Honour and respect in Danish prisons: Contesting ‘cognitive distortions’ in cognitive-behavioural programmes

Abstract

Using empirical data from prison-based cognitive-behavioural programmes, this article considers how prisoners’ subcultural capital shapes their responses to demands for ‘cognitive self-change’. We argue that accounts of ‘respect’ in the prior literature fail to capture how prisoners react to these programmes, and that a discussion of honour (and what we term ‘respect plus’) needs to be incorporated. The empirical material derives from four different cognitive-behavioural programme setups in three Danish prisons and semi-structured interviews with participants and course instructors. By attempting to create accountable and rational actors, who ‘self-manage’, the therapeutic ethos neglects participants’ life experiences and subcultural capital. Open expressions of moral values by prisoners (such as displays of honour and respect) are considered to be cognitive distortions which are dismissed by instructors, while alternative and ‘correct’ thinking styles are prescribed. Our findings advance understandings of the meanings of honour and respect in prisons in general and in cognitive-behavioural programmes in particular.

Keywords

cognitive-behavioural programmes honour prisons respect subcultural capital

Introduction

Denmark has one of the world's strongest welfarist profiles. In the sphere of penology, this translates to an emphasis on rehabilitation, normalisation, low incarceration rates and humane prison regimes – a clear example of what Pratt (2008) terms ‘Scandinavian exceptionalism’. However, Denmark was not immune to the so-called punitive turn that emerged in the 1990s which resulted in longer sentences for violent crimes and ‘tough on crime’ rhetoric (Balvig, 2005; Smith, 2015). This shift has not rejected, but instead merged with the older, rehabilitative ideals, fusing punitiveness and penal-welfarism. This combination creates complex demands for the professionals in prison as well as the prisoners on the receiving end of these changes. More broadly, the changes in the penal field are related to ideological shifts in the Danish welfare state across a wide array of otherwise diverse fields, such as young offender institutions, unemployment policies and cognitive-behavioural programmes (hereafter CBPs) in schools and kindergartens (Jensen and Prieur, 2015: 1).

In the context of these concerns, this article shows how prisoners’ distinctive relationships to subcultural capital, masculinity and respect, all intersect and often undermine the programming goals of the Danish Prison and Probation Service. In a penal context which is internationally renowned for its ‘uniform’ culture, where prisoners, officers and citizens share similar forms of social capital, these results may seem surprising. However, Denmark is an example of how Anglophone penal policies are translated, negotiated and transformed in a penal-welfare paradigm. The seemingly contradictory ideologies of welfare and risk are now operating simultaneously in a ‘late-modern hybrid’ in an unanticipated manner (Kolind et al., 2015: 316). We can observe, for example, how CBPs and risk assessment tools (such as the Risk-Need-Responsivity instrument, Andrews and Bonta, 2010) originally developed for an Anglophone prison system are implemented in the Danish system and transform penal practices, prisons and relationships between officers and prisoners (Laursen, forthcoming). This article thus reveals a fair amount of cultural resonance (despite the obvious differences in sheer size and breadth of the penal regimes) between Anglophone prison research and the current state of Danish prisons. We draw on Anglophone research (such as Crewe, 2009; Fox, 1999, 2000) both due to the usefulness of these studies and for a more pragmatic reason; hardly any Scandinavian research has been done on CBPs.

Taking inspiration from penal developments in Canada (Philip, 1996; Smith, 2006), the Danish Prison Service bought and implemented CBPs in 1994: currently, seven programmes are available across the Prison and Probation service. The programmes were selected because of their promise to reduce recidivism and improve the prisoners’ social and interpersonal skills. The Canadian programme developers (Ross and Fabiano, 1985) claim that ‘offenders’ are more likely to be impulsive, egocentric, rigid in their views, and poor at problem-solving, perspective taking and critical reasoning. The CBPs focus on individual responsibility and expect participants to set their own standards for appropriate conduct through self-reflective analysis of their own thoughts and behaviours (Sjöberg and Windfeldt, 2008: 39).

We argue that respect, honour and dignity¹ are all important and defining values for prisoners which are overlooked by these programmes. Arguably, these principles orientate the daily lives of prisoners as much as the mundane control of movement, activities and time. These values are also seen when prisoners engage in ‘self-change’ in CBPs. However, the sociology of imprisonment has not thoroughly discussed the meanings of these values in contemporary prisons. Important exceptions notwithstanding (see Butler and Drake, 2007; Hulley et al., 2011), respect in prison has not been examined in depth, especially in relation to prison-based CBPs.

To analyse the meanings of these concepts in CBPs, we introduce the work of Pierre Bourdieu (1990) and theoretical developments of it by Philippe Bourgois (2003), Sune Qvotrup Jensen (2006) and Sveinung Sandberg (2008). Specifically, we draw on Bourdieu's concepts of cultural, financial and social capital which is condensed into ‘symbolic capital’. Symbolic capital emerges through recognition in so-called fields,² which are the relatively autonomous microcosms characterised by ‘a structure of probabilities – of rewards, gains, profits, and sanctions’ (Bourdieu and Wacquant, 2006: 18).

