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Article
The Prison Journal
1–24
Understanding Prison © 2016 SAGE Publications
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DOI: 10.1177/0032885516679366
Philippines: A Case for tpj.sagepub.com
Shared Governance
Abstract
Current prison management models strictly prohibit inmates from assisting with
prison administration or governance. This is feasible in developed countries
where governments can provide adequate resources, security, and personnel.
It is not, however, realistic in developing countries like the Philippines, which
is characterized by poverty, corruption, and underresourcing of correctional
facilities. In such circumstances, inmate leaders tend to share governance with
prison administrators. Despite occurring out of necessity, not by design, this
system normalizes social conditions within a prison. This article examines the
ramifications of such a shared governance model for correctional management
by means of ethnographic research.
Keywords
Philippine corrections, prison society, prison order, shared governance,
normalization
Introduction
Current prison management models discourage the use of custodial roles for
inmates. In the United States and in most developed countries, delegating
Corresponding Author:
Raymund E. Narag, Southern Illinois University Carbondale, Department of Criminology &
Criminal Justice, 4224 Faner, Carbondale, IL 62901, USA.
Email: rnarag@siu.edu
Literature Review
Early studies of prison management focused on understanding the impact of
an “inmate society” that flourishes in a penal facility (Clemmer, 1940; Sykes,
1958). Pioneering research investigated the nature of inmate social hierarchy
and the manner in which inmates assume different leadership roles (Schrag,
1954). These earlier works described how prison managers negotiate and
accommodate the demands of inmate elites (Sykes, 1958).
There are two early perspectives that explain the dynamics of an inmate
social system with their corresponding policy implication for prison manage-
ment. First is the deprivation perspective, which posits that inmates in a
“total” institution (Goffman, 1961) are deprived of basic material and psy-
chological needs (Sykes, 1958). These include deprivations of liberty, access
to goods and services, heterosexual relationships, and autonomy. These
deprivations constitute the pain of imprisonment and strip inmates of their
personal self-worth (Goffman, 1961). Given the inherent prison conditions,
inmates develop a variety of coping mechanisms to recover their sense of
identity. The emergent inmate social system can, therefore, be credited for its
problem-solving nature (Wheeler, 1961). Coping mechanisms tend to be reg-
ularized and provide the articulation of norms and values that justify behavior
in the prison community. Norms and values are formalized in an inmate code
that prescribes appropriate behavior, like “do your own time” (Sykes, 1958).
Accordingly, inmates who are invested in the inmate code (Clemmer, 1940)
can leverage higher status in the inmate social hierarchy. This perspective
suggests that prison management needs to be cognizant of the inmates’ level
of deprivation and coping mechanisms and adjust their responses accordingly
(DiIulio, 1987).
Irwin and Cressey (1962) offer a perspective that initially contradicts, but
eventually complements, the deprivation model. They suggest that inmates’
preprison values are imported into a prison and independently affect the
inmate social system. For example, younger inmates and state-raised youth
bring their street gang mentality that challenges the existing order inside a
prison (Irwin & Cressey, 1962; Jacobs, 1977). This is known as the importa-
tion perspective. Thus, contrary to the singular code assumption of the depri-
vation perspective, the importation perspective suggests that there could be
multiple cultural codes prevalent in a prison community. It also suggests that
prison management needs to account for the outside oppositional culture
(Irwin & Cressey, 1962) that inmates bring in determining the appropriate
styles of prison management.
Many of these early studies were conducted during the “Big House Era”
(Irwin, 1980). During this era, the avowed philosophy guiding corrections
was the rehabilitation ideal (Allen, 1981); however, most of the prisons were
overcrowded and understaffed. In most prisons, a BTS was also in place
(Marquart & Crouch, 1985; Schrag, 1954). Selected inmates held custodial
and administrative functions over other inmates, and prison staff informally
relied on inmate leaders to control other inmates (Marquart & Crouch, 1985;
McCorkle & Korn, 1954). The prison officers actively engaged in identifying
and privileging inmate leaders and, thus, they unofficially endorsed the
inmate social hierarchy (McCorkle & Korn, 1954). In exchange of the peace-
keeping role of inmate leaders, they were given privileges and were tacitly
allowed to break minor rules. Given this set up, a “give and take” relationship
(Sykes, 1958) between inmates and prison staff developed and both groups
were invested in the maintenance of a peaceful equilibrium. As such, during
the Big House Era, a vibrant, though violence-prone, prison community
emerged.
