. Morgan et al., 2016; Smith, 2006; Sundt, 2017).

Perceptions of the Humanity of Incarcerated Individuals: The Effects of Work in LTRH

Although considerable research has focused on the experience and effects of LTRH on persons in prison, little is known about how those who work in this housing may be affected by it or how, in turn, their experiences may shape their views of the individuals in this housing. This gap is notable because research has long documented that prison design, structure, and operations may influence officer and staff perceptions and behaviors (Gordon & Baker, 2017; Hogan & Lambert, 2021; Jurik, 1985; Liebling et al., 2011; Wooldredge, 2020). With rapid prison growth, staffing shortages, and a shift toward more control-oriented and less treatment-oriented policies, personnel can be expected to adapt in predictable ways. As Arnold (2016) has emphasized, this situation “presents a challenging time for prison officers, who feel they are constantly required to do more with less; this strain exacerbates the tendency to resort to ‘the basics’ of the job” (p. 280; see also Irwin, 2005). Under such conditions, personnel may experience greater stress and fear of victimization (Gordon & Baker, 2017; Martin et al., 2012).

One consequence of prison work is that it may have a dehumanizing effect on how personnel view people who are incarcerated. The experience of incarceration itself may lead these individuals to feel “semi-human,” as Sykes (1958/2007, p. 6) observed. And they in fact may act differently when incarcerated. At the same time, the fact of their incarceration may lead personnel to view them differently. Prison work creates an “us-versus-them” dynamic (Higgins et al., 2022). This may be amplified by the substantial stress, risk of suicide, adverse effects on physical and mental health, and more than corrections officers typically face (Arnold, 2016; Bottoms, 1999; Lombardo, 1989). One influence on personnel perceptions is their work conditions. For example, officers who experience lower levels of stress may have more favorable perceptions of those who are incarcerated (Cheeseman et al., 2011; Misis et al., 2013).

We argue that LTRH work may have a dehumanizing effect that alters how personnel view these persons’ humanity. Dehumanization involves coming to see individuals as deficient in human-defining characteristics. Such individuals are viewed as lacking what Kteily et al. (2015, p. 902) refer to as “uniquely human” traits (e.g., cognitive aptitude and civility). Put differently, these individuals are viewed as less than human (Haslam & Loughnan, 2014). Although prison work may contribute to dehumanizing views of people in prison (Higgins et al., 2022), we hypothesize that this effect may be more pronounced among those who work in LTRH. Second, we hypothesize that such an effect may arise through four theoretical mechanisms: brutalization, organizational context and culture, role conflict and distancing, and empathy fatigue.

Brutalization Influences

LTRH work may have a brutalizing effect through exposure to individuals who may be among the most violent and disruptive in a prison system. Prior research highlights that one of officers’ main concerns is victimization by incarcerated individuals (Gordon & Baker, 2017). In an LTRH setting, personnel can proceed with a high degree of certainty that the individuals in the housing pose a high level of threat to them. Indeed, accounts of LTRH suggest that the housing conditions may contribute to extreme behaviors, including acts of violence, self-injury, or behaviors indicative of serious mental illness (Cloud et al., 2015; Crewe & Laws, 2018; Garcia, 2016; Haney, 2018; Rhodes, 2004; Richards, 2015; Smith, 2006). As one supermax warden noted, “You are entering a bizarre new world. There are many incidents so foreign to the outside world they almost seem make-believe” (Bruton, 2004, p. 20). Research suggests that perceived threat may contribute to dehumanization (Haslam & Loughnan, 2014). By extension, the greater threats that LTRH personnel face (Bruton, 2004; Mears & Watson, 2006) may result in a more dehumanized view of individuals in the housing and even of all people in prison.

Organizational Context and Culture

Organizational theory emphasizes how the context within which personnel work may shape their views (Bottoms, 1999; Cheeseman et al., 2011; Sparks et al., 1996; Sykes, 1958/2007; Vaswani & Paul, 2019; Wooldredge, 2020). Nationally, prison systems employ “worst of the worst” terminology to characterize those sent to LTRH (King, 2018). The existence of the housing and the use of such terminology lends legitimacy to personnel views that individuals in LTRH must somehow be intrinsically different—not just more violent but also sub-human (Sundt, 2017; see, generally, Bottoms, 1999; Kurki & Morris, 2001; Sparks et al., 1996).

Accounts of dehumanization suggest that large-scale cultural forces have contributed to dehumanizing many groups, including groups that traditionally have had less power, such as lower socioeconomic groups, persons with mental illness or convicted of crimes, and women (Haslam & Loughnan, 2014). For example, some studies have found that individuals who have a greater sense of power over another may be more likely to view that individual or their group as less human (Gwinn et al., 2013; Lammers & Stapel, 2011). Personnel have power over persons who are incarcerated, which may contribute to dehumanized views of them. This effect may be more pronounced in LTRH, however, given the greater power discrepancy in such housing. Individuals there must rely entirely on personnel for any interaction, basic necessities (e.g., food, medication, access to showers, and outdoor exercise), and release back to general population housing (GPH).