In Distinction (1979/1984) Bourdieu demonstrates how taste and style preferences relating to cultural capital differ depending on social position or class. Such preferences reproduce social hierarchies on the basis of differences in social agents’ ability to master the codes of the ‘legitimate’ culture. Hence, you cannot simply ‘choose’ to reject the criteria for what counts as cultural capital. The prisoners in the CBPs have difficulties obtaining symbolic capital from mainstream society because of their relative marginalisation from educational fields, mainstream culture and job markets. In order to analyse the implications of this marginalisation, we draw on a particular theorisation of subculture³ (Jensen, 2006: 262), concerning ‘how people in underprivileged social positions create culture when attempting to resolve, handle, work through or “answer” shared problems’. Overall then, the concept of subcultural capital sheds light on the participants’ struggles for the right to recognition or respect. We will analyse how notions of respect and honour are invoked in CBPs as attempts to restore dignity and increase or maintain subcultural capital in prison.

Subcultural capital, masculinity and respect

Three main theoretical concepts are relevant to the analysis of this article: subcultural capital (in the Bourdieusian sense), masculinity and respect. The scholarship on meanings of masculinity in prison can be separated into two main fields, namely how masculinities are learned and imported from the street culture into the prison (Haney, 2011; Irwing and Cressey, 1962; Jewkes, 2005) or how the deprivations, restrictive nature of imprisonment and the ‘pains of imprisonment’ shape prison masculinities (Bosworth and Carrabine, 2001; Crewe, 2009; Sykes, 1958). Our study adopts a mixture of these approaches, arguing that prisoners do ‘import’ street-based notions of proper masculinity while we emphasise that meanings of masculinity are inseparable from the social context and culture of the prison. This resonates with Ricciardelli et al. (2015: 501) who argue that ‘agency, cultural norms and structure interact to produce hegemonic masculinity and penal hierarchies’. The authors further claim that ‘prison masculinities are temporal, malleable and partially contingent on local prison environments’ (2015: 493) and that prisoners perform masculinity in light of perceived physical risk which simultaneously shapes their masculinity by fostering an ultra-masculine self-representation. Importantly for the present study, the authors argue that such ‘antagonistic, precarious and risk-prone’ prison environments shape prisoners behaviours and the constitution of ‘normative’ and hegemonic (Connell, 2005; 37) masculinity in complex ways. If penal risk and prison masculinities are understood as mutually constitutive (perceptions of risk shape prisoners masculine embodiment), then we can better understand the objections and resistance from the prisoners in CBPs. The meanings of subcultural capital, masculinity and respect must be understood in the context of imprisonment. Prison is not a social vacuum, but on the contrary, filled with demands from officers and other prisoners which results in objections towards the subordinating, emasculating and ominous experience of imprisonment. As argued by Craig Haney (who partook in the classic Stanford Prison Experiment, see Haney and Zimbardo, 1998):

prison is itself a powerful social context that can have destructive, even criminogenic, consequences on the persons confined there. The failure to fully appreciate these negative effects is one of the unfortunate legacies of psychological individualism and the belief that, just as they would be in the freeworld, prisoners are fully autonomous free agents who are largely impervious to their surroundings. (2006: 161)

Furthermore, we adopt the frameworks of subcultural theory and street-based cultural capital in order to explain the meanings of ‘subcultural’ virtues which are re-enacted in prison. Respect, masculinity and social capital have been discussed separately but not so often in an integrated manner. Phillippe Bourgois’ study of Puerto Rican crack dealers explores the intersections of respect, masculinity and capital to show how street culture ‘offers an alternative forum for personal dignity’ (2003: 8). Street capital can be defined as the knowledge, competence, skills, acquisitions and objects given value in a street culture. For instance, it is important that one walks a careful tightrope – not being too soft, nor too violent – to obtain such street capital. Bourgois also explored the relationship between interpersonal violence and masculine struggles for dignity which play out on both street level and in the family and in the interaction between personality and social structure in the construction of masculine subjectivities (Bourgois, 2003).

A further development of subcultural theory (Jensen, 2006), based on a study of young ethnic minorities in a street-based subculture, argues that lack of recognition from mainstream society drives young people to act in solidarity with one another. In response to being overlooked, young people adhere to certain forms of street capital that eventually comes to be seen as more valuable than the mainstream cultural capital. Jensen argues that street capital is essentially a process where the lack of economic, cultural or symbolic capital is translated to another form of ‘legitimate capital’ that provides a sense of (self) worth. Street capital can thus be understood as a struggle ‘for dignity, a battle fought for the right to be somebody in the social world’ (Jensen, 2006: 270; see also Henriksen and Miller, 2012). However, these traits are not always deemed as attractive outside of the specific field, which means that particular forms of masculinity and behaviours (e.g. physically defending oneself after being slights and insults, or a reputation for toughness) are not necessarily seen as valuable in wider society.

