Sex logics: Negotiating the prison rape elimination act (PREA) against its’ administrative,safety,and cultural burdens

Abstract

The Prison Rape Elimination Act (PREA) reforms correctional institutions via administrative mechanisms and represents a major shift in both correctional policy and workplace practice. Using qualitative data within six prisons in one U.S. state, finding suggest that staff view PREA as an administrative, safety, and cultural burden, which creates a misalignment of institutional logics. Rather than seeing themselves as central to eliminating prison sexual misconduct/violence, staff see PREA as interfering with their “real” custody/control work. This misalignment has major implications for the productive implementation and use of PREA and the broader shift to administrative rather than legal processes for institutional reform.

Keywords

administrative burden carceral/penal institutional logic organizational change Prison Rape Elimination Act qualitative

Introduction

During the mid-twentieth century, federal courts played a pivotal role in prison reform (Feeley and Rubin, 1998; Schuhmann and Wodahl, 2011; Smith, 2003), especially related to civil rights litigation. Feeley and Rubin (1998) argue the legal momentum during the civil rights movement shifted courts from a hands-off to a more bureaucratic model focused on prisoners’¹ rights. However, legal mobilization as the mechanism for prison reform faced backlash as some states confronted significant expenses and unfunded mandates from federal litigation efforts (Smith and Nelson, 2002). In the late twentieth century, bureaucratic processes and administrative mechanisms institutionalized becoming the new norm dictating prison management. In particular, the passage of the Prison Litigation Reform Act of 1996 (PLRA) (Rubin, 2019) codified this shift away from litigation strategies towards administrative and legislative efforts (Schuhmann and Wodahl, 2011).

The Prison Rape Elimination Act of 2003 (PREA) also represents this type of shift. To comply, prisons report sexual violence to national databases and create administrative avenues for prison residents to report and secure recourse for sexual violence. These changes emphasize (re)defining sexual violence and assault within carceral settings. Importantly, PREA requires staff to consider sexuality differently, including formally addressing a broader spectrum of sexual behaviors beyond rape. While scholars write extensively about the history of PREA (Arkles, 2014; Dumond, 2005; Nielsen, 2017) and the policy shifts the law represents (Schuhmann and Wodahl, 2011), few explore PREAs actual use within correctional institutions.

Here, our research question considers PREA in practice by correctional staff in six U.S. prisons. Specifically, we explore how PREA requirements interact with prison staff’s institutional logics (Thornton, Ocasio and Lounsbury, 2012)—frames of reference often used “in contested environment[s] to influence decisions, justify activities, or advocate for change” (McPherson and Sauder, 2013: 167). We find staff perceive their agency’s mission of “care, custody, and control” at odds with the minutiae of PREA. Our findings suggest staff do not perceive PREA as a beneficial civil rights reform, but rather understand PREA as an administrative, safety, and cultural burden. This perceived misalignment between penal reform (including legal templates, see Rubin, 2019) and on-the-ground practice is key to understanding how staff logics impact reform. This gap is not new to researchers. Scholars note pervasive policy/practice changes may not operate as designed or yield anticipated outcomes (Goodman et al., 2017; Lynch, 1998). However, prior work largely takes a macro- (i.e., field, national, state, jurisdictional) or meso- (i.e., organizational) level approach to understanding policy implementation/use. This paper builds on prior research to show how micro-level interactions between staff and policy provide an important locale for understanding how logics, and the actions of organizational actors, operate (Vuolo and Kruttschnitt, 2008).

Prison rape elimination act of 2003

PREA passed unanimously with bipartisan support in Congress nearly twenty years ago with two main goals: understand the scope of prison rape and sexual violence by institutionalizing reporting requirements for local, state, and federal correctional institutions, and eliminate prison rape and sexual violence. PREA does not include a right to private action; individual prison residents cannot bring lawsuits. Instead, PREA focuses on organizational and administrative responses. After its passage, carceral staff received training and policies regarding rape and sexual abuse, instructions regarding specific reporting and accountability standards for sexual violence, and instruction on documenting a wider range of sexual misconducts. PREA’s (2003) broader scope not only extends protections sexual behaviors between prisoners, but includes these same behaviors perpetuated by staff involving prisoners, driving its importance within the carceral context.

As part of achieving the goals associated with PREA, various federal entities perform PREA-related tasks. The Bureau of Justice Statistics analyzes incidences of prison rape and the National Institute of Corrections maintains a clearinghouse of trainings and resources for correctional administrators. PREA mandates federal grants go to state and local governments to implement PREA’s provisions and allows the federal government to withhold funds or accreditation from states, localities, and private prisons that fail to comply with national standards.

