‘A culture of sharing’: Drug exchange in a Norwegian prison

Abstract

Despite growing numbers of drug users in prisons all over the western world, drug exchange behind bars has received little scholarly attention. The few studies that exist describe the prison drug economy as mainly following market-based principles of exchange. However, ethnographic fieldwork in a closed Norwegian prison reveals something different: prisoners share their drugs, rather than selling them. In this article, I describe and try to explain this ‘culture of sharing’. Drawing on anthropological theories of exchange, drug sharing is understood as continuous gift-giving. The gift perspective allows us to see how sharing is shaped by motives of caring, compassion and solidarity, while it simultaneously emphasizes the self-interest embedded in such drug exchanges. The article argues that sharing is a highly effective form of drug exchange because there is a strong commitment to reciprocate when a prisoner receives drugs. The ‘culture of sharing’ is both contingent upon and produces social relations between prisoners. On the one hand, it offers an inclusive and solidary community for drug using prisoners; on the other hand it is upheld by strong social controls, by which deviations from accepted norms of conduct (i.e. failing to share) are sanctioned in a variety of ways.

Keywords

buprenorphine diversion drug exchange Mauss prisons reciprocity sharing social relations

Introduction

Since the late 1970s, the western world has seen a dramatic increase in the proportion of prisoners who report using drugs (CASA, 2010; EMCDDA, 2012a; Fazel et al., 2006), and a similar increase in drug use within prisons (Stöver et al., 2008). Research on the prevalence and patterns of drug use in prisons has been plentiful and has been dominated by epidemiological and comparative studies (Boys et al., 2002; EMCDDA, 2012b; Lukasiewicz et al., 2007). Some qualitative studies on motives and meanings associated with prison drug use have also been done, particularly in Britain (i.e. Bullock, 2003; Cope, 2000; Wilson et al., 2007). However, very few studies deal with the issue of drug distribution and exchange systems in prison.

Ben Crewe’s (2005, 2006, 2009) ethnographic work on ‘the prisoner society’ stands out for its explicit concern with the drug economy in prison. Influenced by Crewe’s pioneering effort to describe, understand and explain the impact of drugs on social life in a British prison, this article sets out to investigate related questions based on an ethnographic fieldwork in a closed, medium-sized Norwegian prison. The findings reported here offer strong support for Crewe’s (2009: 370) bold statement that ‘the role of drugs in prison social life and culture would be hard to overstate’. However, the distribution of drugs was based on different principles from those that Crewe described, and they affected the prisoner community differently. This article therefore presents new knowledge about prison social life that supplements accounts in the existing literature, and it responds to the recent call for ‘punishment and society’ studies that emphasize ‘localized on-the-ground processes’ (Hannah-Moffat and Lynch, 2012: 119–120).

The aim of the study is to contribute to an overall better understanding of a prison drug market. The following basic research questions guide the analysis: what kinds of drugs are used, and how are they obtained and exchanged? The analysis further explores how the drug exchange is shaped by the social context of the prison, and particularly how norms, social relations, sanctions and diversion of prescription drugs affect the operations of an extensive illegal drug trade. In order to explain better the close connection between drug exchange and social life in this prison, the findings will be discussed in lieu of Mauss’ (1990) exchange theories.

Drug distribution and exchange systems

According to Crewe, drug dealing has become the dominant illegal economy in prisons (see, for example, Crewe, 2005, 2006, 2009). Drugs that are exchanged in prison are primarily smuggled in and, in the absence of a cash economy, they are distributed among prisoners in exchange for items such as tobacco, phonecards and canteen goods, or through outside payments (Crewe, 2005, 2006, 2009). The demand for illegal drugs in prison is far greater than the supply, which leads to drug prices that are three to four times their street-value (Crewe, 2009: 375). To sustain their heroin habits, the drug users in Crewe’s (2009) study borrowed money (or items representing money) at up to 100 per cent interest rates. Heroin and cannabis were the most widely available and popular prison drugs. According to Crewe, the drug economy’s attraction and prominence in prison is also related to the oppositional character of the contraband activities. Prisoners accrue respect by importing drugs because it symbolizes ‘“nerve”, resistance to the system, ambition and connections to organized drug networks outside prison’ (Crewe, 2005: 470).