With the punitive turn and decline of a rehabilitation ideal in the 1980s
(Allen, 1981), emphasis shifted to incapacitation and risk management
(Feeley & Simon, 1992). In this “warehousing” prison environment, the role
of prison staff in the determination of inmate social structure was privileged
(DiIulio, 1987). The prison bureaucracy was increasingly professionalized;
reliance on inmate leaders was viewed as anathema to effective prison gover-
nance. It was, therefore, curtailed (Austin & Irwin, 2011). The increase in the
ratio of personnel to inmates, coupled with extensive use of technology, made
prison control and surveillance more effective (Birkbeck, 2011). There were
fewer opportunities for inmates to participate in prison management, decreas-
ing the allocation of privileges accorded to inmate roles. This also reduced
the layers of inmate social hierarchy (Austin & Irwin, 2011; Irwin, 1980).
Where recalcitrant inmates were punished by informal dynamics of the
inmate society, sometimes through violence, the present setup is more likely
to rely on the use of formal segregation, as in Supermax prisons (Pizarro &
Stenius, 2004). The inmate society is no longer as vibrant, rich, and dynamic
as it used to be. It has become dull and monotonous, yet safe and predictable
(Austin & Irwin, 2011; Irwin, 1980). Threats to prison order may still come
from individually recalcitrant inmates and from inmate gangs, which exer-
cised visible power during the Big House Era, but has been significantly
reduced to underground existence in the current hyper-security conscious
prisons (Hunt, Riegel, Morales, & Waldorf, 1993).
This prison model of management control is idealized but entails consid-
erable funding to maintain the prison system. Most countries in the develop-
ing world, however, are financially strained (Birkbeck, 2011; Darke, 2013) to
meet this ideal, despite their formal adherence to its tenets. The Philippines,
for example, extensively utilizes inmate leaders in custodial, rehabilitative,
and administrative functions, which is reminiscent of BTS. Although by
necessity, and not by design, a practice of normalization (Gutierrez, 2012) of
social conditions emerges. Skarbek (2014) captures the essence of normaliza-
tion by recognizing how gangs improve order in the inmate social system in
U.S. prisons. Even in countries like the United States where resources are
more plentiful than the Philippines, Skarbek believes that inmates benefit
from gang activities, “so gangs are not a problem” as most commonly por-
trayed. He goes further to claim that if gangs were disbanded, “inmates would
be worse off” (p. 158). In this article, we describe the unique causes and
consequences of the inmates’ role in shared governance in a Philippine mega-
prison to compare and also elaborate our understanding of prison manage-
ment in other underresourced settings.
MSC. The second author gained access to the study setting due to active
engagement in efforts to professionalize the prison and jail services. He has
been a regular visitor to Philippine prisons to conduct interviews with
inmates, inmate leaders, and prison officers. As a result of this research, he
also conducts training and provides advice to the BuCor on prison reform.
The two authors independently collected narrative and observational data
from inmates, inmate leaders, prison guards, and volunteers. The first author
draws upon a compilation of observational data collected in the summers of
2013 and 2014 when he conducted multiple interviews and focus group dis-
cussions with the study participants. In addition, he conducted personal visits
to former fellow inmates who were previously in the city jail and who are
now in the MSC. These visits provided opportunities to observe intimate
activities otherwise hidden or unstated in formal interviews. The second
author draws upon observational data he collected during 14 field visits to the
NBP, spanning 3 years with 5 to 7 days duration of each visit. The second
author also conducted multiple prison reform workshops over the past 6
years, providing him unique access to prison officer perspectives. He also
conducted unstructured conversational interviews with gang leaders to gener-
ate information that describes the role of gang leaders in prison management.
Both authors recruited participants through snowball sampling, where initial
participants referred other inmates, guards, and volunteers to be interviewed
(Creswell, 2007). The number of participants recruited in this study was
guided by theoretical saturation (Corbin & Strauss, 2014), where authors
kept on recruiting participants until the addition of new participants no longer
yielded new information (Creswell, 2007). In all, both authors interviewed
about 100 inmates, prison staff, and volunteers. Both authors have adhered to
ethical conduct requirements associated with research on prisoners. As such,
all research participants were voluntary and were promised confidentiality
and anonymity.