However, some scholars argue PREA creates harm for carceral residents (Arkles, 2014; Nielsen, 2017; Spade, 2015). This includes correctional staff using the complexity of PREA to “trick” prisoners into filing claims in ways that make them irrelevant for further redress or litigation. PREA may also provide correctional staff with latitude to place residents in solitary confinement or subject them to invasive exams under the guise of increased administrative protection (Arkles, 2014; Borchert, 2016). In effect, there may be amplified punishment for residents, but not an elimination of sexual violence (Spade, 2015).

Misaligned institutional logics

PREA’s administrative framework places a large responsibility on institutions to respond to resident claims of sexual assault. However, for PREA to eliminate the spectrum of assaultive behaviors from sexual micro-aggressions (e.g., using improper pronouns; inappropriate staring) to violent sexual assault, staff must subscribe to specific values and beliefs regarding gender, sexuality, and consent (Borchert, 2016). These values and beliefs collectively require new institutional logics within an existing organizational culture.

The institutional logics perspective originates within organizational studies with the foundational work of Alford and Friedland (1985; Friedland and Alford, 1991). In its formation, institutional logics conceptualized society as a set of fields consisting of multiple logics with “taken-for-granted social prescriptions” (Battilana and Dorado, 2010: 1420) in socially constructed locales (Berger and Luckmann, 1967). Thornton and Ocasio (1999: 804) define institutional logics as organizing principles that impede or facilitate organizational change and are the product of “material practices, assumptions, values, beliefs, and rules by which individuals organize their time and space and provide meaning to their reality” inside a social system. Using an institutional logics perspective provides an avenue to “investigate links between macro-level and micro-level phenomena” (Currie and Spyridonidis, 2016) while also acknowledging that institutional changes also lead to contestation over logic legitimacy (Eroglu, 2016). These logics – either material or symbolic – offer formal and informal rules of action and expectations of appropriate behavior when accomplishing organizational tasks (Thornton and Ocasio, 1999). When new logics take hold, organizational “actors can influence how logics are instantiated in organizations” (Besharov and Smith, 2014: 366). The process of individual interpretation suggests actors within a system may exert influence on institutional logics by maintaining inertia (Johnson et al., 2000) or incrementally guiding the logic towards a revised trajectory.

In this way, organizational actors translate, interpret, and negotiate logics by enacting and interacting with them (Hallett and Ventresca, 2006; McPherson and Sauder, 2013). They may also work among multiple cooperative or blended logics (Goodrick and Reay, 2011; McPherson and Sauder, 2013; Waldorff et al., 2013), and unclear logics (Binder, 2007). McPherson and Sauder’s (2013) ethnographic study of institutional logics within drug court settings finds organizational actors do not always align tightly with professional/organizational logics. Instead, they understand and navigate their interpretation of logics to achieve individual and institutional goals (McPherson and Sauder, 2013).

When navigating the complexity of multiple and often competing institutional logics (Battilana and Dorado, 2010; Besharov and Smith, 2014; Zilber, 2002), organizational actors may face a dominant logic (Greenwood et al., 2011) which may change when a new dominant logic takes form (Eroglu, 2016). It is common for forced change to misalign with existing institutional logics and for actors to perceive new logics as irrelevant or even contradictory to achieving goals. It is through these dynamic and micro-level local processes that organizational actors produce, reproduce, and even reject institutional logics (Binder, 2007; Hallett, 2010; McPherson and Sauder, 2013). For example, Martin’s (2005) research on institutions charged with handling some aspect of a rape incident includes: law enforcement (police and sheriff), the judicial system (prosecutors and judges), hospital emergency rooms, and rape crisis centers. This work details that organizational processes often result in individual and collective job resentment. Many of these organizations, with the exception of rape crisis centers, maintain larger missions and see rape, at best, as tangential and, at worst, a distraction from their “real work.” Although as at least part of their mission, law enforcement agents poignantly note, “We’re responsible for all crime and rape is only one crime” (Martin, 2005: 53). Hospitals, “the reluctant partner,” view the requirement to perform a forensic rape examination as competing directly with their real mission – to heal the sick and wounded. From the perspective of hospital staff, a rape kit is a legal exam not a medical exam, and they will, in many cases, do anything to avoid performing it, “We have one doctor…he will see a child with a cold before a rape victim” (Martin, 2005: 74).

As Martin’s research (2005) reveals, when organizations and their staff do not view incidences of sexual violence as central to their mission and/or their jobs, staff are more reluctant to do work associated with reports of rape or sexual violence, and institutions do not invest, and may even sabotage, efforts to address rape in their organizations. In organizational settings, new laws, policies, and procedures yield new or redefined institutional logics that interact or compete with existing logics/cultures. The result of this interaction is difficult to predict, yet crucial for understanding reform and the success of the change.