Other studies in British penal establishments clearly confirm Crewe’s findings about the market principles at work in the illegal prison drug trade, but there are some interesting diverging nuances (Cope, 2000; Dillon, 2001; Penfold et al., 2005). Even though dealing is found to be the dominant form of exchange, they document that drugs are also shared and swapped between prisoners, particularly between smaller groups of inmates with close social relations, such as belonging to the same gang (Cope, 2000). A related pattern of drug distribution was found in a Scottish prison, where a minority of prisoners who were enrolled in prison-based opioid maintenance treatment (OMT) ‘held back’ their medication to ‘help out’ fellow prisoners suffering withdrawal symptoms (Taylor et al., 2006: 90). These studies document that dealing is not the only form of drug distribution in prison, but even so their emphasis is on the prison drug economy as an exchange system largely following market-based principles.

Classical anthropological theories of exchange highlight how exchange is embedded in social relations (Mauss, 1990; Sahlins, 1972). In his seminal text The Gift, Mauss (1990) explores the principles of exchange in (archaic) societies before the introduction of money. He argues that gift-giving is a system of total services, and that the very sociality and structure of these societies can be illuminated by analysing the practice of giving and receiving gifts. A basic principle of these exchanges is their ‘apparently free and disinterested’ character, ‘when really there is obligation and economic self-interest’ (Mauss, 1990: 3). Mauss argues against the notion of a ‘free gift’, stressing that obligation and economic self-interest are fundamental aspects of giving. The obligation to reciprocate binds individuals, families or associations together and, by so doing, social relations and solidarity may develop. An unreciprocated gift is a contradiction, Mauss argues, precisely because the gift then has no function for the social system. According to Mary Douglas (1990: xiv), one of Mauss’ greatest achievements was that he discovered ‘a mechanism by which individual interests combine to make a social system […] Like the market it supplies each individual with personal incentives for collaborating in the pattern of exchanges.’ Building on Mauss’ theories, Sahlins (1972) distinguished between three forms of reciprocity: generalized; balanced; and negative. Generalized reciprocity occurs when the obligation to give something back ‘is not stipulated by time, quantity or quality […] Receiving goods lays on a diffuse obligation to reciprocate when necessary to the donor and/or possible for the recipient’ (Sahlins, 1972: 194). Balanced reciprocity is ‘less personal’ and ‘more economic’ than generalized reciprocity (Sahlins, 1972: 195), and may be defined as the ‘willingness to give for that which is received’ (Sahlins, 1972: 220). Negative reciprocity, ‘the unsociable extreme’, ‘is the attempt to get something for nothing’ (Sahlins, 1972: 195). These three forms of reciprocity are points along a continuum. I will draw on this typology to distinguish between different forms of drug exchange in Kollen prison.

Data and methods

The article reports findings from a larger ethnographic study of drug rehabilitation in a closed Norwegian prison. Kollen prison lies on the outskirts of a large Norwegian city (pop. <500,000).¹ Although Kollen is a small prison by international standards, its capacity of several hundred prisoners makes it one of Norway’s largest. It comprises a handful of closed wings in separate buildings, all of which are enclosed by a concrete wall. Each wing holds approximately 50 prisoners and has its own workshop, yard and schooling facility. Prisoners from different wings rarely congregate, except for some centralized workshops and education programmes that recruit participants from all wings. In most wings, prisoners serve their time in living-units (boenheter) that consist of six cells and a shared living-room with a kitchen. Prisoners prepare their own meals, either individually, or with the other prisoners at their unit. The living-units allow more freedom of movement than prisoners have in many other closed prisons in Norway. Prisoners are not allowed to hold cash, but once a week they may use a maximum of 500 NOK (about 90 USD) on canteen items in the prison kiosk.² The ethnographic fieldwork lasted for eight months, and was mainly conducted in the drug rehabilitation unit (rusmestringsenhet) in Wing 2 and in an OMT unit in Wing 3. The drug treatment unit consists of two living-units, each with space for six prisoners. The OMT unit consists of one larger living-unit with 12 cells and a shared kitchen and living-room. OMT is a medical treatment for opiate addiction that was formally introduced in Norway in 1998 and became available in prisons shortly thereafter. OMT is part of the Norwegian health care service, and OMT patients are not charged for their medications. Currently, there are approximately 6500 patients in total receiving OMT in Norway, of whom 53 per cent are prescribed buprenorphine (Subutex/Subuxone)³ and 47 per cent methadone (SIRUS, 2012: 23). During my research period, the number of incarcerated OMT patients varied between 20 and 30.