The authors initially conducted independent analyses on their respective
observational data. Both authors pursued emergent themes (Creswell, 2007)
on inmate coping mechanisms, the role of inmate leaders, gang culture,
prison economy, prison governance, and other key phenomena. They identi-
fied narratives that captured the lived experiences (Creswell, 2007) of partici-
pants. Through reflexive discussions, questioning of each other’s data, and
iterative sharing of emergent themes, the authors validated and strengthened
each other’s findings and conclusions.
In this article, the authors report on common findings pertaining to the
role of inmates in shared governance inside MSC. Specifically, they report
on the following areas: the rationale for the use of inmates and the perceived
benefits and drawbacks of these resultant penal practices. The findings are
then integrated into the current literature on prison management and shared
governance.
Findings
Emergent Theme 1: Prevalence of the Use of Inmate Leaders
Research participants agree that the use of inmate leaders is an integral com-
ponent of prison management in the MSC. Inmates can either assume custo-
dial, administrative, and rehabilitation functions. Prison staff usually
recognizes the inmate leaders through issuance of a “directive.” In terms of
custodial functions, all 14,000 inmates in the MSC are housed in one of the
13 brigada (brigades) which are managed by a set of nanunungkulan (inmate
leaders). Positions in the inmate hierarchy include the bosyo (overall leader;
also called commander, mayores, elder), assistant-bosyo, bastonero (in
charge of discipline), kulturero (in charge of headcounts), mahinarya (night
watch), chief buyonero (in charge of cleanliness), and marsyal (outside secu-
rity). These inmate nanunungkulan help prison officers manage the day-to-
day needs of inmates. In terms of administrative functions, inmates can serve
as trustees or personal assistants to staff workers. Inmates can be tasked to
type official documents, encode files, record minutes of meetings, and other
administrative duties. In terms of rehabilitation functions, inmates can serve
as “teachers” in the Alternative Learning School, “medical assistants” in the
hospital section, and “coordinators” in rehabilitation activities. They can con-
struct their own facilities to conduct rehabilitation programs. A custodial offi-
cer estimates that about 500 inmate leaders are provided with an informal
“directive.” An inmate also suggests that nearly 20% of inmates in a cell of
100 have some form of cell function, but only the top leaders are given a
“directive.” To understand how this intricate form of penal management
arose in the MSC, we probed the justifications (Sykes, 1958) used by the
inmates, prison officers, and volunteers.
Custodial officers who deal with inmate discipline share this explanation.
Almost all officers, including top management, agree that the structure of
inmate leadership “facilitates communication” to all inmates. A custodial
officer explains,
There are only 10 of us in this shift right now, and there are 14,000 inmates. But
with inmate bosyos (leaders) guarding the cells and the marshyal (marshals)
guarding the perimeter, we can get by. (Prison officer, Male 2)
Some inmates are college-educated. We have one inmate who taught computer
studies in a University. He has helped us design software that tracks the
participation of inmates in our activities. His software can also monitor inmates
who have visitors . . . Just imagine if he stays in his cell. His talents will be
wasted. (Prison Officer, Female 1)
Look, government does not have money. We have been requesting for money
to have a building refurbished or a facility constructed. But the request does not
get approved in Congress or if approved, it is not released by DBM (Department
If not for my pangkat (cell), I would have died long ago. When I was arrested,
I was hit by a police bullet in the stomach and had lot of complications. I have
been nursing that ever since. It is my cellmates who bought me medicines. My
mayores (cell leader) has been very good to me. He assigned fellow inmates to
take care of me. We are family. (Ordinary inmate, Male 2)
Many see the cell as a “family” and inmate leaders as “fathers” or “big
brothers.” In fact, it is common to hear inmates call their leaders as “tatay”
(father) or “kuya” (older brother), a Filipino cultural dynamic that orders
social standing of inmates. In addition, the calling of inmates “tatay” or
“kuya” is a manifestation of their respectability and an indication they can
become mayores, should there be a future opening. Inmates also suggest that
leaders have the role of taking care of the needs of other inmates and, those
who produce the most resources for others, are usually elected leaders. One
inmate claims,
In our cell, the bastonero (disciplinarian) and the mayores assign us to our
kasalo. Kasalo is a food grouping (around 5 to 10 inmates per kasalo). Inmates
with visitors are called VIP (very important preso) and those without visitors
are called buyoneros. The VIPs are paired with the buyoneros in the kasalo
group and the VIPs share their resources to buyoneros. They share food. The
VIPs provide for the needs of buyoneros. The mayores do the pairings to make
sure everybody receives some support. (Ordinary inmate, Male 3)
By all means, we understand where DOJ is coming from. They want to get rid
of inmate nanunungkulan (leaders) as it is subject to abuses. But what can we
do, if we transfer all mayores to different cells, inmates will simply elect their
own new set of mayores. And if we transfer leaders, there will be a power
vacuum among the ranks of inmates, or they will request return of their leaders.