Role Conflict and Distancing

Role conflict—including the challenge of balancing efforts to promote security with efforts to promote rehabilitation—is a central cause of stress among officers (Cheeseman et al., 2011; Einat & Suliman, 2021). Personnel may view promoting security as a legitimate part of their work, but that the near-elimination of rehabilitation is not. In Conover’s (2000) account of New York’s special housing unit, officers were told that “rehabilitation is not our job. The truth of it is that we are warehousers of human beings” (p. 41). To resolve the stress, personnel may distance themselves from certain goals by viewing them as impractical. That strategy would appear to be more likely in an LTRH setting, where providing rehabilitative interventions is more difficult (Mears & Watson, 2006), although examples of efforts to provide programming in LTRH are emerging nationally (see, for example, Batastini et al., 2021; Butler et al., 2018; Labrecque, Tostlebe, et al., 2021). As role distancing theory anticipates, viewing those in LTRH as subhuman may make it easier to justify not providing rehabilitation and to be part of implementing a policy that they otherwise might view as anathema (Arnold, 2016; Liebling et al., 2011). Holding such a view may make it more possible to accept one’s daily work as legitimate, which administrative practices and officer culture may reinforce (see, generally, Bottoms, 1999; Sparks et al., 1996; Sykes, 1958/2007).

The effects of role conflict and distancing on dehumanized views of others are documented in accounts of soldiers of war, who may be viewed as counterparts to officers in prisons. Bastian et al. (2014) have noted, “Viewing one’s enemy as possessing fewer human qualities . . . allows soldiers to escape the full consequences of their actions” (p. 209). Dehumanization perspectives emphasize the salience of intergroup conflict as a source that can generate views of others as subhuman (Haslam & Loughnan, 2014; see also Bandura, 1999). Seeing individuals in LTRH as lacking human qualities may allow personnel to distance themselves from their work. This view may be amplified by the feeling that the outside world may not understand what they do and lead them to seek reinforcement from colleagues with similar views. This role distancing might well be reinforced if those in LTRH act out in ways that defy norms of conduct. Rhodes (2004) has commented that “the extremes that are common in control units are almost unknown in the outside world” (p. 35). Irwin’s (2005) account echoes this view, noting that some incarcerated persons “are converted into extremely violent, relatively fearless individuals, who conduct themselves as if they do not care whether they live or die” (p. 134; see also Conover, 2000).

Empathy Fatigue

Prior research has found that corrections employment is associated with higher levels of work-related stress, including mental health problems, job dissatisfaction and burnout, substance abuse, poor job performance, and suicide (Bell et al., 2019; Hogan & Lambert, 2021; Liebling et al., 2011). The difference is that correctional officers may experience posttraumatic stress symptoms at greater rates than combat veterans (James & Todak, 2018).

Such conditions can give rise to empathy fatigue, which is a form of secondary trauma in which professionals, such as counselors who work with individuals who are exposed to traumatic events, become increasingly less able to provide empathic care (Stebnicki, 2007). This process has been studied in psychology and medicine, but scholarship suggests that it occurs for those who work in criminal justice and corrections as well. Research to date has relied primarily on qualitative studies and indicates that some kinds of work may create secondary trauma and negatively affect empathy. For example, Perez et al. (2010) found that police officers who investigate child pornography have higher levels of secondary traumatic stress and burnout. Rhineberger-Dunn et al. (2016) found greater secondary trauma among community corrections personnel who had more contact with individuals convicted of crimes. In one study of prison personnel, exposure to traumatic events was positively associated with burnout and less satisfaction in helping others (Bell et al., 2019). Einat and Suliman’s (2021) study identified declines in officer conscientiousness and agreeableness due to the stress associated with the work environment. Some scholars argue that correctional officers may be especially prone to stress given that, unlike psychologists (Stebnicki, 2000) and nurses (Bush, 2009), they receive little training focused on managing their own mental health and well-being (see also Vaswani & Paul, 2019).

Empathy fatigue may be greater among those who work in LTRH due to greater exposure to violence, trauma, and stress. In addition, personnel have little opportunity for meaningful interactions with individuals who are incarcerated (Garcia, 2016; Riveland, 1999). By dint of serving their time isolated in a cell, these individuals cannot easily communicate or interact with personnel. Those in the housing present unique challenges as well. They may have assaulted or killed others, be highly manipulative, or be least likely to comply with rules (see, for example, Conover, 2000; Lovell et al., 2000). Such conditions may contribute to an “us-versus-them” feeling among personnel and those who are incarcerated, leading to a reduced ability or willingness to empathize with or assist them (Mears & Watson, 2006; see also Kurki & Morris, 2001).

Method

To assess our two hypotheses, we draw on data from a federally funded project that focused more broadly on the uses and impacts of restrictive housing in the Florida Department of Corrections (FDC), the third largest state prison system in the United States. The state uses what it terms “close management 1” (CM1) housing; it entails solitary confinement, typically for a minimum stay of 6 months for 22 or more hours per day with few privileges. LTRH is for individuals the state deems to be a threat to order and safety. By design, it entails minimal time out of cell or contact with others. Visual cell inspections must occur every 30 min, with minimal verbal interaction with individuals in LTRH. Typical cells have small windows to permit inspections but, in general, no easy way for individuals to communicate with others. The state also uses CM2 and CM3 housing, which allows up to two individuals per cell and not as many privilege restrictions. It is located in the same institutions, serves similar goals, and typically is used for individuals prior to or after placement in CM1. Florida’s LTRH is similar to housing that has been termed supermax incarceration and that relies on extended solitary confinement for management rather than punishment (Garcia, 2016; Kurki & Morris, 2001; Mears et al., 2019).