In contrast to prison researchers in many other jurisdictions, I experienced no problems in obtaining access to the prison. After passing through the metal detector upon entering the prison and presenting my prison ID-card, I was provided with keys and an alarm. I could visit the prison whenever I wanted, and I was trusted to walk around in the prison on my own as long as I informed the prison officer in charge where I was going. Such a high level of trust, Pratt (2008) argues, is one of the ‘exceptional’ features of Nordic prison policy. Similarly, the material conditions allowing extensive socialization and cooking are ‘exceptional’ compared to prisons in most other jurisdictions (Pratt, 2008; for discussion, see also Ugelvik and Dullum, 2012). Typically, I spent three days a week at the prison. I spent most of my time at the prison ‘hanging around’ and talking informally with prisoners, either in the common areas of the living-units or in the prisoners’ cells. I seldom took notes in the prison, except for occasionally scribbling some keywords and phrases if the circumstances allowed. I wrote observation notes in the evening or the following day.

There are many drug users in Norwegian prisons, with 60–70 per cent of prisoners reporting illegal drug use in the month prior to incarceration (Ødegård, 2008; Skardhamar, 2003). Close to 50 per cent of prisoners are characterized as ‘heavy drug users’ in need of treatment (Lobmaier et al., 2012; Ødegård, 2008). The prisoners I got to know shared many of these characteristics. Most were heavy drug users and had a long record of imprisonment, mainly for drug- and property-related crimes. They were all men, typically between 25 and 45 years old. Nearly all of them were ethnic Norwegians who came from or lived in the nearby city. About half of them were remand prisoners, and most served (or expected to serve) a sentence of between six and 18 months. Many of the prisoners knew each other from previous sentences or from the local drug scene. Thus, the data for this study are based on observations, conversations and interviews with a relatively homogenous (based on the above-mentioned criteria) group of prisoners.

Midway through the fieldwork, I started to conduct qualitative interviews, first with prisoners (23) and later with staff members (12). All but two of the prisoners interviewed were recruited from the two drug rehabilitation units, and I had come to know most of them quite well by the time I interviewed them. The interviews were open and semi-structured, but I discussed drug use and drug exchange with each of the prisoners interviewed. The interviews lasted between one and three hours, and most often they were conducted in the prisoners’ own cells or in a private meeting room. The interviews were fully transcribed and coded thematically in NVivo10.

This research about drug exchanges in prison raises several ethical considerations. All prisoners were provided anonymity, and information about the individuals quoted below was kept to a minimum and occasionally altered slightly to avoid identification. However, prison authorities and officers are aware of the patterns of drug use and the supply of drugs in the prison. Thus, prison staff members already know about much of the information revealed below. Furthermore, all of the participants were informed about this project in advance and they shared their drug exchange views and experiences with the knowledge that the information they provided might appear in research publications.

Findings

This article reports on two main findings. First, I describe the drug supply system in Kollen prison and the different kinds of drugs being used. Second, I describe how drugs are exchanged within the prison.

Drug use and drug supply

The illicit drug supply in Kollen prison has two sources. First, drugs are smuggled into the prison, mainly after social visits, home leaves, court appearances and following new receptions. Prisoners have to strip and go through security checks upon return to the prison, but despite such control measures, many prisoners managed to import drugs by hiding them in the body’s cavity. Second, legally prescribed drugs from the prison health service, such as buprenorphine and benzodiazepines, are misappropriated and diverted to the illegal drug trade. An important reason for the widespread use of buprenorphine is that prisoners enrolled in OMT ‘hold back’ some of their medication when it is dispensed. Buprenorphine is commonly administered in tablets, which are then broken into smaller pieces and placed under the tongue to dissolve; a process that takes approximately 10 minutes. Dispensing is highly controlled (OMT patients have to drink water before and after dispensing, they are not allowed to raise their hands during the 10 minutes of dispensing and they must open their mouths for inspection before and after the procedure). At least two prison officers supervise the OMT patients until the tablets are supposedly dissolved. Still, some patients manage to keep the tablets from dissolving and prisoners reported that undissolved pieces of buprenorphine were regularly distributed in or between wings of the prison. The most common way prisoners take ‘illegal’ buprenorphine is by snorting.