Either way, it is disruptive . . . What is important is we can still control them.
(Prison officer, Male 3)
Thus, it has been an unofficial policy that when media or outside political
personalities inquire about the existence of the bosyos, the standard reply has
been to deny their existence. Prison officers are admonished to recite the
official policy. However, when faced by the realities of their working condi-
tions, prison officers are enjoined by their peers to discreetly utilize the infor-
mal system. They are admonished to switch between the formal and informal
rules to cope with their situation. One prison officer explains, “Without the
inmate leaders and the resources they bring, the prison system would
collapse.”
At first, I was shocked. I never thought inmates would be out of their cells
moving around freely. My image of a prison is that inmates are in their cages.
But I saw inmates crisscrossing the yard, selling different products and
handicrafts. There is a bakery managed by inmates . . . I see placards greeting
the bosyo of a brigade on his birthday and a pangkat (gang) celebrating its
anniversary like a fiesta. And there was a basketball tournament and an inmate
mayores speaking to the participants urging them to be sportsmen . . . like a true
politician . . . it is surreal, I thought I was just entering another barangay
(village). (Prison volunteer, Female 1)
Indeed, those entering prison for the first time make similar observations
about the community atmosphere inside. This is particularly apparent on
weekends when there is a festive atmosphere. There are children running
around, inmates and visitors singing in videoke booths, inmate basketball and
tennis teams playing against visitor teams in tournaments, followed by a rock
concert in the evening. Inmate leaders are called upon to manage the security
of visitors and supervise the smooth implementation of volunteer activities.
Accordingly, this sense of community softens the pains of imprisonment
(Sykes, 1958) faced by inmates. Inmates serve their time by being active
members of the prison community.
We keep inmates busy and they like it. They feel important . . . that their voices
can be heard. Giving them assignments and privileges, they get their self-
worth. We respect them as people and treat them as people. We trust them. And
as long as they know the limits, I am good with that. (Prison officer, Male 4)
Most prison officers agree that by providing inmates with actual roles in
managing prison, they become humans again (nagiging tao muli). This is an
unstated philosophy adhered to by most prison officers. In fact, when the new
BuCor director assumed position in March 2013, he introduced a slogan: “we
are your friends, your brothers and your sanctuary” to articulate his visions of
a humane and compassionate prison.
The recognition that inmates are tao (people) due to roles and responsibili-
ties accorded to them is a significant motivator for rehabilitation. It propels
them to think about how they can manage their long-term sentences and look
forward to the future. An inmate leader explains,
I asked myself, “If I am here (in prison) for at least 10 years, what can I do to
better my condition during this time?” So I created a timeline. For the first two
years, I volunteered to the teaching program. Then, I became a cell treasurer
and now an overall coordinator of programs. I got more privileges; I can call
my wife anytime I want because I can use the phones. That is important
because, with the phone, I can monitor and advise my kids. I have been in
prison 20 years, but I have still been a father to my kids. My humanity is not
lost. (Inmate leader, Male 6)
(Sykes, 1958), and inmates maintain their preprison (Irwin and Cressey,
1962) identities and self-worth (Goffman, 1961). Accordingly, these mecha-
nisms enhance their chances of successful reentry into society. Although
there are no systematic studies that track the performance of inmates upon
release, limited administrative data suggest that only 20% of inmates recidi-
vate. In addition, there are numerous anecdotal accounts of inmates who suc-
cessfully became preachers upon release, set up their own businesses, and
ventured into different postincarceration careers.