As part of the project, a personnel survey, conducted from November 4, 2019, to January 10, 2020, via Qualtrics, was completed by administrators and frontline officers and staff at the state’s 50 major correctional institutions. Stations were established at each facility with a computer and a link to the survey, specific to the facility, but not to any individual; this approach allowed personnel to participate when available. Prior to accessing the survey, participants were provided with instructions on how to complete the survey and an Institutional Review Board-approved consent form. The consent form included details about the purpose of the broader federally funded study—which was to understand the uses and impacts of restrictive housing on individuals in prison, personnel, and prison systems—as well as an option to participate in the study. Respondents typically completed the survey in 15 min. No incentive existed to retake the survey. However, the possibility exists that some individuals might have done so, and thus, the results should be interpreted with this limitation in mind. Importantly, for this study, the survey included items that asked personnel about their perceptions of the humanity of individuals in LTRH and, separately, GPH. There were 19,166 FDC eligible personnel, of whom 10,211 (53.3%) participated in the survey. One facility was dropped due to reported potential irregularities in the administration of the survey at that facility. The final sample thus was 9,656 individuals across 49 correctional institutions. Based on a comparison with profile information provided by the prison system, the sample was similar to that of personnel across the participating institutions. For example, 59% of the sample was male (vs. 60% for the prison system), 61% were White (vs. 62%), and 73% were sergeants or corrections officers (vs. 77%).

The second source of data, obtained prior to the survey, consisted of focus groups at 10 institutions and interviews with senior administrators. During the study period, there were five LTRH units; all five were included as part of the qualitative study. Four institutions that consisted primarily of GPH were included because they had been identified through administrative records as either sending or receiving a high number of persons in restrictive housing. One additional institution served as a step-down facility for persons recently released from LTRH. It, too, was included. In almost all focus groups and interviews at the GPH facilities, many participants had prior experience working in LTRH. In the LTRH focus groups, some participants were newly hired. Most, though, had several years on up to decades of correctional work experience. This included work at a variety of different facilities and with a range of custody levels. We were told that LTRH personnel receive some specialized training, but that it consists of online modules, with most learning occurring “on-the-job.” Informally, it appeared that staffing occurred largely based on availability given that understaffing across the prison system was endemic. In several visits, for example, the research team encountered individuals whose first work assignment was to LTRH. It is possible that some personnel might seek to work in this housing, but the overriding consideration appeared to be staff availability.

At each prison, two focus groups were conducted, one with upper management and a second with frontline officers and staff. Interviews were conducted separately with the warden and assistant wardens at each facility. Each focus group included 5 to 10 personnel and lasted roughly 1 to 2 hr; interviews ran approximately 45 min. Inclusion in the focus groups was determined by availability. For the LTRH facilities, we included only individuals who worked in the LTRH wings. The warden typically would ask assistant wardens to identify individuals who might be available during the site visit; we requested individuals who would be appropriate for each group (upper management, such as captains and lieutenants, for one, and frontline personnel for the other). In total, 144 individuals participated.

The qualitative data provided an opportunity to explore a range of views on potential uses and impacts of LTRH that otherwise would not be possible to identify through a survey or administrative records data (Corbin & Strauss, 1990; Krueger & Casey, 2014; D. L. Morgan, 1996; Patton, 2015). In the present study, an advantage of the focus groups was the ability to facilitate discussions among participants that could shed light on different ways in which LTRH work may influence personnel. This included how and why the work may shape their views of incarcerated persons, such as the factors that contributed to their placement and if the work led them to view individuals in LTRH and in GPH in a more negative light. Interviews allowed further exploration of this topic. Across all focus groups and interviews, one researcher led the questioning and discussion, while two others took notes (tape-recording was not permitted). The notes were typed, and the team reviewed them for accuracy.

For the survey data analysis, the first dependent variable consists of an index of the perceived humanity of individuals in LTRH. In the study, the specific referent is to what the FDC refers to as “close management.” This housing exists in only a few of the state’s prisons and by policy typically is for stays of 6 months or longer, entails incarceration in a cell for 22 hr or more per day, and is distinct from short-term, nonsolitary housing used for punishment or protection. The index is based on responses to the following four questions: “In thinking about inmates in close management, to what extent do you think that most of them” (a) “Possess the same values as members of civil society?” (b) “Appreciate when others do kind things for them?” (c) “Have feelings of guilt?” and (d) “Care about others?” Each had the same response categories (0 = not at all, 1 = small extent, 2 = some extent, 3 = large extent). The index was created by summing the items (range = 0–12) and had high reliability (Cronbach’s α = .893).

A second dependent variable consists of a 4-item identical index, only the focus is on personnel’s perceptions of the humanity of individuals in GPH. This measure is an index based on responses to the same questions, only the questions were preceded by the query, “Now, in thinking about general population inmates, to what extent do you think that most of them . . .” The resulting index also had high reliability (Cronbach’s α = .910).

The independent variable is worked in LTRH (1 = yes, 0 = no), defined as ever having worked in what Florida terms close management housing. It is similar to solitary confinement housing used in other states, including what research sometimes refers to as supermax incarceration (Garcia, 2016; Kurki & Morris, 2001; Mears et al., 2019).