A survey of all Norwegian prisons in 2002 reported that cannabis, amphetamine and heroin were the most commonly used substances during confinement (Ødegård, 2008). However, all my research participants, both inmates and staff members, claimed that buprenorphine was now the most available and preferred drug in Kollen prison. Prescription drugs such as benzodiazepines and cannabis were the other substances most frequently used. Analysis of mandatory drug tests (MDTs) conducted in all Norwegian prisons documents a similar pattern of drug use (unpublished statistics, Norwegian Ministry of Justice). International epidemiological evidence of widespread in-prison buprenorphine use is absent, but this is most likely because MDTs typically do not screen for buprenorphine. Qualitative and survey-based studies, however, indicate the growing popularity of buprenorphine among prisoners in other countries as well (Penfold et al., 2005; Plugge et al., 2009).

Buprenorphine was often referred to by prisoners as ‘a fantastic prison drug’ (interview, Kjetil) and the reasons for buprenorphine’s popularity are many. First, availability of illegal buprenorphine seems generally to be high in Norway, as suggested by police and customs seizures (SIRUS, 2012). Second, the pharmacological effects of the drug are reported to be ideal for the prison setting. Prisoners claim that buprenorphine causes relaxation, relieves boredom, stress and anxiety and provides sleep aid. These are all qualities reported to be important for prisoners’ drug use in previous studies (Bullock, 2003; Cope, 2000; Crewe, 2009; Penfold et al., 2005). Third, buprenorphine is considered to be a drug well suited to the prison setting with its strict drug control, such as it was enforced in Kollen prison. Prisoners argue that intake of small doses, increased water intake and night-time urination combine to make buprenorphine undetectable in MDTs. Lastly, it is a popular drug because one regular tablet (8 mg) may provide up to 30 prisoners their daily ‘high’. The average daily dose in Norwegian OMT is 18 mg (Waal et al., 2012: 34). Many of the prisoners who regularly ‘held back’ buprenorphine during dispensing claimed that their doses were far too high, and that they easily could take less buprenorphine without suffering withdrawal symptoms, especially if they also snorted some of the buprenorphine they hid away, or if they took a full dose every other day. The drug supply from prisoners ‘holding back’ their buprenorphine during dispensing had a significant impact on the drug market and the exchange patterns of drugs in Kollen prison.

Drug exchange

A couple of months into the fieldwork, some of the prisoners I had come to know quite well began to explain how drugs were exchanged in prison. To my surprise, there were very few tales about dealing, even though most of the prisoners in the rehabilitation units were both drug dealers and users themselves outside of prison. Instead, the prisoners said that the primary form of exchange was through sharing. I covered the topic in almost all of the interviews and in several informal conversations. Though there were nuances in the prisoners’ accounts of the extent, meaning and motives behind drug sharing, all of the prisoners reported that sharing was the primary form of drug exchange. The following quote from a prisoner in his early 20s is typical:

To be quite honest, I brought 10 tablets in here, two Subutex, and a gram of speed, and then two needles. And I only used a little bit of speed of all the stuff I brought in; the rest I gave away. (interview, Jan)

When I asked about their motives for sharing drugs, a typical response was that they wanted to help out fellow prisoners when, for instance, they suffered from withdrawal symptoms:

It is no fun to sit and watch a guy who is feeling bad, you know. And you know that you can do something about it, so it is basically being human; it is behaving like a fellow human being, sort of. And I think that there are much better people among drug users than among common people. (interview, Ole)

Another prisoner highlighted the notion of care when he told me that he had been provided illegal buprenorphine daily since he was placed in custody, without paying anything:

It is very much about care. […] I have been on a pure care-based drug budget. (interview, Jacob)

The prisoners described a norm of sharing, grounded in conceptions of care and compassion. They consistently rejected the idea that drugs were sold in prison and that heavy drug users would take on debt during confinement. One older prisoner with a decade’s long history of being in and out of Norwegian prisons responded almost angrily when I probed the issue: ‘You can’t get into debt here, it’s impossible, that would never happen. If anybody says so, it’s nonsense, I have never heard of it’ (interview, Arne). Another prisoner on the OMT unit corrected me when I by accident suggested dealing of buprenorphine:

At that cell in the corner over there, you can get all the Subutex you want.

I see. He’s got the business going?

Not business, he gives it away, if you want it. (interview, Ivar)

This prisoner corrected my wording and rejected the idea that market principles govern the distribution of drugs; he said it was about giving. He also claimed that the drugs were for everybody; anybody who wanted to get high in prison was able to do so.