I did everything they asked me to do: our pangkat gave compensation to the
family of the victim, we sought a statement from leaders of the other pangkat
that the conflict was a personal matter and not inter-pangkat conflict; and my
fellow pangkat members petitioned for my return showing I had no problem in
my own pangkat. But still they kept me there indefinitely. They kept me
guessing and they played tricks on me. (Inmate leader, Male 7)
You need to talk to their level. You need to think like them. We give them
what they want, we create privileges for them, but we still hold them. We
need to play the game they play, but we can always disrupt the game. (Prison
officer, Male 1)
Inmates are on a long leash. We allow them to feel as if they are free, but, if we
have to, we can shorten the leash to restrict their freedom. Ultimately, we are in
control but play their game. (Prison officer, Male 5)
The officers admit that it is better to keep the practice a “gray area” so they
can practice discretion. They can transfer an inmate leader to another prison
compound or to other penal facilities and thus effectively remove him from
office anytime they see fit. Because the agency rules formally prohibit the use
of inmate leaders, prison officers who informally employ them need to exer-
cise caution. They must be careful not to get entangled should a scandal arise.
However, they also acknowledge that the risk of exposure can be managed.
Prison officers who are willing to put themselves on the line (may dibdib) can
elevate their political and social standing inside the prison. Thus, an official
with a rank of Prison Guard 3 (Sergeant) who is adept in playing the informal
rules can have more political and social clout in the prison community than a
prison superintendent who does not use these tactics or a newly appointed
BuCor director who is starting to learn the ropes. The prison guards admit
that their source of power and control emanates not from their official titles
but from the reputation and status they cultivated through the years in the
prison community.
Drawback 3: Corruption and abuse. This personal level of control both prac-
ticed among prison staff and inmates’ ranks can translate to corruption and
abuse. In terms of corruption, a common practice is the evolution of “orbit”4
where some prison officers “request” financial assistance from inmate lead-
ers and inmate Very Important Prisoners (VIPs) in exchange for privileges.
The money generated from orbit can be used for operational purposes, like
purchasing gasoline to bring sick inmates to hospital, or personal gains to
augment income. The prevalence of this practice forms a common complaint
raised by inmate leaders: that they are ones “carrying the burden” for the
BuCor. An inmate leader estimates, for example, that he shells out around
PHP 20,000 (US$ 500) a month to keep “officers satisfied with his perfor-
mance.”5 In return, inmate leaders admit they need to extract resources from
their fellow inmates and engage in different legitimate and illegitimate activi-
ties to produce orbit fees. For example, they can remove inmates from their
kubols if they continually fail to contribute to public relations funds given to
prison guards, or they can withdraw protection from inmates when caught
committing infractions.
quarters, for example, it becomes apparent that only a few inmates have
access to a kubol and most are cramped into the few remaining spaces. A less
fortunate inmate berates,
If you don’t have money, you will be sorry here. You are popular only when
you have money. But if you have none, or it dries up, then no one will pay
attention to you. You will be confined to the sidelines. You do not have space.
(Ordinary inmate, Male 8)
Long-time volunteers and prison guards lament this aspect of penal man-
agement but admit, “they cannot do anything about it.” Although they wish
that all inmates be given similar privileges, the fact is there are not enough
resources to go around, so “we do the best with what we’ve got.” In the pro-
cess, an environment of fear engulfs the prison community. Despite loud
music and entertainment that is visibly portrayed during visitation hours, an
undercurrent of “know where you stand” and “do not rock the boat,” orders
inmates to silently follow the informal rules.
Discussion
For most prison staff and inmates, the prison community is not very differ-
ent from the outside. As a top BuCor official mentions, “running a prison
in the Philippines is like running a four-walled city.” This resultant penal
management arose from lack of resources given to the prison as an institu-
tion. MSC has inadequate space and facilities, is crippled with insufficient
and under-trained staff, and lacks operational resources to provide for
material necessities, security, and rehabilitation programs needed by
inmates. In this regard, not only are inmates faced with deprivation (Sykes,
1958) of their living conditions but prison officers are equally deprived in
their working environment. As one prison staff mentions, “the inmates are
not the only ones incarcerated in bad conditions, the prison officers suffer
in their jobs too!”
This shared experience of deprivation leads to informal coping mecha-
nisms recognized and practiced by both prison staff and inmates who want to
improve themselves. Due to a lack of personnel, inmates are informally
incorporated and given custodial, administrative, and rehabilitative func-
tions. Also, as a result of inadequate space and facilities, inmates are tacitly
allowed to construct their own kubols (makeshift cubicles) and other facili-
ties. A lack of operational resources also results in inmates bringing their own
resources into prison, creating their own programs, and maintaining their
own cells and brigades. However, these coping mechanisms are not officially
recognized, and prison officers are therefore tasked to use their own personal
discretion of how to use the informal mechanisms.