Study setting and methods

Data for this paper come from six prisons within a large state Department of Corrections (DOC) system which supervises over 40,000 residents. The six prisons represent a purposive sample of both male (4) and female (2), maximum (2), medium (3), and minimum security (1), from varying state geographies. According to the August 2015² population report, the majority of residents incarcerated across the state were Black (48.7%; n = 23,589) or White (40.3%; n = 19,472), male (95.4%; n = 45,944), and an average age of 38 years.

The larger study (of which this paper uses only qualitative data) used a mixed-method design (surveys and interviews) to gather data from both residents and staff from 2014 to 2015. That study focused on three themes: 1) organizational culture/climate; 2) relationships, and 3) procedural justice via policies and procedures for prisoners and staff. In addition to a list of current institutional residents, researchers received an staff roster (names, positions, prison, and job tenure). The participant pool included all staff who worked more than one year at each site except for clerk typists (who do not have clearance to interact with residents) and medical staff (who operate as contractors under multiple organizational rules and norms).

Within the pool, the team asked all staff to participate in a survey. Across six prisons, 385 staff (∼15%) participated in the survey. The team asked survey completers if they would participate in an interview. Across all six sites at least 10% of staff from each department participated, with an overall response rate from survey completers of 52% and a total of 199 staff interviews. The staff interview sample demographics show an average age of 47 with 95% white and 5% Black and an average job tenure within the DOC of 14 years.

Interviews occurred over three institutional shifts. Researchers conducted interviews with as much privacy as possible to ensure confidentiality while following institutional safety/security protocols. Each interview lasted roughly 30 to 45 minutes. Interview questions focused on key themes mirroring survey questions. These include narrative, open-ended questions about:1) trust; 2) confidence; 3) policies/procedures; 4) relationships; 5) procedural justice/fairness, and 6) desired change(s). During interviews, researchers took extensive notes (as recording devices were disallowed) with attention towards jotting quotes verbatim. Immediately following interviews, researchers completed interview notes to capture additional detail and later transcribed notes into typed documents.

One member of the research team linked all fieldnotes to Atlas.ti (a qualitative data analysis program) (Muhr, 1991). The researcher then coded using a line-by-line coding procedure to elicit important informational cues from the data—even those not specifically related to interview questions (Charmaz, 1995). This inductive coding procedure allows findings to emerge from the data rather than researchers looking for answers to questions (deductive). This analysis strategy is akin to a grounded theory approach, involving systematic and inductive analysis (Glaser and Strauss, 1967) to “uncover relevant conditions to determine how actors respond to changing conditions and consequences of their actions” (Corbin and Strauss, 1990: 5). Although researchers did not ask about specific policies, participants named a number of policies. For each policy mentioned, the coder created an in-vivo policy code capturing the number of policy mentions (N = 35 policy codes with 127 mentions). Although the “Policy-PREA” code was not mentioned as frequently as other policies in the data (18.9%), it occurred across more themes than any other policy. Specifically, it appeared in four of six interview focal areas including trust, relationships, policies/procedures, and desired changes. That is, staff members discussed PREA organically when answering questions about other themes. However, codes do not suggest meaning; they show where two or more themes meet.

The next step included a querying of PREA codes in conjunction with other codes to illicit patterns. During querying, the PREA code co-occurred with numerous grounded codes including: “staff concerns,” “perceptions of residents,” “perceptions of organization,” and “perceptions of risk.” This data was then aggregated as “attitudes and behaviors about PREA” Next, the researcher recoded this data using new institutional logics codes (care/custody/control, gender, sex/sexuality) to learn how the logics were (mis)aligned from staff PREA attitudes/behaviors. The researcher(s) found consistency of institutional logic misalignment across explanations for attitudes/behaviors regarding PREA. Finally, the researcher coded narratives for misalignment reason between their logic and PREA.

From these queries, researchers built the analysis presented below. The qualitative data regarding institutional logics and concerns about PREA is particularly strong as an emergent theme. PREA’s original mandate required facilities comply with national standards in 2003; however, the narratives presented here occur 11 years later. As prison staff discuss their views of institutional logics and concerns with PREA, the rich narrative presents an account of perspectives, feelings, and ideologies related to how staff experience using an externally forced institutional change.³

As noted in the findings, staff regularly comment their central role is “care, custody, and control.” This is not to suggest “care, custody, and control” is an institutional logic associated with PREA, but an institutional logic deeply embedded in this DOC context. To confirm “care, custody, and control” as the agency’s main institutional logic, researchers examined official documents obtained through a google search and an internal search of the DOC website. Searches for “care, custody, and control” returned dozens of “hits.” In reviewing search results, the phrase appeared in many documents from official protocols to job advertisements. Second, the specific language of “care, custody, and control” regularly appears together in DOC documents, almost as a singular term. Researchers found no evidence where the mission or goal reflected independent use of the words, “care,” “custody,” or “control.” There was also no evidence that the singular terms weigh evenly. Finally, staff use “care, custody, and control” with a cadence that sounds memorized – the words are never used in any other order. This suggests a thorough socialization around this construct and its specific organizational role.