Sharing and reciprocity

Even though drugs were reportedly shared to and with ‘everybody’, different norms regulated the exchange. The most important was the norm of reciprocity. Prisoners receiving drugs were expected to reciprocate, for instance by sharing the drugs they would smuggle in after a future home leave. Also, when prisoners shared their drugs, they typically shared with those prisoners who had a similar interest in and capability of obtaining drugs: ‘[One] helps those who are able to get drugs for themselves. In order to always have it. So it comes back to you’ (interview, Arne). To ‘always have’ drugs, prisoners shared with others who were equally able to procure drugs – if, importantly, they too were committed to sharing. The norm of reciprocity was widely adhered to and even taken for granted as the main principle regulating drug exchange in Kollen prison. A prisoner in his early 20s summarized it in the following line: ‘You have to give in order to get’ (interview, Ole).

However, the expectation of reciprocity was not one and the same in relation to the different sources of drug supply. Sahlins’ (1972) distinction between ‘generalized’ and ‘balanced’ reciprocity captures the difference between the reciprocity associated with drugs smuggled into prison and the one connected with prescription drugs ‘held back’ when they are administered. When drugs were smuggled in (after visits or leaves) and shared, such gifts did not seem to carry a specific expectation of reciprocal gifts. The basic principle in this type of ‘generalized’ reciprocity is the obligation to give back, but the issue of when, what and how much is vague (Sahlins, 1972). When OMT patients ‘held back’ their medications to share them with others, a somewhat more ‘economic’ and ‘balanced’ reciprocity was involved (Sahlins, 1972). Some of the more skilful OMT patients supplied other prisoners with a daily dose of buprenorphine. These prisoners risked sanctions such as isolation, police report and loss of benefits (including early release) if they were caught, and such risks were generally deemed worthy of compensation. There was no agreed upon or standard ‘price’ to reciprocate for a steady supply of buprenorphine, but most of the prisoners I interviewed would say that a packet of tobacco now and then would be expected. Considering the high price of tobacco (200 NOK/ about 35 USD a packet) and the limited amount of money prisoners could spend weekly (300 NOK/ about 50 USD if they did not have personal funds), such a reciprocal gift was not merely symbolic. Most often, a group of prisoners would buy a packet of tobacco together in return for a steady supply of buprenorphine, and then they would share their remaining tobacco between them.

Sharing and social relations

Being imprisoned has become part of the expected life trajectory for hard drug users in Norway (Lauritzen et al., 2012). Many of the prisoners in Kollen know each other from previous sentences or from the local drug scene, and many expect to see each other again after they are released. Several prisoners described how sharing of drugs had become an integrated part of social life in prison:

But I don’t know… Sometimes people end up together that just get along, like we do here at the living-unit. Here we’ve got lots of food, people are good at sharing it, good at, sort of, adjusting, you know? Then everybody pretty much gets along with everyone. That’s how it is. It’s just normal. It just becomes the normal thing. (interview, Tord)

Even though sharing would typically occur between prisoners of close affiliation, it was in no way limited to such relations. When drugs were smuggled in, most drug users obtained a share. Jacob explained how diverted buprenorphine from the OMT unit was distributed at the other wings:

Those who ‘hold back’, do they have friends or family that they take care off in here?

Yes, that’s how it works. But at the same time, most people get some. Most of those who want some, those who need it, they receive. But of course, it’s done in the proper order. (interview, Jacob)

During the interview, Jacob goes on to explain that a prisoner’s position in the hierarchy does matter. Prisoners with a higher standing in the prisoner community would be ‘first in line’. Still, the most striking feature of the ‘culture of sharing’ is its inclusiveness. As long as prisoners contribute by reciprocating for the drugs they receive, they are part of the sharing culture.

Sharing and sanctions

The consequences of refusing to share were a recurrent theme in interviews and informal conversations during the fieldwork. Interestingly, most prisoners claimed such incidents to be very rare:

Yes, it can lead to conflicts. People get envious, jealous, you know. So that, if … I get some but not the bloke right next to me, you know, and stuff like that… it’s stuff like that that can cause trouble. But I haven’t seen much of that when I’ve been inside. (interview, Knut)

Most of the prisoners I interviewed denied witnessing violent retribution against prisoners who refused to share, smuggle or ‘hustle’ drugs, but some of them talked about pressures to conform. For instance, most prisoners would deny that prisoners in OMT would be beaten up for not ‘holding back’ their buprenorphine, but they reported that some were threatened to do so (see also Penfold et al., 2005). More often, however, the pressure to share, smuggle and ‘hustle’ drugs was experienced less like a threat but more like an obligation. A prisoner in the OMT programme, who was regarded by other prisoners as the most skilful ‘hustler’ of buprenorphine in Kollen, reflected on his motives for hustling and sharing drugs:

It’s also a kind of duty. Do you understand what I mean? […] That people expect you to do it because they would have, you know. […] Then it’s like that in this city of course, that most people know each other. […] So if somebody gets back from leave, who has brought some without sharing… he won’t last long in the unit, you know. (interview, Kjetil)

The quote above illustrates how the obligation to share is backed up by sanctions. These sanctions could be violence or threats of violence, but they seem more often to involve exclusions, humiliations or loss of trust. Similar obligations arise when prisoners are granted home leave. ‘Everyone’ will know when a prisoner is granted leave, and they are usually expected to bring drugs back to the wing. If a prisoner on leave is not in a position to do so, other prisoners will ‘help him to go out’ (interview, Rune) by setting up arrangements with their friends and contacts outside of prison. Prisoners are expected to contribute to the drug traffic, and those who refuse are more likely to be seen as untrustworthy. Thus, the ‘culture of sharing’ involves several demands on prisoners’ behaviour. In short, prisoners should share when they have, accept when they are offered and smuggle and ‘hustle’ if they can.

Sharing and OMT

Participants in this study did not profess to know exactly how much of the buprenorphine available in prison came from diversion from the OMT programme compared to from importation after leaves or visits, but it was considered to be a substantial amount. Furthermore, as buprenorphine was dispensed every day, the supply was reported to be very stable during the time of my study. According to several research participants, the stable supply of buprenorphine from the OMT programme had resulted in less importation of drugs after leaves or visits: ‘we are spared from importing so much’ (interview, Jacob). Prisoners who otherwise would have imported drugs did not now need to because they could obtain what they wanted from the prison-based OMT programme. Thus, the diversion from the OMT programme had two important and interrelated effects on the drug market in Kollen prison. It superseded importation as the main form of supply, and consequently, it limited the supply of other kinds of drugs.

Although welcomed by many, the extensive diversion of buprenorphine was also contested among some of the participants in this study. Prisoners who favoured other kinds of drugs (for instance cannabis) lamented the dominance of buprenorphine. Others were concerned over buprenorphine initiation in prison. Some of the prisoners I came to know had used opioids for the first time during imprisonment due to the availability of buprenorphine, and several knew others with the same experience: ‘Three–four people that I know well. Who just continued when they got out. […] It’s… it’s sort of bad when they leave here everything is all right except that they’re hooked on Subutex’ (interview, Hogne). Yet again others raised concerns about the risk of infections, due to the sublingual administration of buprenorphine tablets in the OMT programme:

It’s not good. It’s a big problem you know. And I keep telling the young people who still haven’t got very many diseases: ‘I can’t understand why you’re doing this, that you have the nerve! Don’t you know how much contagious stuff could be in that?’ But of course they don’t listen to that. (Jacob, fieldnote)

For the majority of the drug using participants in this study, however, the diversion of buprenorphine from the OMT programme held considerable desirable effects. It made possible an extensive drug distribution at and between wings, providing many heavy drug users the necessary dosage to mitigate withdrawal symptoms and get ‘high’. Furthermore, the drug distribution tied to diversion from the OMT programme was considered a collective effort, where prisoners co-operated in an exciting struggle to keep drugs flowing without the staff members knowing.

Discussion

Even though most imprisoned drug users are dealers on the outside (i.e. when they are not incarcerated), the analysis presented above shows that these prisoners did not ‘deal’ drugs in prison. Some prisoners reported that friends share drugs outside of prison as well, but most prisoners made a clear distinction between the sharing practices in prison and the ‘market’-based principles of exchange outside of prison.⁴ Having presented evidence for the phenomenon of the prison sharing culture, it remains to ask a central question arising from the data: why exactly is sharing, rather than dealing, the dominant form of exchange in this prison? Mauss’ (1990) theories of gift exchanges can be helpful to understand the ‘culture of sharing’ in this Norwegian prison.

Mauss’ (1990: 3) claim that the central feature of gift-giving is its apparently free and disinterested form, ‘when really there is obligation and economic self-interest’, is highly relevant to understanding the ‘culture of sharing’. Prisoners share their drugs not only because they care for others, but also out of self-interest. Drug use is strongly discouraged in Norwegian prisons through the use of sniffer dogs, daily cell inspections, MDTs and body searches, and prisoners would rarely risk smuggling and storing large quantities of drugs. As a rule they smuggled and stored smaller quantities. By sharing the drugs they obtained the prisoners reduced the risk of being caught with possession of drugs. It also reduced the risk of detection caused by informing, because ‘everybody’ benefitted from the drug trade (see also Crewe, 2009). Furthermore, sharing represented a very effective strategy to get high as often as possible, because the established norms of reciprocity were largely adhered to. On this background the reciprocity involved in this continual gift-giving can be seen as an ‘invisible hand’, regulating the exchange of drugs in this prison (Douglas, 1990).