We drew on prior work to identify controls whose omission might influence the estimated association between having worked in restrictive housing and views about the humanity of people who are incarcerated. DC work captures whether an individual reported that they ever worked in disciplinary confinement, which is intended for 60-day or shorter spells and is reserved for punishment. This measure is used to isolate any unique effect of work in long-term, management-focused restrictive housing. Sex is measured using a binary variable, in response to the question, “What is your sex?” (male, female). It is included because some work suggests that gender may shape personnel experiences and their views of incarcerated persons (Cheeseman et al., 2011; Haghighi & Lopez, 1998). Race/ethnicity is measured using two questions, “What is your race?” (White, Black or African American, American Indian or Alaska Native, other), and “Are you Hispanic, Latino, or of Spanish origin?” Using the responses to each question, four categories were created: White, non-Hispanic; Black, non-Hispanic; Hispanic; and other. Prior work suggests that race/ethnicity may feature prominently in how personnel approach their work and their experiences with incarcerated persons (see, generally, Wooldredge, 2020). Education, which also has been found to correlate with views about incarcerated persons (e.g., Haghighi & Lopez, 1998), is based on respondents’ reports of their highest level of education, which were coded into four categories: high school or equivalent, some college, bachelor’s degree, and master’s, J.D., or doctoral degree. Corrections experience is associated with personnel perceptions of incarcerated persons (Kelly, 2014) and so is included; it is measured in years (1 = less than 1 year, 2 = 1 year, . . ., 21 = 20 or more years). Age was not included because it was collinear with this measure. Occupational position is included because it might also influence work in LTRH as well as views of incarcerated persons; it captures a respondent’s current work title: Senior officer (warden or assistant warden, lieutenant, captain, major, colonel, classification officer); sergeant or corrections officer; medical, mental health, or program staff; and other. (Ancillary analyses identified that there were some differences between the two groups across these dimensions. The main substantive difference was that males were more likely to have worked in LTRH.) Finally, facility is a control for the unit in which the respondent currently worked. We include it to account for the clustering of respondents within units. One facility served as the omitted category and 48 facility dummy variables were included.

We first present regression analyses to assess the hypothesis that LTRH work is negatively associated with personnel perceptions of the humanity of individuals in LTRH as well as of individuals in GPH. Second, we present results from thematic analysis of information from the focus groups and interviews (Bryman & Burgess, 2002; Charmaz, 2006; Krueger & Casey, 2014; Lofland et al., 2005; D. L. Morgan, 1996). This process included first reviewing all typed notes and identifying instances where participants referred to perceptions about the nature or humanity of incarcerated persons in LTRH or GPH. It also included identifying instances where any mention of how LTRH work might affect these views. We then grouped these into thematic areas (e.g., brutalization effects, empathy fatigue). The analyses entailed a review of these areas for evidence that supported the plausibility of the first and second hypotheses. That is, did respondents make statements that suggested that at least sometimes, LTRH work may adversely affect personnel perceptions of the perceived humanity of individuals? If so, were the mechanisms (e.g., brutalization, role conflict, and distancing) as hypothesized? For each mechanism, we also sought evidence that might counter what was hypothesized. We did so by reviewing all of the focus group and interview notes to identify any instances where LTRH work was described as improving how personnel viewed incarcerated persons and instances of how the work might influence the hypothesized mechanisms in the opposite direction (e.g., where work in LTRH might be described as less brutalizing than work in GPH).

Results

Quantitative Analyses

We begin first with an analysis of the survey data and the hypothesis that LTRH work will be negatively associated with perceptions of the humanity of individuals in this housing. Inspection of Table 1 highlights that all personnel view these individuals as having less humanity. The humanity scale ranges from 0 to 12; higher scores indicate higher levels of perceived humanity. When asked about individuals in LTRH, respondents’ average score was 4.3 and was almost two full points higher when respondents reported on individuals in the general population (6.1).

Table 1:

Descriptive Statistics

Variable	M/%	SD	Range
Dependent variables
Perceived humanity of individuals in LTRH	4.25	2.90	0–12
Perceived humanity of individuals in GPH	6.05	2.78	0–12
Independent variable
Worked in LTRH	0.48	—	0–1
Control variables
Worked in DC	0.64	—	0–1
Male	0.59	—	0–1
Race/ethnicity
White, non-Hispanic	0.61	—	0–1
Black, non-Hispanic	0.21	—	0–1
Hispanic	0.13	—	0–1
Other	0.06	—	0–1
Education
High school or equivalent	0.33	—	0–1
Some college	0.51	—	0–1
Bachelor’s degree	0.11	—	0–1
Master’s, J.D., or doctoral degree	0.05	—	0–1
Corrections experience (years)	9.69	6.86	1–21
Occupational position
Wardens, senior officer, classification officers	0.15	—	0–1
Sergeant or corrections officer	0.73	—	0–1
Medical, mental health, program staff	0.06	—	0–1
Other	0.05	—	0–1
Facility (dummy variables)	—	—	0–1

Note. LTRH = long-term restrictive housing; GPH = general population housing; DC = disciplinary confinement.

A central question, though, is whether LTRH work might contribute to the perceived humanity of either population. Table 2 presents the results of regression analyses that answer this question. Model 1 shows that, net of controls, LTRH work is associated with a greater likelihood of having positive perceptions of persons in LTRH (b = .13, p = .043). The effect is not appreciably large but is notable both for failing to support the hypothesis and for the absence of a null effect—it is not just that no negative association was identified but also that a positive association surfaced. By contrast, work in short-term DC settings was associated with a lowered perception of the humanity of persons in LTRH. Although not the focus of the study, several statistically significant associations of the controls with the perceived humanity of individuals in restrictive housing stand out. For example, the perceived humanity of these individuals was higher among the staff of color, those with advanced degrees, and officers or staff with medical, mental health, and programming positions.