Findings

Some institutional policy changes cause minor dissatisfaction while other reforms move easily into routine practice. The DOC’s implementation of PREA took time. While PREA passed in 2003, states had until 2012 to develop and install policies/procedures to meet standards and ensure regular audits. In the study state, the DOC faced significant resistance from supervisors and staff following full implementation due to three primary concerns: administrative (34%), safety (15%), and cultural (51%). These perceived burdens provide insight into existing institutional logics and offer a peek inside three sources of PREA policy constraint and potential failure. Administrative burdens refer to the additional workload/time and constraints to discretionary decision-making. Safety burdens refer to risks PREA generates to staff safety and victimization in pursuit of protecting prisoners. Cultural burdens refer to the requirement to shift one’s understanding of the norms around sexual behavior, including gender norms and constructions of masculinity. Combined these burdens constrain PREA use, potentially decreasing the desired impact of the reform.

PREA as an administrative burden

Analysis of interview data suggest dislike for PREA from an administrative standpoint. Across those who shared dislike for PREA (75%), nearly all complain about the way PREA constrains their discretion and intensifies their workload. The demand for investigations for each allegation intends to prevent staff from using rationales of blameworthiness, perceived culpability, or other pejorative assumptions about residents from clouding their willingness investigate. In practice, PREA likely prevents non-investigation due to discretion. However, it also means staff must invest time and resources into carrying out all protocols associated with an investigation regardless of the complaint circumstances. A high-ranking correctional officer (CO) describes his frustration with this aspect of PREA,

There was recently an incident where two prisoners were caught kissing. I got a statement from each of them claiming that it was consensual and they were not gonna submit PREA claims [against each other]. However, because [kissing] falls under PREA, I had to interview them both separately. I had to consult policy. I had to make sure they both felt heard. But, nothing came of it. They kissed each other because they wanted to kiss each other, which is definitely a violation of our policy, but there was no PREA claim. But, because somebody saw it, wrote them up for kissing, it fell under the heading of PREA, and I had to follow through. It took a tremendous amount of work for no real good reason.

This CO describes frustration with the breath of behaviors under the PREA purview. Although the term ‘consensual’ speaks to a larger, more normative conversation about the policy restrictions placed on sexual expression in prisons, he nonetheless perceives this behavior as a function of a consensual relationship, rather than sexual deviance or assault. His understanding of contextual consent leads him to believe a full investigation is unnecessary. However, the law’s mandate constrains his discretion. His commentary speaks to the disconnect many staff discuss between what PREA intends and the behaviors it polices. This contributes to a sense that PREA increases staff workload while hampering their ability to provide care, custody and control.

Staff at various levels echo resentment of PREA, related to access to posts (work/shift prison positions) and increased workloads via scheduling efforts. Throughout the state, posts for COs are available to request or “bid.” If multiple COs request a post, assignment is privileged by tenure. Male COs working in female prisons frequently described their resentment of PREA because the law reassigned some posts to female staff (to comply with PREA gender homogeneity for searches, showers, etc.), making male organizational tenures moot for some assignments. The gendered work reassignment principally occurred for posts that might require patting down or seeing residents naked, but COs considered some of these assignments ‘good posts.’ One CO comments, “There are a bunch of female COs with new posts, and they’re taking the good posts from male officers.” Regardless of staff gender, many staff commented on how the PREA job post policy complicates overtime and scheduling efforts. One staff member notes, “Women have to stay [past their shift end] if only men are coming on in the next shift, and/or if the woman assigned to the post calls in sick.” Although the gender-specific post assignments are present in both male and female prisons, the supervisor below describes implications of the policy for female staff, specifically,

We’re fed up with PREA and are trying to get out of this situation. There’s a tremendous need for overtime and female staff can’t get time off when they want to. Very often this is particularly difficult for female officers who have a larger role in their families, and [PREA] doesn’t allow that to work.