As described above, the reciprocity involved when OMT patients ‘held back’ their buprenorphine was of a somewhat more ‘economic’ character (Sahlins, 1972). This can be related to the OMT patients’ favourable market position as suppliers of a drug in great demand. However, the costs of obtaining ‘buprenorphine’ were affordable to most prisoners and by no means as high as in the prison Crewe (2009) studied. The low ‘price’ for buprenorphine in Kollen prison may partly be explained by egalitarian norms. For instance, several prisoners highlighted the limitations of tobacco as ‘currency’. Nicotine addiction is widespread among prisoners, and out of respect for the need for tobacco, the ‘price’ for buprenorphine was kept manageable. The threat of being informed upon further impacted the ‘price’ OMT patients could expect for their buprenorphine. The higher the ‘price’ the OMT patients would demand for their medication, the greater the risk that prisoners who felt exploited would inform on them. Informing is seen as highly illegitimate, but it certainly seems to occur (see also Ugelvik, 2011). Egalitarian norms, either in the form of respect for fellow prisoners’ nicotine addiction or in the form of sanctions for greedy behaviour, clearly had a moderating effect on the ‘price’ on buprenorphine in Kollen.

Nevertheless, one cannot fully understand either the low ‘price’ for buprenorphine or the sharing culture without considering the effects of the extensive diversion from the OMT programme on the drug market in Kollen prison. The combination of a rich supply of buprenorphine and the lack of costs associated with obtaining it, created a market situation in favour of sharing. The OMT patients received their medication for free, and every day, and they therefore considered it unfair to put a particular price on what they conceived of as a ‘consumable good’. Thus, the opportunity to share was greatly enhanced due to the extensive supply of diverted buprenorphine from the OMT programme.

Another important explanation for the ‘culture of sharing’ is the close social ties between prisoners in rather similar life situations. Many prisoners knew each other from outside prison. The fact that many prisoners were friends certainly affected their decisions to share. This is also a main explanation for the sharing practices described in other prison studies (Cope, 2000; Penfold et al., 2005; Taylor et al., 2006) and in studies of sharing cultures outside prison (Belackova and Vaccaro, 2013; Bourgois and Schonberg, 2009; Dwyer, 2011; Havnes et al., 2013). But how should we explain that drugs were shared also with prisoners of less close affiliation? According to Mauss (1990), gift-giving not only depends upon established social relations between the parties involved, it may also produce and promote such relationships. This insight is crucial in understanding the inclusive sharing practices in Kollen. The architectural design of the prison (small living-units and separate wings with relatively few prisoners) fostered a great deal of interaction and sociality. Over time, spatial proximity on the background of shared living conditions led to social proximity and a generally inclusive attitude. Drugs were thus also shared between prisoners who were less closely affiliated because they established social relations during daily interactions in a confined space. Sharing drugs constitutes a bond between the donor and the recipient (Mauss, 1990), strengthening these relationships. The result was a strong and effective ‘culture of sharing’ in which both drug use and drug exchanges were deeply embedded in the relationships that made up social life in prison.

The importance of social relations may also help explain why so few had experienced situations where prisoners had refused to share, smuggle or ‘hustle’ drugs. By accepting offers of drugs, and by later reciprocating such gifts, prisoners accrued respect and became part of a community (see also Bullock, 2003: 34). The ‘culture of sharing’ was continually reinforced because drug users came to depend upon each other to obtain drugs. Not to share would jeopardize the community and the social relations that made imprisonment bearable. For most prisoners it would not be worth the price. Although the fear of other sanctions, such as overt pressure, violence or threats of violence, certainly may help explain why so few prisoners refused to share, the fear of being excluded from a community seemed nonetheless to be the most decisive factor.