Table 2:

Ordinary Least Squares Regression of Prison Personnel Perceptions of the Humanity of Incarcerated Persons on LTRH Work

Variable	Model 1Perceived humanity of persons in LTRH		Model 2Perceived humanity of persons in GPH
Variable	b	SE	b	SE
LTRH work	.13*	(0.07)	.06	(0.07)
DC work	−.28***	(0.08)	−.05	(0.07)
Male	−.13	(0.07)	−.22***	(0.06)
Race/ethnicity
Black, non-Hispanic	.63***	(0.08)	.04	(0.08)
Hispanic	.51***	(0.10)	−.09	(0.10)
Other	.01	(0.13)	−.31**	(0.12)
Education
Some college	.04	(0.07)	.20**	(0.06)
Bachelor’s degree	.10	(0.10)	.25*	(0.10)
Master’s, J.D., or doctoral degree	.46**	(0.16)	.17	(0.16)
Corrections experience	−.01*	(0.00)	−.00	(0.00)
Occupational position
Wardens/sr. officers/classification	.16	(0.08)	.55***	(0.08)
Medical/MH/program staff	.89***	(0.13)	.86***	(0.13)
Other	.43**	(0.13)	.34*	(0.12)
Constant	4.31***	(0.26)	5.91***	(0.30)
R ²	.063		.046

Note. N = 9,656. All models include dummy variable controls for respondent facility. Reference categories (in parentheses) for categorical variables: race/ethnicity (White, non-Hispanic); education (high school or equivalent); occupational position (Sergeant or corrections officer). LTRH = long-term restrictive housing; GPH = general population housing; DC = disciplinary confinement; MH = mental health.

p < .05. **p < .01. ***p < .001.

As we discuss further below, the positive association for LTRH work and the negative one for DC work may stem from several factors. LTRH personnel may have a more grounded view of individuals in LTRH. The latter have had time to “cool off” from the event that led to their placement. Also, personnel have at least some contact with them, which may have a humanizing effect. DC personnel see individuals, however, immediately after incidents. That may lead to negative views of these individuals, and an assumption that those who need to go to more specialized housing must necessarily be “worse” and so even less human.

The related hypothesis was that work in LTRH would be negatively associated with the perceived humanity of individuals in GPH. Model 2 does not support that hypothesis. There was no statistically significant effect of LTRH work on the perceived humanity of individuals in GPH. There also was no perceived humanity effect of work in DC housing.

Qualitative Analyses

Personnel Views of Incarcerated Persons in LTRH

The qualitative data suggested a much clearer, and negative, relationship between LTRH work and views about the individuals in LTRH housing. A typical observation was that the “inmates are animals” or the “worst of the worst.” This type of sentiment occurred across many of the focus groups. Personnel typically described the LTRH population as distinct, in a negative way, from any other group. As one officer stated, the “inmates have a certain mentality that is different from other inmates.” They explained that while most individuals in prison will “try to show up” in front of others, they will be respectful when other such individuals are not around; by contrast, those in LTRH reportedly talk down to and are disrespectful to the staff at all times. Respondents emphasized, as well, the high frequency of cell extractions, which they reported to be substantially greater in LTRH than ever occurs in DC units. One officer stated, “Working [in this housing] is like fighting a war every day.” Individuals in LTRH were described not only as violent but also as “master manipulators” and as willing to do anything to get what they want.

Our efforts to find any disconfirming evidence revealed that some personnel did not adhere to this view. One officer expressed that he had expected the individuals in the housing to be uniformly “bad,” but was surprised to learn that many behaved and wanted to “get out.” This view was rarely expressed. In the few times we heard it, personnel seemed more likely to be empathetic. For example, one participant stated, “I’ve come to realize that anyone could be in here. You have to remember that an inmate has been in a cell for so long and you have to try to understand where they are coming from.”

At the same time, participants expressed negative views about persons in GPH, not just those in LTRH. One forceful articulation of this view came from an officer who stressed that “inmates are ‘scum,’” “lower” than the rest of society, and “fall below the bar.” When asked if LTRH work affected how they viewed other populations, participants typically indicated that it did not. In addition, participants at GPH facilities expressed negative views about people incarcerated in prison. They described prisons as “dark environments,” where they must attend to bloody messes left from fights. Some said they would rather work in LTRH because there, despite concerns about feces being thrown at them, they would not “risk the possibility of getting stabbed in general population [housing].” Personnel who worked in both kinds of housing emphasized that in their view the current generation of people incarcerated in prison is more violent, likely to carry weapons at all times, and ready to use them.

Thus, we identified little evidence of a spillover effect (Baker et al., 2014; Hellwig & Sinno, 2017; Tesler, 2012) such that work in LTRH could be said to clearly influence how personnel viewed all persons in custody. Yet, LTRH personnel consistently reported that the work hardened them in ways that their work in GPH had not. They emphasized that it made them less likely to trust anyone in prison and—as respondents in the focus groups and interviews reported—outside of it. There appeared to be a general spillover effect of work in LTRH, one that altered how personnel came to view all people, not just those who are incarcerated.

Brutalization—LTRH and Dehumanized Views of Incarcerated Persons

Although the survey analyses suggested that LTRH work may increase personnel perceptions of the humanity of individuals in this housing, analyses of the qualitative data suggested otherwise. Presented below, these analyses sought to understand how this work may affect personnel views of these individuals via four theoretical mechanisms: brutalization, organizational context and culture, role conflict and distancing, and empathy fatigue.