The supervisor’s main frustration relates to how PREA constrains his ability to assign overtime, forcing prison administrators to “mandate” female staff stay on shift. Additionally, his commentary is empathetic of the demands PREA places on female staff, specifically those with a primary home caregiving roles. Many supervisory staff perceive the increased scheduling efforts and burdens to female staff as unnecessary. They cite these issues as questioning officer professionalism and integrity by assuming officers would inappropriately touch or gawk at residents.

Privacy adjustments for residents exacerbate the perception that PREA underestimates staff professionalism while changing the nature of staff routines. For example, PREA’s privacy policy requires administers install bells in each housing unit, or require staff to announce “Man/Woman On” when entering a resident living space of another sex.⁴ While this minimally affects daily routines, numerous staff cite this concern as a broader issue related to PREA protocols. One staff member notes,

I think the policies are mostly fair to keep us all safe, but there are some seriously dumb ones. For example, we have to deliver food to the infirmary and to the [security unit] because those ladies can’t come [to the main dining room] to eat. When we walk on [the] block, I have to yell, “Man On!” It’s ridiculous, but it’s there for the women. They get so little privacy anyway, I understand they would want to keep what they have. I wouldn’t want to be walked in on if I’m undressed. However, on Q block, it’s three stories and each…has its own door, it doesn’t make sense for me to yell when I enter the building because you can’t hear the call on the other floors, I’m sure of it.

This staff member recognizes this procedure as “for the women” who have little privacy. He understands the announcement provides time for women to cover-up. However, the policy only requires staff to announce their presence at the main entry of any residential block, and does not require similar announcements for each floor of a multistory block. In this example, the policy attempts to protect residents and their privacy, but is limited by the building’s structure. This misalignment of the law-in-action provides a consistent daily reminder to staff of PREA’s distance from their work realities.

PREA as safety concerns

Across interviews discussing PREA as administratively cumbersome, staff recognize these concerns as manageable impracticalities of a law with important implications. Staff narratives indicate rising distrust of PREA to achieve its goal because of these impracticalities, and note PREA complicates safety and creates opportunities for staff victimization. For example, a high-ranking CO discusses how vigilance to all allegations underserves residents,

Inmates can make any allegation they want to and per PREA, I have to take the same steps every time, regardless of how absurd the claim may be. I have to spend time investigating things and filling out paperwork, when I know it’s a false claim … For example, one of our inmates has very serious mental health issues and she claimed that she was raped telepathically by a CO on another unit through radio waves. Telepathically! And, I had to devote the same amount of attention to this claim as I would to true claims. It’s a lot of headache for the supervisors. What ends up happening, is that inmates who deserve the most attention and investigation do not get any more time, weight, or trust in their case than the other ridiculous cases. Ultimately, it takes away from inmates who may truly be a victim.

This supervisor discusses constraints on discretion when directing resources to allegations for claims he perceives as false. His use of “true claims” speaks to the pejorative decision making the vigilance requirement aims to eliminate: ensuring all residents equal protection. However, he believes equal protection via mandated investigation does not provide equal protection to victims of sexual assault and may undermine victims’ believability and staff’s ability to provide care, custody and control.

The focal concern for safety across staff narratives aligns with the institutional logic of care, custody, and control, but PREA complicates staff’s ability to exercise each logic component. The small changes aimed at assault prevention, such as gendered posts for pat downs, do more than unravel the tenure system. They also put residents and staff at risk. For example, several ancillary staff members (e.g. kitchen/maintenance) explained how same-sex pat downs force staff to ignore safety concerns. Below, a kitchen staff member elaborates,

There are some serious issues with PREA … everyone is in danger. For example, I have women who are trying to leave the kitchen and I can see something bulging in their [private] area. We stop them and ask them what they have and they always say, ‘oh, I double-padded.’ I can tell when they’re sneaking an onion versus when they’re wearing two pads. Now, with the PREA requirements, we have to let them walk out knowing they are stealing from the kitchen. They steal blindly because we can’t really search and retrieve the vegetables [from their underwear] because we don’t have the female staff in our department to do that.

One interpretation of this statement is that he is being sarcastic as it is reasonable to assume vegetable theft from the kitchen does not provide any serious implications to prison operations other than the financial cost of losing produce. However, in the prison context, there is a market for everything, and the smuggled onion may be part of a wider set of transactions involving drugs or other banned substances that not only carry misconduct charges, but might also, legitimately, threaten the safety of others. Additionally, what is left unsaid is that if residents can steal onions, they could also procure kitchenware and other objects to use as weapons. Although this type of theft operates as an extrapolation of the concern for lost produce, the staff commentary speaks to a larger concern about how PREA creates opportunities where staff must forego investigating threats to safety for compliance. In this kitchen example—and in other related examples—staff feel PREA limits the control-end of the care, custody, and control goal.