Sveinung Sandbergs’ (2008, 2009) discussion of respect and cultural capital based on an ethnographic study of a street drug scene in Norway is also insightful here. Sandberg argues that the embodied street capital or habitus⁴ of the ethnic minority drug dealers gave respect, power and status in the social context. While violence has previously been analysed as a way for marginalised men to search for respect (Anderson, 1999; Bourgois, 2003; Vigil, 2002) it is important to recognise that the ‘narrative strategy’ of constructing a violent persona is as integral as the violence itself (Sandberg, 2008). The theoretical work of Bourdieu and the above-mentioned authors, further develop the connections between subcultural theory, masculinity and street capital, which will guide our theoretical orientation here as well as our analytical framework. The idea of subcultural capital enables us to better understand meanings of respect, honour and dignity in CBPs and in the broader context of the prison.

Characteristics of CBPs in Denmark

The current iteration of rehabilitation shares the neoclassic understanding of crime as a problem of a lack of discipline, social and self-control (Garland, 2001). This approach has produced a range of theories of risk management and actuarial assessment which represent a major paradigm and has transformed punishment and reform (e.g. Feeley and Simon, 1992; O'Malley, 2004). However, while such theorisations of risk and rehabilitation are useful, the Scandinavian context is markedly different from the Anglophone setting, which fuels the need for a closer examination of the Danish implementation of cognitive-behavioural programmes. In Denmark, notions of risk are fused with a more normative appeal to ‘normal conduct’ and an array of demands are placed on the prisoners (especially, their ‘self’ concept), that is not solely related to risk and sentence progression. This being said, the penal system has been inspired by the Anglophone prison systems since the middle of the 20th century and the CBPs are a striking example of the importation of penal values and policies which have blended with and transformed the Danish penal-welfarist system. CBPs flourished in the context of the so-called ‘what works’ movement, which created a renewed faith in evidence-based programmes and departed from the now infamous 1970s claim that ‘nothing’ works (Martinson, 1974). The Cognitive Skills programme (Ross and Fabiano, 1985) was imported from Canada and implemented in Denmark in 1994 (Jørgensen, 1999). The current version of the programme portfolio holds seven specialised programmes such as Anger Management, which was imported from the UK and implemented in Denmark in 2000. To date, 514 people per year go through the CBPs (Unpublished Annual Report, 2013), while there are 3784 people in the penal estate and about 8000 people on probation/under surveillance in the community⁵ in Denmark.

The programmes have been subjected to large-scale quantitative evaluations where the focus is primarily on the programmes' ability to reduce the participating offenders' recidivism (see for example Lipsey et al., 2007; Porporino et al., 1991; Tong and Farrington, 2006). The results of these large-scale evaluations are mixed. Falshaw et al. (2003) found no difference between the sample and the control group while Tong and Farrington (2006) point to a 14% overall decrease in recidivism for programme participants in their meta-analysis. While decreases are desirable, the narrow focus on recidivism scores alone, without a consideration of broader forces (e.g. the role of race, gender and class, see Shaw and Hannah-Moffat, 2011: 95) risks obscuring important trends within the data. Importantly, these data cannot reveal anything meaningful about how the CBPs are actually experienced by prisoners.⁶

The broad aim of CBPs is to transform so-called criminogenic thinking of offenders while also teaching social and cognitive skills (Tong and Farrington, 2006). The content of the programmes is ideologically rigid and demanding. The role-plays used are often rooted in rational-choice models, which assume that actors are unconstrained by, or resistant to, the kinds of pressures that dominate the (street) cultures in which the participants return – or, we may add, the ‘prison culture’ (see also Crewe, 2009; Nilsson, 2013). This creates ‘pressure[s] to maintain “face” and “reputation”, not to back down in the face of provocation, and never to appear passive’ (Crewe, 2009: 134). This article will depart in precisely these directions through an analysis of the participants’ orientation towards subcultural conceptions of honour, respect and dignity, but first we will present the empirical foundation of the analysis.

The study

The methodological approach for this study is ethnographic, suitable for producing in-depth knowledge of meaning making and lived experience (Hastrup, 2004). The first author conducted semi-ethnographic fieldwork (Stevens, 2012) and 11 qualitative semi-structured interviews in three Danish prisons: two closed (maximum security) and one open (minimum security) prison.⁷ The fieldwork consisted of observation over a period of two years (2013, 2014) and ‘reserved participation’ in one Cognitive Skills Program (comprised of 38 two-hour lessons) and three different Anger Management (comprised of 8 two-hour lessons) programmes. Furthermore, the first author conducted participant observation in a training course for new instructors, and supervision and meetings for instructors (from 2013 to 2015). A total of around 400 hours of semi-ethnographic observation was completed in the CBPs in prisons and in the training, supervision and meetings of the instructors. Audio recordings were not used during the programmes, but extensive field notes (Sanjek, 1990) were taken during the participation in the four programmes. This task was made easier due to the relatively passive role of the researcher in this setting. In practice, the first author sat quietly at a table and wrote field notes filled with quotes from participants and instructors plus more observational notes from the role-plays, exercises and conversations.