Evidence of brutalization effects surfaced in all of the focus groups and interviews with those who currently or had worked in LTRH. One officer stated, “Since the opening of the [close management] unit, I have had feces, urine, and semen thrown at me. I have been head-butted. This doesn’t happen in administrative or disciplinary confinement; it only happens in [close management].” (Administrative confinement is temporary housing used for such purposes as to hold individuals pending transfer or an adjudication of their involvement in an incident.) Another stated that the “inmates can be gruesome.” Others stressed that the individuals in the housing simply cannot be managed any other way due to the constant and extreme manipulation and violence. The participants—many of whom had experience working both in GPH and LTRH units—emphasized that they encountered more extreme violence and behavior on a daily basis in the latter, to the point that they became hypervigilant in all aspects of their lives.

There were, at the same time, occasional comments that could help to explain a possible counter to a brutalization effect. Some staff reported, for example, that the individuals in LTRH can be easier to manage because, by that time, the individuals have accepted what they have done to be placed there. Several mental health workers noted that they felt safer working with these individuals because of the additional safety measures.

Organizational Context/Culture—LTRH and Dehumanized Views of Incarcerated Persons

In the focus groups and interviews, as well as during facility tours, the researchers heard statements that pointed to a setting that legitimizes the view that individuals sent to LTRH amount to a different kind of person, one lacking a moral compass, self-control, or a willingness to change. The very existence of housing in Florida and nationally underscores this idea. It exists as a last-resort option for individuals who, within prison systems, constitute what administrators, officers, and staff perceive to be extreme and unmanageable any other way. This organizational stance was reflected in personnel comments. We repeatedly heard statements about these individuals being the most dangerous and difficult to manage. Such statements came from those with experience working in housing and from those who did not. When asked if the prison system could operate without the housing, personnel strongly emphasized that the result would be chaos because certain incarcerated persons could not be managed any other way.

Some accounts suggested a different view. For example, in some LTRH facilities, personnel described a close-knit working relationship among officers and mental health personnel. Participants in these settings appeared to be more likely to perceive the individuals in the housing in a less extreme and more treatment-oriented light. They emphasized that in their view many of these individuals have a capacity to change and want to do time without incident. They emphasized, too, that they viewed it as their responsibility to facilitate such change, to the extent possible. Extreme violence was noted, but the personnel viewed the LTRH setting as, in some ways, safer than GPH. Other personnel emphasized the importance of providing consistent and fair intervention with restrictive housing populations and of treatment. Yet, they highlighted the difficulty in achieving these goals with limited staffing and programming.

Role Conflict and Distancing—LTRH and Dehumanized Views of Incarcerated Persons

We frequently heard comments that suggested that personnel experienced role conflict and used role distancing to resolve it. Across almost all sessions, participants emphasized problems with understaffing and a lack of programming throughout the prison system and especially, it appeared, in LTRH. They highlighted the importance of learning about the history and needs of individuals in the housing and of services to address these needs, yet felt that staffing and resource limitations precluded doing so. Some remarked on the intensive demands of LTRH work, which they said could lead them to be constantly on the move with no time for lunch or bathroom breaks. Against that backdrop, the consistent and repeated descriptions of those in the housing as fundamentally “different,” the “worst of the worst,” “killers,” and so on appeared to reflect a need both to justify the use of it and to defend against an inability to adopt a more individualized approach that would afford opportunities for meaningful interactions and programming. It was not uncommon, for example, to hear personnel state that the individuals in LTRH were all but untreatable and unable or willing to adopt societal values. Such a view would, of course, make it feel more acceptable to rely on housing and minimal programming.

There were participants who were aware of and frustrated by the conflict. They wanted the housing to be improved, felt that those in the housing deserved more individual attention and programming, and noted that the housing seemed to be a de facto alternative to the state mental hospitals. They could not, however, see an alternative solution given systemwide resource constraints. For these individuals, role conflict—but not role distancing—was evident.

Empathy Fatigue—LTRH and Dehumanized Views of Incarcerated Persons

Finally, the focus groups and interviews revealed consistent evidence of empathy fatigue. Officers and staff described diverse forms of trauma resulting from their work in LTRH that went beyond physical victimization they might experience. They described the assignment as especially exhausting because of the intensive work hours, the stress of working with individuals with extremely violent histories, and the perceived manipulation by these individuals. External factors reportedly played a role. For example, in some of the focus groups and interviews, personnel stated that they had to sever their prison system and home or community lives because of how others would view them if they knew about their LTRH work. They expressed concern about being judged not only for work in prisons but also, and in particular, for work in housing that some families and members of the public condemn.

Burnout was highlighted as an especially common problem for those who work in the housing. Respondents said that LTRH work can lead to a “breaking point,” especially when colleagues experienced physical assaults. They described a sense of exhaustion with trying to address what they viewed as manipulative behavior and physical exhaustion from the daily routine. One officer emphasized that simply moving a person into and out of an LTRH cell required substantial work. The accumulated stress, according to the officer, led to a situation in which “I have a split personality. I have a work-self and a home-self.” The sense of or need for such a walling off was echoed by others, although many also emphasized that they had trouble doing so and, outside of work, became desensitized to conflicts that might negatively affect others but that they largely ignored or did not notice.

At the same time, some personnel retained empathy for persons in LTRH. One officer noted that simply saying, “Good morning” or “How are you doing?” makes a difference in their work with individuals in this housing. Other personnel commented that mutual respect was essential, noting that with fewer individuals in LTRH, as compared with GPH, they had more time to develop rapport with incarcerated persons. That included developing an understanding of what the housing must feel like to those in it. Still others recognized that many persons in the housing may be mentally ill, which could affect their behavior and indicate a need for more understanding.