These innocuous practice guidelines transform into what staff perceive as systematic threats to institutional safety. These perceptions are exacerbated when staff perceive guidelines directly threaten safety. Specifically, female staff perceive PREA limits their ability to discipline sexual behaviors that ultimately victimize them. One female staffer in a men’s prison notes,

One time there was a poster in the window of an inmate’s cell, which is not allowed. I saw this from the sidewalk and went into the unit to address it. Really, I think he was enticing me because I think he knew that day I was doing safety checks. So … I knocked on his cell. He was masturbating. I can’t say anything because that’s his space. It’s there [PREA] to protect inmates, but really?

In this example, the staffer suggests the resident’s non-compliant poster was a trick to engage in sexual behavior in front of her, but within the confines of his private, PREA-protected space. The staff member’s concern is with the loss of discretion to reprimand a resident for masturbating in his cell. She perceives PREA puts her at greater risk at work. PREA may be protecting sexual behavior in private spaces, but staff feel residents may manipulate PREA to violate staff rights.

Interviewees believe PREA compliance risks extend beyond sexual victimization. Many female staff perceive male resident rouses for sexual gratification not only victimizes them, but also perpetuate historic norms that prisons are unsuitable for female employment. A female staff member explains,

I have to ring a bell when I walk on a housing unit. Ringing the bell isn’t for my or other female staff security, but for guys to cover up so they feel less exposed. But, what’s really happening is that it’s just alerting the guys there’s a woman on the block and often the men purposively do not cover up when they hear the bell. It’s actually demeaning to women [staff]. It perpetuates the idea that we [female staff] are causing problems by working here. I worked really hard to get where I am, and I don’t want to be knocked down by these insecurities that build as a result of policy in practice.

In addition to administrative barriers, staff also perceive some specific requirements of PREA as threats to safety and hinder execution of care, custody, and control. The multiplicity of PREA concerns in practice not only fosters dislike and distrust for the law, but perpetuates misgivings about its value within institutional spaces. However, PREA’s goal to eliminate rape and other sexually assaultive behaviors unintentionally reshapes the law as one about sexuality and gender. As the female staffer above suggests, the gendered culture in which PREA exists is a core burden.

PREA as cultural burden

Staff suggest a broader, more amorphous concern regarding PREA – misalignment between PREA and existing institutional culture. While the quote above suggests concern for female staff working behind bars, the deeply entrenched hypermasculine environment of prisons makes PREA a cultural burden and creates a misalignment between two existing institutional norms: gender norms and stigma/mistrust. One female supervisor succinctly describes her work culture,

There’s a lot of good ol’ boy mentality. There are a lot of good females who do good work and aren’t respected here because they aren’t men. [Female staff] have to fight harder to be here and keep our positions because we’re females. We can do a lot of good. But of course, it needs to be the “right” female. They have confidence in themselves, be strong, and know who they are. They must be assertive, direct, and know when to stay quiet. Some women go crazy and get involved in drama and perpetuate issues and create toxic environments. Those women undo all the work we did to prove we belong here, too.

Another female staffer notes a similar sentiment, “Most of the men who work here are very vocal about how women shouldn’t be working here.” A female supervisor extensively expressed her views on gendered prison norms,

Okay, I’m in a job on the ‘programming’ or let’s say ‘treatment’ side. In terms of “levels” that makes me essentially equal to the [Deputy’s assistant] who is on the ‘security or custody’ side. I report directly to my Deputy and he reports directly to his Deputy. And yet, he is included at every executive meeting [with the warden] and I am not … They all have their own thing going because they came from [a similar prior place] or because they worked together before, or whatever it is. They support each other and be damned with everyone else. They will call a meeting; one that I’m included in. We will just barely scratch the surface of some of the things we need to talk about, but the meeting time is up. They will actually ask me to leave the room so they can continue on with their own meeting. Which is everyone who was just sitting there minus me. It’s fucking ridiculous. Why isn’t the Deputy Assistant being asked to leave? It’s only gotten worse – even though I didn’t think that was even possible. I honestly believe it’s because I am a woman. I’m not trusted. I’m not respected. I’m not supported.

Although the supervisor’s exclusion from meetings may be more a statement about the team’s perception of “treatment staff,” she perceives her exclusion as related to gender. The masculinized environment is not exclusive to male prisons, but is also a common theme regarding how male staff interact with each other and residents in female prisons. Observations with staff in female prisons unveiled conversations between mostly male staff regarding female residents who were “once hot” and who they would find attractive if they were not in prison. In these same conversations, male staff also razzed other single male staff for the women they date and with whom they have sex. In some cases, they referred to these women as “town whores,” “gashes,” and “easy to bend over.” While most of these conversations occurred within the supervisor’s office area (out of resident earshot), they tell a deeper story about prison norms.