The empirical material is supplemented with notes from informal conversations with a number of other cognitive-behavioural instructors during participant observation of the education of new cognitive-behavioural instructors. The education of new instructors involved lectures delivered by programme consultants from the Danish Prison Service and practical exercises in which the instructors discussed their experiences with programme delivery in different prisons. The first author also participated in three annual national meetings for CBP instructors, in which she took part in supervision, lectures and informal conversations about the aims and content of the programmes. All of the data (originally in Danish) have been translated to English.

The interview material is comprised of 11 open-ended, semi-structured interviews with participants, instructors and one programme consultant: all interviews lasted between 1 and 3 hours. Four single and two focus group interviews with the participating prisoners were conducted in either the classroom or a small room elsewhere in the prison. Four interviews with the instructors and one interview with a programme consultant were undertaken after the fieldwork. The semi-structured interviews covered various themes including: the participants’ own perception of violence; their understanding of the aims of the programme; their own perceptions of their criminality; and their perceptions of values such as respect, honour and dignity. The themes in the interviews with the professionals consisted of the participant selection process, teaching style, the content of the programme, and their understanding of programme goals, the demands placed on instructors, the theoretical and practical foundation of the programmes and the training and supervision of instructors. The interviews were all recorded and transcribed verbatim and then analysed in line with ‘adaptive theory’, in which themes are determined both by prior theory and literature and by emergent data (Layder, 1998).

The observed programmes were group based and constituted of 4–6 participants. Out of 24 participants in total, 13 have non-Danish backgrounds. The participants were all male and between 18 and 50 years old with a skew towards younger participants (41% were between 18 and 25 years of age). The participants have various experiences with the educational system and a ‘portfolio’ of income possibilities (Bottoms et al., 2004: 378); a few owned their own companies, most had limited education (the Danish equivalent to High School or less), many were unemployed before imprisonment and some were employed in various low-skilled and non-permanent jobs. The participants’ marginalised positions in the job market are consistent with other Danish scholars’ findings – namely that many ethnic minority youth have few or no experiences in high-skilled, steady employment which can be partly explained by the discrepancy between the demand for low-skilled jobs and the actual supply of such jobs. According to labour market statistics, there was a surplus of 11,003 low-skilled workers in relation to the amounts of jobs available in the greater area of Copenhagen; this number is expected to rise to 24,462 in 2020 (Beskæftigelsesregion et al., 2011: 5). Furthermore, the participants are often discriminated against while trying to secure an internship or a job (Slot, 2011) either due to their ethnic background and/or their criminal records (Olesen, 2013).

The instructors are prison officers who have been trained in a two-week course to become cognitive-behavioural facilitators in the various programmes. The teaching and ongoing supervision of the instructors is carried out by the Danish Prison Service's educational centre (Sjöberg and Windfeldt, 2008). The instructors place themselves discursively in a humanitarian regime as the (only) ones in the prison who genuinely want to help the prisoners. The practices, sentiments and self-identification of the instructors are valuable and serve to illustrate the fluctuating nature of the Danish prison system (Kolind et al., 2015) but are discussed elsewhere (Laursen, forthcoming). For present purposes, it is sufficient to argue that participants’ understanding of ‘accountability’ and ‘rationality’ was filtered through cultural norms and valuations that were starkly different from the instructors. These differences in social and cultural capital created friction between instructors and participants, highlighting the way in which street capital is undervalued in an individualised, neoliberal rehabilitation programme.

‘Respect plus’

I am just saying; there has to be respect, without respect – forget it! You cannot walk on the street without showing respect. Being well-mannered is also to be respectful; you can define it in a lot of different ways. If you cannot be respectful, then you have to learn to shut the fuck up, because this is a prison which means that I haven't got any freedom. (Nadim⁸)

Understanding the importance of respect in prison helps us to dissect and examine some of the dynamics and hostilities that arise during CBPs. As suggested by the prisoner above, respect can be defined in various ways, and it is our contention here that the term ‘respect’ in prison covers a wide repertoire of interactions, ranging from daily greetings and cordial acknowledgements to the presence or absence of what Darwall (1977) terms ‘appraisal respect’. The latter is ‘when we speak of someone as meriting or deserving…our positive appraisal on the appropriate grounds’ (p. 39). We feel that – mainly because of the well-documented pains and status-depriving elements of imprisonment (Crewe, 2011; Sykes, 1958) – prisoners become acutely sensitive to displays of disrespect towards the self, to such a degree that the line between respect and honour appears to blur. It is in this vein that one prisoner explained: ‘If someone challenges me and there are 10 of them, then I have to fight! I have to, I have to. I have it in me; I have that kind of honour’. As argued by others before us (Kalkan, 2014; Sandberg, 2008), there is a difference between honourable and unacceptable violence. This subcultural distinction is exemplified by Kasper in a focus-group interview in which he contemplates on whether he should enter another programme aimed at preventing interpersonal violence:

Kasper: The problem is that Dialogue against Violence is of no use for me; because that requires that I would have beaten my brother, my mother, my father or my grandparents- it is for violence against your loved ones!