Interestingly, in some of the LTRH units, officers and mental health staff worked in more proximity to one another than would occur in GPH. This arrangement reportedly led to a greater understanding of the individuals and their unique needs. We were told that officers and mental health personnel could discuss contextual factors that might explain behavior that otherwise might seem inexplicable and manipulative. Empathy fatigue thus appeared to be the typical result of work in LTRH, but there were exceptions to this outcome.

Summary and Extension of the Qualitative Findings

The qualitative accounts seemed to clearly suggest a negative view of persons in LTRH, one that sees individuals in it as fundamentally different—lesser in the sense of seeming to lack a moral compass, being untreatable, willing to manipulate any situation, engaging in bizarre or self-injurious behaviors, and intent on hurting others. They also seemed to lend support to the argument that these perceptions arise in part through the effects of brutalization, organizational context, and culture that create and support a dehumanized view of individuals who are incarcerated, role conflict and distancing, and empathy fatigue.

However, some respondents described people in LTRH in ways that suggested that they viewed the individuals as being as human as anyone else. And some expressed views and experiences that seemed to counter potential brutalization, organizational, role, and empathy-related pathways that might adversely affect their view of the humanity of individuals in LTRH. At the same time, in GPH, personnel expressed views that sometimes paralleled that of these individuals. For example, some emphasized that correctional institutions are “dark environments,” with one officer noting, “we see a lot of bad things.” Still others observed that in GPH, staff work with the same kinds of individuals who land in LTRH. However, these contrasting views, including those of personnel in GPH, were muted in comparison to the consistently stark accounts that surfaced among LTRH personnel.

Given the survey results, we investigated why DC work might have an adverse effect on perceptions about the humanity of persons in LTRH, while those who worked in the latter housing reported a somewhat positive view. In comparison to LTRH personnel, those who worked in DC settings—where individuals typically serve up to 60 days for rule violations—sometimes expressed similar views about people in prison they oversaw. For example, they described seeing “the worst of human behavior,” as one officer stated. Another stated that they become “desensitized to things that would shock others.” Overall, although, the consistent theme in the focus groups and interviews—including comments from personnel who had worked in GPH and LTRH—was that conditions in LTRH were more intense, dangerous, and challenging.

Discussion

This study sought to shed light on the potential effects of work in one of the most extreme forms of incarceration—LTRH for managing individuals deemed to be the most violent and disruptive. Briefly, we found mixed support for the hypothesis that LTRH work is associated with a dehumanized view of people in prison and the related hypothesis that any such association may arise through the influence of several different mechanisms. First, the survey analyses revealed that personnel perceived the humanity of those in LTRH to be lower than that of individuals in GPH facilities. Second, contrary to what we hypothesized, personnel who worked in LTRH were more likely to view individuals in LTRH in a favorable light, but the work had no identifiable effect on their perceptions of the humanity of incarcerated persons in general.

Third, the qualitative analyses led to a different conclusion. They suggested that work in LTRH may adversely affect personnel’s views of the perceived humanity of the individuals in LTRH, in other prison settings, and of people in general. Fourth, these analyses also lent support to our second hypothesis. We found evidence that the potential explanatory mechanisms involve (a) exposure to a highly brutalizing atmosphere; (b) work in an organizational setting that legitimates and reinforces the view that the individuals in the housing constitute the equivalent of a different, and seemingly “lesser,” population; (c) experiencing a high degree of role conflict and the attendant need to role distance to justify such a view; and (d) suffering from empathy fatigue, which may contribute to a reduced ability to want or to be able to interpret the behavior of those in the housing in anything but an unfavorable light.

Differences in the survey and qualitative analyses about the effects of LTRH work may arise from several sources. One is that the survey data are in fact more representative and thus may more accurately reflect the prevalence of personnel views of individuals in the housing and, in turn, how the work may shape these views. An alternative explanation is that the qualitative study permitted a more comprehensive exploration of officers’ perceptions. For example, participants had time to reflect, talk with one another, and share stories about the different experiences they had that informed their perceptions. It is, although, possible that they may have been reluctant to express their true views in a group setting, and expressed only perspectives that they felt might reflect favorably on them.

There are limitations of the study that should be considered when interpreting the findings. It occurred in only one state. What might be found in other states could vary, depending on factors such as the way in which LTRH is operated and the characteristics of the individuals sent to the housing. For the survey, the measure of LTRH experience tapped only whether personnel had ever worked in the housing; we therefore could not assess how the duration of LTRH work might influence personnel views. Also, it may be possible that a selection effect might result in some individuals with dehumanized views of people in prison being more likely to work in LTRH. That seems unlikely given understaffing and wardens’ evident need to obtain full work shifts. Also, personnel appeared comfortable expressing positive as well as negative appraisals of those in prison. It is possible, though, that they held back in expressing some of their views. The study was cross-sectional and so the expressed views may differ from what might be found at other times. Finally, we had no basis for assessing whether the individuals in LTRH were objectively more dangerous or acted in ways that contributed to personnel perceptions.

This study’s findings have several implications. First, they reinforce calls to understand the diverse impacts of LTRH, focusing on incarcerated populations but also on personnel and systems (Mears et al., 2019; Sundt, 2017). It is clear that LTRH may affect individuals incarcerated in this housing (Garcia, 2016). Little, though, is known about how it may influence personnel’s lives, views of incarcerated persons, and how they perform their work.