The extension of the hypermasculine environment inside female prisons suggests a ubiquitous cultural inertia across institutions, where reshaping these logics proves challenging. For example, one supervisor notes his irritation with the language choices of his COs and how he addresses it,

I think it’s the manner in which you talk to people. The language that you use and not using vulgarity … The newer staff are totally disrespectful and if we catch them, we administer progressive discipline. I think it’s totally unacceptable for my COs to be calling inmates bitches, cunts, and skanks … I don’t think it’s appropriate to allow my COs to reinforce some of this trauma through their language.

Despite his intentions to discipline staff, many supervisors comment on the impracticality of monitoring staff verbal exchanges. In some cases, supervisors note the difficulty of doing so in female prisons where male staff perceive themselves at greater risk for PREA allegations. The concern by male staff that female residents weaponize PREA perpetuates dishing vulgar monikers to and about residents. For example, one CO said he immediately stops residents who try to flirt with him, noting, “I know who will get into trouble because they are unit whores.”

Historic norms and behaviors around gender and sexual behavior operate at odds with PREA, especially when there is misconception that PREA intends only to eliminate rape and not the totality of the sexual assault spectrum. One CO suggests his frustration with PREA because, “There’s always a stigma of pro-rape, as though every claim ended in rape.” By his understanding, PREA assumes all allegations are rape allegations, and the nuance of all the ways sexual misconduct occurs is lost. For him (and others), claims of sexual misconduct are fixable without using PREA investigations. In conversations with staff about the spectrum of sexual behaviors, staff often refer to non-penetration claims as “frivolous.” These include prior cited examples of residents kissing and additional examples including unwanted looks, touches, innuendo, sexualized name-calling, bartering sex for favors, and one resident who claimed unwanted touching occurred when another resident shaved her legs without her consent while she slept. The perception that these claims are frivolous speaks to a larger issue of resident blameworthiness and culpability. One CO states, “I would say that most of the people in this institution are what I call thugs and have a process of habitualization … The people here are generally crazy and awful.” Likewise, a supervisor expresses thoughts on the culture related to mistrusting residents and PREA,

Unfortunately, staff don't seem to know what PREA means, and are not able to handle misconducts in the way that I think the policy intends. The inmates are often not believed. That’s pretty much the basic premise of all of our doings in this prison … the inmates are not believable. And, we end up in a lot of character disputes because of that. Staff are concerned that because of the new PREA policy they will be set up. Frankly, they're concerned about being set up for lots of other reasons, too … One CO told me that if you do a pat search, the inmates will accuse you of sexual abuse. PREA is not effective for helping with that … I thought maybe they would start taking [allegations] seriously if the staff were accused, but it doesn't seem to be working that way.

In many ways, the prison is a hyper-masculinized environment where traditional masculine norms exist. While this is not new to prisons—and scholars note this frequently (Britton, 2003; Davis, 2003, Hattery and Smith, 2016, Richie, 2012)—existing gender norms provide unique insight into PREA use. Specifically, PREA is a policy about sexual misconduct constructed and reconstructed within the hypermasculine prison setting as a policy about gender and sexuality. Despite recent movement toward wider visibility of sexual misconduct in a variety of institutions from politics to Hollywood (e.g., #MeToo), sexual violence remains clouded in myths centering on the belief that women fabricate claims. Not only do these myths impact male COs’ beliefs about PREA claims, they also impact overall preference for not working with women as colleagues—a phenomenon well-documented in other male dominated workplace environments (Doan and Portillo, 2019). These examples provide an overview of the institutional environment and culture within studied prisons. In the depths of these environments, staff and supervisors share compelling cultural institutional logics regarding gender, sexual misconduct, and trust.

Discussion and conclusion

PREA came after the PLRA of 1996 and after a significant shift in carceral civil rights. PREA presents challenges to staff, it generates administrative, safety, and cultural burdens, and it challenges staff understanding of sex and sexuality. The latter is perhaps the most difficult aspect of PREA. PREA also provides an “excuse” for a deeper misogyny. As noted by staff, the presence of female staff is deeply resented. Many male respondents contextualize this resentment as PREA requiring male staff to step in and do more work in male prisons, allowing non-tenured women to take better posts in female prisons, or creating situations where male residents act out when they –presumably– would not if a male was present. Prisons are often referred to as hypermasculine environments for residents, but a similar tone rings for staff in many prisons via the sociological construct of the gendered organization. Many scholars including Britton (2003) and Paoline et al. (2015) find carceral institutions places where women are distinctly aware of the gendered nature of their working environment often noting it leads them to increased role ambiguity, job stress, and less overall satisfaction. While PREA does not specifically intend to contribute to the gendered organizational tradition, in practice, it does just that. Male correctional staff perceive PREA as yet another way women get in the way, take their jobs/positions, and/or hurt them occupationally. This burdensome logic hinders PREA operationally.