JL: Yes, or your girlfriend or wife?

Kasper: Yes. But I told him; listen up - I would never even dream about hurting someone I care about! […] people who are not imprisoned are people who typically are violent towards their wives or girlfriends and that is a total taboo where I come from! You simply just don't do that! […] I doubt that any construction sites would put up with their boss saying: ‘yeah, man I just beat up the wife yesterday, she was all bruised up – did you see it?’ No one wants to put up with that!

Here Kasper invokes a certain subcultural norm of demonising violence against women which in this milieu is a taboo. Similarly, Michael, who has been in prison for over 14 years, describes how he has come to think of violence as a last resort. However, he argues that one must balance between being ready to display violence while also being sociable and calm:

Well, in here people talk more about violence than they actually practice it. But there used to be violence all the time when I was sitting in a high-security prison […] However, people prefer to hang out with a nice and calm person rather than someone who is constantly looking for trouble. I have had more success in being quiet and calm and letting people talk to you while being careful not to let them get too close. Still, in my opinion it is a sign of weakness if you don't do something when someone challenges or slights you, but… I am older now; I don't want to hurt anyone unless they hurt me first.

Even if you aspire to non-violent conflict resolution, it can be difficult to walk the tightrope between avoiding conflict while simultaneously not being perceived as weak (see also Crewe, 2011). Samir describes this ambivalence in the story of how he was beaten up by fellow prisoners because of his (dishonourable) type of crime⁹:

If someone comes over and starts to talk to me then I prepare myself for a battle, I am ready to fight because I have been attacked once already in the prison yard. Why do they even care? I mean they wouldn't even dare to show their faces to me on the outside – don't they know who I am? I am a man who is loved by everyone, one that is respected and someone no one would steal from!

Samir feels disrespected by his fellow prisoners who do not seem to appreciate the image he has of himself as a likeable, and maybe even feared, man outside of the prison. His fellow prisoners on the other hand seem to agree that he has transgressed a prisoner or subcultural ‘code’ of proper conduct and they continuously confront him with this. The following statement from an interview with Nadim is a further example of how important it is to maintain your reputation in prison – he even takes advantage of the architectural design:

Listen, if three people are approaching me and start to boss me around, I cannot just ignore that – I would make a complete fool out of myself! I would yell at them; you black pig or something like that, come on man! And everybody would hear it across the prison yard and the different wings. I have friends and respect! I cannot just lose my respect and myself. What about the next time? Should they just be allowed to spit at me in the face or what?

Nadim strives to make sure that ‘everyone’ sees his repayment and reestablishment of respect. Bourdieu (1990) argues that a slight to one's honour can be understood as an occasion to actually display honourable behaviour by defending oneself in a proper manner like Nadim is striving towards. However, this only applies if the person who slighted one's honour is of equal value and thus as honourable as yourself. Both Nadim and Samir are preoccupied with defending their honour, but Samir does not seem to accept his opponents as equals and thus deserving of his retribution. It is also possible that he was afraid of getting involved in the conflict, but says that he does not want to fight for more noble reasons. However, in a prison where invisibility is hard to find, and the pressure to avoid seeming vulnerable is insurmountable, one ‘has’ to defend oneself (even if this is not desired). This precarious balance between minding your own business and standing up for yourself was often broached in the CBPs.

Indeed, frictions arose when the instructors set the terms and conditions of what constitutes ‘right’ behaviour and evidenced either a lack of understanding of, or unsympathetic attitudes towards, prisoners’ perspectives. For example, prisoners in one lesson explained that smoking marijuana could help induce calmness when one was angry, but the instructor interjected: ‘that's negative, we don't talk about that’. A similar form of ‘normative imperialism’ (Crewe, 2011: 516) or dismissive incredulity to subcultural norms was on display when prisoners explained that rap music (Tupac) could be used for relaxation, which was, again, deemed inappropriate by the course instructor. There is too often a seemingly insurmountable divide between the therapeutic worldview of the instructors and realities of life for prisoners:

Instructor: It is all about choices – you always have a choice! The knife will itch in your pocket if you go out carrying it – you have the power to make the right kind of choices, you have to think about your actions before you do something. It [the knife] is not just for self-defence!

Khazar: My childhood friend was stabbed and bled to death. It is a perfectly normal reaction – if somebody was stabbed, you bring a knife with you everywhere you go!

Instructor: Then don't go out at night!

Ismail: You have to stay away from “Strøget” [main shopping and night life street in Copenhagen] because if you're tagging along with four friends of foreign descent, looking good and looking to hook up with some ladies, then you'll be in trouble. Just stay at home and call the ladies instead.

Instructor: You're [Khazar] talking about extreme situations where knives are involved!

Khazar: No, it's not an extreme situation! People do stab each other for no good reason!

Instructor: That's a bad excuse, because I don't need a knife when I go out!