Second, the findings underscore the need to understand the challenges and experiences that personnel throughout corrections face. The individuals with whom they work may objectively be more violent and manipulative than other incarcerated populations. Whether based on reality or perception, such work may contribute to stress, physical and mental health problems, and family violence (Arnold, 2016; Einat & Suliman, 2021; Hogan & Lambert, 2021). It also may shape their views of people in prison and how they interact with and manage them (Cheeseman et al., 2011; Gordon & Baker, 2017; Liebling et al., 2011; Lombardo, 1989). As the qualitative findings suggest, more extreme types of prison assignments, such as LTRH work, may lead to unique experiences that change their perceptions of these people. Brutalizing incidents, for example, may be more likely and contribute to perceived threat and, in turn, to dehumanized views of individuals. The changed views may extend to those in prison and to people at large. Similarly, role distancing—common in prison work (Arnold, 2016; Sykes, 1958/2007), and empathy fatigue (Stebnicki, 2007; Vaswani & Paul, 2019)—may be more prevalent in LTRH work and contribute to dehumanization processes (Haslam & Loughnan, 2014).

Third, the study’s findings suggest warrant for research that compares the experiences of work in LTRH versus work in DC. LTRH and DC may be similar in certain respects; for example, DC can include solitary confinement and fewer privileges (Shalev, 2009). Yet, the duration, conditions, and goals of the two types of housing differ and so may the interactions with and perceptions of people in prison (Garcia, 2016; Labrecque, Campbell, et al., 2021). For example, in this study, the survey analyses indicated that while LTRH work may lead to a more favorable view of the humanity of individuals in the housing, work in DC may lead to a less favorable view. The explanation may lie in the greater opportunity that LTRH personnel have to interact with and learn about individuals in LTRH. Support for this view comes from a recent study by Laws (2021) who identified that some individuals seek placement in solitary confinement. Such individuals may be more compliant because they sought out the housing. If true, it would suggest that accounts of the violent nature of individuals in LTRH (see, for example, Bruton, 2004; Conover, 2000; Mears & Watson, 2006) may be unrepresentative.

Fourth, the findings suggest the need to understand policy impacts within a broader systems context. These impacts may vary depending not only on the target population but also on those responsible for implementing it and on the larger organizational and system context within which they work (Liebling & Kant, 2018; Mears, 2017; Sparks et al., 1996). Finally, the findings highlight the importance of studies of prisons that draw on mixed methods. These can serve both as a check on the limitations of one or the other data source and provide a richer foundation on which to understand the experiences of those who work in prisons.

Fifth, one line of inquiry that warrants investigation is how punitive policies may engender further punitiveness through their influence on personnel. If policies remove opportunities to have meaningful interactions with people who are incarcerated, they create a setting that facilitates more of an “us” versus “them” way of seeing them (Higgins et al., 2022). This dynamic—when coupled with the potential for LTRH’s deprivatory conditions to cause individuals to act in bizarre or harmful ways (Cloud et al., 2015; Haney, 2018; Kupers, 2017)—might lead some personnel to view people in prison as somehow less. In a prison setting, this effect could have direct consequences. Research suggests that those who dehumanize others may be more likely to be aggressive and retaliatory (Haslam & Loughnan, 2014). Such a tendency would of course have the potential to amplify the use of punishments and create a vicious cycle of dehumanization and punishment. We did not assess this possibility, but it is an important avenue for future research and a possibility that corrections officials may want to consider. If work in long-term or any other restrictive housing indeed has a dehumanizing effect, this would raise questions about the merits of restrictive housing as a correctional policy. The policy implications would be broader, however, and point to the importance of relying on humanizing policies that enable personnel to view the individuals with whom they work as humans and as worthy of individualized, if not compassionate, treatment (Cullen et al., 2014).

Finally, a policy implication is for prison systems to consider staffing arrangements in LTRH that have officers and mental health personnel working in proximity to one another. In one site visit, personnel said that working together made it easier to understand how to work with, understand, and manage or treat the individuals in the housing. Such an approach would echo calls by scholars for LTRH to better address the mental health of people in prison (Haney, 2018).

Footnotes

Authors’ Note:

This project was supported by Grant No. 2016-IJ-CX-0014 awarded by the National Institute of Justice, Office of Justice Programs, U.S. Department of Justice. Points of view in this document are those of the authors and do not necessarily represent the official position or policies of the U.S. Department of Justice or of the prison system from which the data for the study came. We thank the editors and anonymous reviewers for guidance in strengthening the paper.

ORCID iDs

Daniel P. Mears

Vivian Aranda-Hughes

Jennifer M. Brown

Daniel P. Mears, PhD, is a distinguished research professor and the Mark C. Stafford professor of criminology at Florida State University’s College of Criminology and Criminal Justice. A fellow of the American Society of Criminology, he conducts research on crime and policy and has published in criminology, criminal justice, law, and sociology journals. He is the author of American Criminal Justice Policy (Cambridge) and Out-of-Control Criminal Justice and American Criminal Justice Policy (Cambridge), each of which won the Academy of Criminal Justice Sciences’ outstanding book award.

Joshua C. Cochran, PhD, is an associate professor at the University of Cincinnati, School of Criminal Justice. His research interests include theory, punishment, and inequality.

Vivian Aranda-Hughes, PhD, is an assistant professor at the University of Colorado-Denver. Her research interests include victimization and offending over the life course, corrections, and family violence. She has published in Criminal Justice and Behavior, Social Problems, and Police Practice and Research.

Jennifer M. Brown, PhD, is a visiting faculty member at Florida State University’s College of Criminology and Criminal Justice. Her research interests include correctional programming, prisoner reentry, and juvenile justice. She has published in Criminal Justice and Behavior, Crime and Delinquency, and Justice Quarterly and has undertaken research projects for the National Institute of Justice and the Florida Department of Corrections.

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