In a post-PLRA setting, PREA relies on several administrative mechanisms to eliminate sexual violence in prisons. PREA specifically gathers data on prison sexual violence via increased reporting. While these efforts intend to provide a clearer scope of sexual violence inside prisons, staff in our study understand reporting requirements as paperwork without purpose and consider these policies as unnecessarily reigning in discretion and preventing them from doing their real care, custody, and control work. This misalignment hinders PREA’s impact in a myriad of ways denoted by this paper’s findings.

PREA represents a misalignment of institutional logics and to some the difference between a symbolic law and a law with discernable instrumental effects (Grattet and Jenness, 2008; Jenness and Smyth, 2011). Prison staff view the pivotal institutional logic of their work as custody and control. Care includes only the minimal basic access to safe conditions. Previously, staff performed the logics of care, custody, and control with significant discretion regarding the handling of sexuality and sexual violence. PREA requires staff shift their understanding of care by centering resident safety from sexual violence. Often, staff misunderstand the broader social and contextual concerns about consent in an environment where residents have little freedom, autonomy, power, or rights. Staff may misunderstand the circumstances that prevent residents from freely consenting to sex and the implications of allowing consenting residents to engage in sexual behavior. They may perceive individual incidents as frivolous. Though they may consider the slippery slope of what it may do to prison operations (increased violence, extortion) if consensual sex occurs, they may not understand the long-term outcomes of how a rule noting consent is not possible might reduce sexual misconduct. They may not see how the policy defining all sex in prison as non-consensual connects to care, custody, and control. Or, as Ristoph puts it, “ … recent efforts to address sexual assault in prisons have not centered on the Eight Amendment, but on the development of better prison policies” (2006: 159). Staff definitions and understandings of what constitutes sex are challenging to decipher. For example, for many staff, sex involves penetration or a physical act that goes beyond touching, while for others (and for PREA) sex can involve kissing or touching and even sexualized, non-contact interactions such as winking or innuendo. Cumulatively, these misunderstandings form misaligned institutional logics where staff interpret specific policies and practices within their own perspectives and existing norms. These notions then contradict their understanding of their role and discretion within the organization and yield policy misinterpretation, rendering PREA less reforming that intended.

The data for this project come from a larger study creating some limitations. The authors did not foresee an analytical focus on PREA, so discussions of PREA were unprompted. Therefore, triangulation of perceptions with: 1) observations of how staff actually handle each investigation or PREA report and 2) other administrative PREA data are outside this paper’s scope. However, the grounded nature of these data suggest staff narratives may act as a starting place to explain behaviors explored through triangulation and provides fertile opportunity for future work on how institutional logics work in correctional settings. More broadly, these data should encourage additional exploration of the shift from legal mobilization to administrative processes for civil rights reform and signal a need for increased attention to inteisive staff training around PREA and the issues it seeks to remedy.

Footnotes

Authors' Note

Angela Hattery is now affiliated with University of Delaware, Newark, DE, United States.

ORCID iD

Danielle S Rudes

Notes

Danielle S Rudes, associate professor of Criminology, Law and Society and the Deputy Director of the Center for Advancing Correctional Excellence (ACE!) at George Mason University. Her research considers how workers within social control organizations understand, negotiate, and resist change. She publishes in Criminal Justice & Behavior and Law & Policy.

Shannon Magnuson, ABD doctoral student in Criminology, Law and Society and a research fellow at the National Institute of Justice in Washington, DC. Magnuson earned her MA at John Jay College of Criminal Justice. Currently, her main projects involve translation and implementation of research evidence into practice. She is published in Sociology Compass and Justice Quarterly.

Shannon Portillo, assistant Vice Chancellor of Academic Affairs and Associate Professor at the University of Kansas School of Public Affairs and Administration. She uses organizational theories rooted in Public Administration and Law and Society to explore how rules and policies are carried out within public organizations. Her work is published in Administration and Society and Public Administration Review.

Angela Hattery, professor of Women and Gender studies and co-director of University of Deleware's Center for the Study and Prevention of Gender-Based Violence,. Her research focuses on social stratification, gender, family, and race. She is the author Gender, Power and Violence: Responding to Sexual and Intimate Partner Violence in Society Today (2019) and Policing Black Bodies (2018) among other books/manuscripts.

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