In the case above, Khazar tries to actively contest the narrative that is being advised but receives no validation. The instructor tries to convince the participants that violence or criminal conduct is always an individual choice and the participants, on the contrary, argue that crime and violence are embedded in social and structural contexts. The instructor refers to her own experiences of going out at night, but the participant in question refutes her middle-class, suburban understanding of the social context of his home environment. Tea Bengtsson, following Loïc Wacquant (2008), argues that young men's involvement in street fighting should be understood as neither a lack of normative restraint nor a deficient sense of morality, but an integrated part of life in advanced marginality (Bengtsson, 2012). While the programme manuals state that structural factors solely make people believe that their possibilities are limited, and which the programmes can help by restructuring the participants’ thoughts (Sjöberg and Windfeldt, 2008), this nod to social forces is underdeveloped. Put short, the programmes are often sociologically blind (Crewe, 2011) and thus positioned as universal, empowering tools to transcend issues of social structure and hierarchies (Perry, 2013: 533). We argue that the discrepancies between the instructors and the participants can be understood as a gap between the subcultural, street and prison-based valuations of respect and honour. Furthermore, we introduce the term ‘respect plus’ here as a way of conceptualising the fact that when prisoners talk of respect, they are often alluding to something more – that is, it seems to have a higher value judgement attached which may often align to ideas of honour.

Meanings of respect and honour in prison

In accordance with Jensen, Kalkan and Sandberg's arguments that street subcultures have a particular cultural capital, which includes sensitivity to slights to one's sense of honour or self-worth, we found that prisoners were upset by seemingly small or mundane incidents. The importance of standing your ground in prison, even against rather petty problems, cannot be underestimated (Crewe, 2009; Jewkes, 2005). This was exemplified by Kasper: ‘it's because I have such pride and I cannot handle if someone disrespects me – then I react immediately’. The participants explained that ‘condescending behaviour from people who think they are authorities’, ‘waiting for officers to come and escort me to the bathroom’, ‘being punished for other peoples actions’, ‘being ignored by the prison officers’, ‘people talking back to you’ and ‘if someone skips ahead of me in a queue’ upset them and fostered a desire to retaliate the disrespectful behaviour. This resonates with Crewe (2009), who argues that there is a highly strained culture of controlled but coiled aggression in prison causing prisoners to balk at minor issues. As one prisoner stated: ‘You are wearing a bulletproof vest in here; the prison is a base where you become a warrior. Everyone is the same in here. I do not want to respect anyone who doesn't deserve it’ (Nadim). The participants’ expectations of being ‘a real man’ is quite distinct from the programme instructors expectations towards gender roles and appropriate behaviour; a discrepancy which sheds light on moral conceptions of respect and honour.

Conceptions of masculinity are connected to understandings of anger in the programmes; the participants are often called the ‘anger-boys’ which could be seen as both an expression of ‘hyper-masculinity’ (see Jewkes, 2005), aggression and an infantalisation of the participants. The participants also invoke certain concepts such as self-defence, respect, loyalty, honesty, honour, family, trustworthiness, avoiding weakness or ‘snitching’ to define what they deem as ‘proper’ masculine virtues (see also Fox, 1999: 96). These ‘masculine virtues’ were fully on display when participants were asked to perform a role-play revolving around a potential fight scenario in a bar: they were told to respond to a situation where a man was staring and acting provocatively towards them. All of their solutions to the situation were coherent with their aim of ‘doing it the manly way’ (sending over a beer, ignoring him, brushing against him while going to the bar). In addition to the verbally expressed reactions, the participants were also asked to act out the situation: they displayed a heavy swagger, spread their shoulders and showed an ‘aggressive’ comportment displaying how physical prowess and potentiality are signifiers of power, dominance and manliness (Ricciardelli et al., 2015). These bodily inscriptions or street habits were deemed inappropriate and seen as aggressive or incorrect choices by the instructor. Staring, as in the scenario outlined above, often seems to be a catalyst to more or less violent confrontations (Sandberg, 2008; Vigil, 2002). Sandberg argues that it is important to respond to a hostile stare or similar slights without any fear of physical confrontation in a street culture where a reputation and a readiness for violence is an important asset. In the following account, Michael raises these issues:

Michael: It makes me explode if someone spits at me, repeatedly asks for cigarettes or if someone walks into me in the yard while we exercise - then I suddenly change […] in most cases the offence just happens so quickly and then you just explode without thinking. It comes down to either him or you. And you can overreact if you're not able to control your temper right? If you, let's say, become paranoid and think: I have to beat him completely because otherwise he'll just return. […] You can choose between two actions: fight or let him beat you, but the latter is not typical and then it becomes dangerous because you have to finish it off right?

JL: Because he'll continue to harass you if you don't finish it off?

Michael: Yeah well, I also think it really matters what the other prisoners think [if you don't do anything].

Michael's sentiments about the value of standing your ground, demanding respect and the fine balance between fighting and taking a beating highlight the challenges imbedded in imprisonment. This resonates strongly with the findings of Kalkan (2014) and Sandberg (2008) that showing readiness for violence is equally important to actually acting it out. In this regard, values like honour and respect are understood as ‘cognitive distortions’ in CBPs whereas the participants’ place these values above everything else.