Conclusion

The available literature describes the prison drug economy as mainly following market-based principles of exchange (Crewe, 2009; Penfold et al., 2005). The analysis above has reported a different finding: drugs are shared, not sold. Revisiting classic anthropological theories of exchange, I have argued that sharing may be analysed as continuous gift-giving, governed by the obligation to reciprocate (Mauss, 1990; Sahlins, 1972). The gift perspective allows us to see how sharing is shaped by care, compassion and solidarity, while it simultaneously emphasizes the self-interest embedded in such drug exchanges. Many prisoners try to maintain a stable supply of drugs during their incarceration, and this is especially true for buprenorphine, as the withdrawal symptoms can be severe with occasional use. In a prison with strict drug controls that limit opportunities for smuggling and storing larger quantities of drugs, sharing represents a very effective strategy to get ‘high’ as often as possible. The commitment to reciprocate drug gifts is what makes the ‘culture of sharing’ effective; the more drugs one gives away, the more drugs one can expect in return. Consistent with Mauss’ (1990) work, we have seen how a ‘culture of sharing’ produces social relations, community and solidarity. This community, united in opposition to prison officers and the prison ‘system’, serves as a collective defence against the ‘pains of imprisonment’ experienced by stigmatized, marginalized and victimized drug users in prison (Sykes, 1958). It fosters co-operation and loyalty, provides excitement and pleasure and, importantly, involvement in the ‘culture of sharing’ kills time. However, this community is maintained through powerful social controls, and deviations from accepted norms of conduct (such as not sharing) are sanctioned in a variety of ways, including exclusion, humiliation, loss of trust, threats, pressure and violence. These social controls help to explain why the ‘culture of sharing’ is so strong in this prison: it offers community and access to drugs by members of the community in a form of exchange that is illegal and oppositional, yet communal and moral (sharing as an acknowledged positive principle of distribution).

The extensive diversion of buprenorphine from the OMT programme had a big impact on the drug market in Kollen prison. It resulted in increased availability of buprenorphine, and thereby also increased use of the drug (Stöver et al., 2008). Furthermore, the stable supply of diverted buprenorphine obtained without any costs helped bring about an organized and far-reaching sharing culture of drugs. This benefitted heavy drug users who experienced that snorting small amounts of buprenorphine mitigated withdrawal symptoms and helped them to cope better with imprisonment and its related stress (see also Penfold et al., 2005). On the other hand, this study documents that the widespread availability and sharing of buprenorphine also lead to increased opioid initiation. This, as well as other consequences of the extensive diversion of buprenorphine, has important policy implications that need to be discussed in detail elsewhere (see Yokell et al., 2011 for an informed discussion of policy implications of diversion of buprenorphine from community-based OMT). A discussion of policy implications would greatly benefit from further research into the extent of buprenorphine diversion in prisons and its consequences.

Recently, Pratt (2008) and Pratt and Eriksson (2011) have argued for the exceptional character of Nordic prison policy. They maintain that ‘the highly egalitarian cultural values and social structures of these societies’ (Pratt, 2008: 120, emphasis in the original) explain their comparatively low levels of imprisonment and humane prison conditions. Is the ‘culture of sharing’ a product of such exceptional and egalitarian penal policies? Unquestionably, the ‘exceptional’ material conditions of Kollen prison, such as the prison design with living units that promote socializing among prisoners in rather small wings, were of great importance for the sharing practices of drugs. However, the culture of sharing could not be reduced to simply being an effect of such ‘exceptional’ prison conditions. In order to understand the ‘culture of sharing’, it is essential to identify the important features of the social context in which it occurred (Dwyer and Moore, 2010). In Kollen prison, the close social ties between prisoners, the absence of money, the ‘free’ and daily supply of diverted buprenorphine from the OMT programme, and communitarian social norms were such particularly important features. Rather than looking for national or regional explanations (for a related critique of the ‘exceptionalism thesis’, see Ugelvik and Dullum (2012)), attention to such local conditions and contexts seems to be more important in determining the forms of drug exchange in prisons.

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Ingrid Rindal Lundeberg, Hans-Tore Hansen, Even Nilssen, Sveinung Sandberg, Susanne Bygnes, Nicole Due-Tønnessen, Christoforos Lazaridis, participants at research seminars at Uni Rokkan Centre, University of Bergen and University of Aarhus, as well as the two anonymous referees for valuable comments on earlier drafts of this article.

Funding

The research for this paper was financially supported by The Research Council of Norway, grant no. 202466.

Notes

Kristian Mjåland is a PhD-candidate in Sociology at Uni Research Rokkan Centre and the University of Bergen. He has studied in Bergen and Berkeley, and has been a visiting researcher at the University of Aarhus, Denmark. His research interests are primarily in illegal drugs, punishment, drug treatment and offender rehabilitation.

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