Abstract
The images in this essay were taken in the prison of San Juan de Lurigancho. This selection is from a broader body of my work, dedicated to documenting depressed areas of Latin America. It was difficult for me to gain access to the prison. After a lengthy and complex process to obtain an entry permit, I first entered without my camera, to win the trust of the inmates and hear their personal stories, so that my photographic equipment and I were not strangers when I returned with camera in hand. I spent five days inside, trying to capture in the most truthful way possible the daily life of the prison.
Lurigancho, as the prison is commonly known, is about 10 kilometers from the center of Lima. It is the largest and most overcrowded prison in Peru. In January 2012 the prison held 6,713 inmates, according to data from the Instituto Nacional Penitenciario, more than double its official capacity of 3,200. Due to corruption, tuberculosis, and drug addiction, compounded by extreme state mismanagement, it was long considered one of the most overpopulated and dangerous prisons in the world.
Overcrowding in one of the shared cells
Until 2009, Lurigancho had held almost 11,000 inmates, a quarter of all the prisoners in Peru. The country’s President Alan García ordered the number of prisoners reduced. Today, according to estimates (that may not be accurate), it may hold as many as 7,500 prisoners. It is a more peaceful place than in the past. However, we should not forget that its ratio of some 100 inmates per guard is madness when compared with penitentiaries in the United States, where the ratio is 6 prisoners per guard.
Overcrowding at Lurigancho does not provide a bunk bed for everyone to sleep. Those who do not have enough money to pay rent for a bunk must pile themselves at night on foam mattresses that are spread out in the hallways. Others, the “techeros,” build huts for themselves on the rooftops. Some use that elevated position to act as scouts and informants.
Drug addict inmate in the infirmary; the bag on his stomach is due to a bullet wound
One of the oldest prisoners in his cell
Lurigancho’s prisoners struggle to survive. Thanks to the work of inmates who have self-organized, a small, internal infrastructure allows the prisoners to feed themselves and live a somewhat more dignified life. The prison lacks a system to collect the more than 25 tons of garbage produced weekly. The poorest and most marginalized prisoners, who have not managed to find a niche in the micro-society of Lurigancho, must feed themselves by scavenging the trash in search of anything edible.
Many prisoners have drug-resistant tuberculosis. Many are drug addicts and are dependent on “piedra” (rock), a highly addictive cocaine byproduct that the inmates themselves produce from chlorine cocaine hydrate. I was struck by the ravages that this drug causes, how strong and powerful it must be for someone to forget the most basic needs and even sense of self.
One of the “piedra” addicts I met had been in Lurigancho for five and a half years. He had been admitted to the prison hospital several times for not eating. Although staff tried to treat him and prevent him from dying of starvation, they could not stop his cycle of escaping from the hospital and returning to the prison’s population. When we said goodbye, he asked me if being photographed would help him be released before completing the year remaining on his sentence. I told him I did not think so, but at that moment I was moved by how conscious he was of his terrible state.
Most of the inmates depend to a large extent on money and provisions sent from outside, yet the internal economy of Lurigancho requires that all prisoners must work. The range of professions includes masons, painters, electricians, cooks, barbers, vendors of spare parts, fruit and vegetables, and hygiene products, and providers of other services. This drives a survival economy that maintains a relative stability within the prison. Even those with addiction problems must survive by performing the least desirable jobs, as porters, cleaners, messengers.
An inmate-porter, with the help of one of the police officers, dragging a cart with goods sent by relatives
Open market with fruit, vegetables, and necessities in the Jirón de la Unión corridor
Meal being served to the inmates of one prison pavilion
Prisoners with fewer resources who cannot afford their own food receiving a ration from the pavilions
Two inmates; one of them cannot stand up and needs constant help from others
From overcrowding, many inmates build huts on the roofs of the pavilions. Many “techeros” are watchmen
On the days for women’s visits, the population of the prison effectively doubles
The prison is divided into 20 pavilions. They in turn are divided into two zones. El Jardin (Garden) is the “more comfortable and relatively affluent” area; La Pampa (Grasslands) is home to murderers, thieves, and drug addicts.
El Jardín and La Pampa are separated by El Jirón de Union, a kind of commercial corridor. This is where the principal outdoor businesses operate and where you can buy almost anything. There is also a separate sector of Lurigancho, the tuberculosis pavilion, where the authorities isolate inmates with TB who could infect others, including those who prefer to live with the disease untreated rather than receive the painful treatment.
Understanding Lurigancho is not easy, especially since the military exercises only minimal internal control. It is a place with a government of its own, where the inmates vote to elect the representative for each section, or pavilion. There are no externally imposed schedules, and the prisoners themselves are in charge of organization.
Footnotes
Aníbal Martel is a New York-based photojournalist and documentary photographer and a correspondent for international press agencies. Born in the Canary Islands, he studied photography and journalism in Madrid. His work has been widely exhibited and published in the United States and internationally. Rosalind Bresnahan is an associate managing editor of Latin American Perspectives.