Honourable men

Richard Sennett argues that ‘in places where resources are scarce and approval from the outside world is lacking social honour is fragile and needs to be asserted every day’ (Sennett, 2003: 34). We argue that the prison can be understood as such an environment. The following is an extract of a conversation in Anger Management in which a perceived slight to the participant Makin's honour is discussed. The participants are supposed to learn how to control their thoughts, so they will be able to control their actions:

Instructor: What could you do instead of resolving to violence if you were to use the before-during and after techniques?

Makin: Ridicule the other person.

Instructor: We don't agree on this one. Maybe he loses control if you ridicule the other person.

Makin: Cool!

Instructor: We are not supposed to think about instrumental violence, we should think about consequences. We don't want you to think criminal thoughts.

Makin: Well, we always do.

Instructor: You're choosing a negative behaviour, you're choosing to start a fight.

Makin: […] It's context dependent. If I don't have any power in my hands, here in prison in relations to the guards, I will try to gain some control of the situation by removing my pants in a slow manner during visitation. […] I am just saying that I do not like to subdue to someone that I don't want to surrender myself to.

Jesper: It's a matter of self-respect.

Makin is trying to judge how to handle a potential conflict in a way that is consistent with his own perceptions of self-respect, but the instructor deem his suggestions as ‘criminal thoughts’ and ‘instrumental violence’. The CBPs appear to operate in a social vacuum wherein only the individual's own thoughts are accounted for. Further, the CBPs fail to grasp the prisoners’ notions of respect and honour which could be understood as symptoms of the individualised, neoliberal ‘free agent’ approach used in these programmes (Smith, 2006). The broader context of social action is disregarded (or discredited) thus leaving the social reality and social context that prisoners face upon release as well as the social context that the prison environment provides out of the equation. Indeed, prisoners’ accounts are filled with other peoples’ (re)actions in the social context which underscores the need to understand the social context of the prison setting while discussing individual change. Nadim described how he experienced being threatened by fellow prisoners and his self-narrative is so closely intertwined with the image he wants to present to those who threaten him:

I have never experienced it before [being threatened by 10 fellow prisoners]. But I think they have to get their act together because I am in for attempted murder and I have been convicted many times for violence. I am a quiet person though, I keep to myself, but I do have a limit! People cannot just go about and threaten me [his voice is trembling now and his eyes fill up with tears]. If someone tries to punch me, I will have to fight them all in the prison yard! […] I am not saying that I am the best fighter in the world, but I am a really brave person; I have balls!

Nadim is interested in ‘saving face’ and maintaining an aggressive demeanour here, but his ‘tough’ outer appearance is fragmented by his emotional vulnerability and the variable tone of his voice, his tears and his sensitivity towards feeling genuinely threatened and misunderstood. Nadim is interested in defending his self-respect and honour, but according to the therapeutic ethos: ‘the fully mature adult prefers to react strategically and defend his interests rather than his honour. People who are likely to prefer their honour over their interests are deemed “emotionally incompetent”’ (Illouz, 2008: 84). The individual, like Nadim and many of his classmates in the CBPs, who place honour over neoliberal self-interest, is seen as belonging to a more traditional society. The participants are thus nudged into a self-change which is based upon a rational, calculating individual who opposes values like honour. This is somewhat ironic as the alleged discrepancy between rational choices and defence of honour is directly challenged by the participants: that is, they view defence of honour as the only rational choice to make. The quest for instrumental respect or honour should not be understood as ‘rational actor’ style motives, but more as having a ‘practical sense’, or what Bourdieu would call ‘a feel for the game’ (Bourdieu, 1990: 66). This reflects other empirical studies of street capital in which the informants conduct themselves in a way that is consistent with a ‘rational use of seemingly irrational violence’ (Sandberg, 2008: 127). In this way, violence (or readiness for violence) can be seen as practical, rational attempts to accumulate street capital. Thus, the participants actually do defend their self-interests even though it is perhaps not deemed as such by the instructors.

As argued by Haney (2006), problems in prison cannot be understood in a vacuum outside of the broader social fabric. Tensions and arguments are most often related to other prisoners or officers and come in the shape of threats, demands for proper masculinity, coercion, debts and peer pressure. The instructors struggle to define the participants’ problems as imbedded in their ‘thought processes’ while the participants clearly define their problems both within themselves but also as connected to the social culture of the prison. In the following example, the group is talking about how to handle peer pressure and the participants come up with many creative solutions:

Instructor: Maybe you could say: I don't want to participate, it feels unpleasant. I know that you want me to join in, but I don't want to.

Peter: Yes, be assertive and say: we are in prison, we don't know each other, so I am giving you a second chance. Then you breathe for a while and if he doesn't stop, it's his own fault that you jump him!

Instructor: What can you do if someone offends you?

Peter: There are a lot of things you can do; for instance you can insult them as well.

Samir: It also depends on who says what.

Nadim: You could laugh at him.

Samir: You explain it a bit wrong [looking at the instructor]. If someone talks to me in a bad manner, I will jump him! Everybody does that in here. I think that I would tell him to be polite.

Instructor: But what could you do?

Samir: You don't think so much about it, you just answer him in the same manner as he did. It's also related to peer-pressure; the other prisoners will think that you are a chicken if you don't react.

Instructor: So what?

Samir: Its uncomfortable, it's like being bullied.

Instructor: You have to replace certain thoughts like: ‘he is a chicken/he is an idiot’ and think about what to do instead.

Samir's answer – ‘you don't think so much about it’ – highlights the discrepancies between the social world of the prison and the aspirations of the CBPs. It also reveals the embodied habitus of the prisoners in which standing your ground and being brave is internalised as ‘natural’ responses to challenges. However, the instructors place all responsibility for actions and outcomes on the individual:

Instructor: We are here [in Anger Management] to learn how to handle the emotions that occurred because of your thinking patterns. The way you have perceived something as a provocation - you turn it into a provocation because of your understanding of the incident. It is never another person who is responsible for your emotions!

The instructors, as well as the programmes, are embedded in the broader ‘what works’ framework. Here then, the neoliberal individualisation of social problems is apparent, as literally all actions and feelings are placed on the shoulders of the individual. Such ‘masculine virtues’ and codes of honour, embedded in subcultural capital, are sought to be replaced (or are simply disavowed) by amorphous, individual relativism (Stewart, 1994).The aim of the instructor is to teach participants how to change their thoughts and thus their actions, but the manual-based structure of the CBPs is too myopic to take prisoners’ experiences into account. The gulf between the social realities of life in prison and the CBPs impedes the programmatic goals. The social realities of the participants revolve around not losing face, maintaining honour, gaining and sustaining respect while participating in the everyday life of the prison. The prisoners navigate this field with what we have coined as ‘respect plus’; a concept that is helpful in making the blurred boundaries between respect and honour more clear thus providing a step forward in understanding respect in prison.

Conclusion

This article considers how prisoners’ subcultural capital shapes their responses to demands for ‘cognitive self-change’ in a Danish penal-welfare regime. Future research could empirically explore how the themes explored here play out in other penal contexts, examining the universality of the intersection of subcultural capital, masculinity and respect in prison-based rehabilitation. Our findings show that the importation of CBPs challenges the otherwise relatively egalitarian nature of Danish prisons and thus creates a late modern hybrid of penal-welfare and risk-oriented thinking. Due to tensions between neoliberal rehabilitation and the penal-welfare state, previous, more holistic, explorations of prisoners' experiences seem to have been overshadowed by an exclusive focus on the individual (for an elaboration, see Laursen, forthcoming). We argue that accounts of ‘respect’ in the prior literature fail to capture how prisoners react to these programmes, and instead that a discussion of honour (or what we term ‘respect plus’) needs to be considered. By coining prisoners’ perceptions of respect and honour as ‘respect plus’, we have tried to capture the complexities of their lived experience. However, the meanings of respect and honour in prison can be understood more fully if we also incorporate the framework of subcultural capital. The masculine ideals of being ‘tough’, ‘standing your ground’ and being loyal merge with honour and respect into a certain ‘code of honour’. This code dictates particular rules and rituals that prisoners feel obliged to follow or at least not contest too openly. However, CBPs attempt to create accountable and rational actors, who efficiently self-manage: this therapeutic ethos neglects participants’ contextualised interpretations of their lives (both in and out of prison). The expressions of moral values (such as honour and respect) are deemed to be cognitive distortions which the instructors seek to modify into efficient and ‘correct’ thinking styles. We suggest that prison researchers should put more emphasis on understanding the implications of respect and honour in prison and perhaps adopt the concept of ‘respect plus’ as an analytical lens. Solely discussing respect in prison is not sufficient, while the concept of honour is sometimes too vague when we seek to understand what is at stake for prisoners. ‘Respect plus’ attempts to bridge between the two, which is needed to analyse how subcultural capital merges with the ‘prisoner code’ into a form of subcultural capital. Subcultural capital is valued by street and prison cultures but fails to live up to the neoliberal expectations of efficient self-government. These diverse perspectives create deep fissures between both the instructors and the participants. All of the above calls for a more informed and deeply contextualised way of implementing rehabilitative instruments in the prison setting.

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

The authors wish to thank Annick Prieur and Sune Qvotrup Jensen, as well as the anonymous reviewers, for their helpful responses to and suggestions for this article.

Funding

The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: The research for this article was financed by The Danish Council for Independent Research | Social Sciences grant number 12-125308.

Notes

Julie Laursen is a PhD Fellow at Aalborg University, Denmark and a former Visiting Scholar at the Prisons Research Centre at the Institute of Criminology, University of Cambridge.

Ben Laws is a PhD candidate in the Prisons Research Centre at the Institute of Criminology, University of Cambridge. He is currently researching emotion management in two prisons in England & Wales.

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