As has been documented, this setup has both positive and negative out-
comes. For example, due to reliance on inmate leaders and presence of a
vibrant prison economy, inmates can preserve their preprison identity and do
not undergo the process of mortification (Goffman, 1961) that strips inmates
of their individuality. Inmates do not stop being human; they can still func-
tion as fathers to their children and providers for their families (Gutierrez,
2012). The lack of resources also means that inmates are allowed to bring
their own food, clothing, appliances, and other needs into the prison thus re-
creating their preprison conditions and, by default, normalizing their condi-
tions. The problem-solving nature (Wheeler, 1961) of the coping mechanisms
provides inmates opportunities for self-improvement and self-empowerment,
which protects them from the corrupting influences of the security-laden
nature of incarceration (Gutierrez, 2012).
The openness of the prison system also means that inmates import (Irwin
& Cressey, 1962) characteristics of the free world into the prison. On the
positive side, inmates practice the Filipino cultural values of damayan and
bayanihan (mutual and community support) where they take care of each
other as manifested by the kasalo (food group) system and different develop-
mental activities inmate leaders conduct. Inmates experience incarceration in
a collective, not an individualistic, phenomenon. As such, inmates’ injunc-
tions like “do your own time,” which are prevalent in Western prisons, are
seldom heard in this Philippine prison setting. Instead, Filipino inmates’ man-
tra includes “a cell is a family” and “no one will help an inmate but a fellow
inmate.”
On the negative side, the corrupt practices that are inherent in Philippine
politics and culture are also reflected in the prison setting. This is manifested
by the manner in which some prison officers and inmate leaders utilize their
discretionary powers by manipulating the formal and informal rules to gener-
ate illicit income. Instead of an oppositional culture between staff and inmates
that is commonly documented in Western prison settings, a patron-client cul-
ture (Scott, 1972) has developed between corrupt prison guards and inmate
leaders. In this setup, prison staff and inmate leaders align themselves in a
tenuous and particularistic relationship (Hutchcroft, 1998) where they employ
the saying “I scratch your back, when you scratch mine.” Similar to some the
politicians on the outside, prison staff and inmate leaders abuse their power
for self-aggrandizement. Violence inside the prison is therefore more struc-
tural than individual in nature: violence happens when there is breakdown of
the equilibrium of power (Sykes, 1958) among the cliques that form between
prison staff and inmate leaders.
Despite its noted abuses, violence in the MSC is managed to low levels.
Prison officers and inmate leaders try their best to control violence and not let
the corrupt practices get out of control. The prison officers and inmate leaders
know that if they do not practice self-restraint, they will put the prison in a
bad light. More importantly, for inmates who are not invested in the setup,
there is enough social space to keep a productive and violence-free lifestyle.
As long as they know how to navigate through the vagaries of prison life,
they can maximize the benefits by participating in rehabilitation programs
and minimize the drawbacks by disengaging in cell and brigade politics.
Conclusion
Much of the current knowledge about prison social systems comes from set-
tings where facilities are adequately provided, staff numbers are sufficient
and properly trained, and operational resources are directed at the smooth
running of the prison. In these circumstances, the use of inmates to run the
prisons is considered anathema to effective governance. Indeed, abuses iden-
tified in the BTS have been echoed in this Philippine prison setting: inmate
leaders usurp and abuse their authority, they engage in a culture of corrup-
tion, and they re-create inequalities found in the free-world setting. Yet,
despite these weaknesses, the leadership structure that arose among Filipino
inmates has strong positive aspects. It mediates the pains of imprisonment
(Sykes, 1958), helps with adjustments, and provides inmates with mecha-
nisms to preserve self-identity (Goffman, 1961), which normalizes their con-
ditions and better equips them to reintegrate to the outside upon release. This
may explain why, despite the material deprivations faced by Filipino inmates,
the recidivism rate appears lower than figures reported in more affluent U.S.
prisons.6 This may also suggest that the correctional model of management
control, which eliminates the role of inmates in prison governance, has the
inadvertent effect of destroying inmates’ initiatives and self-identities.
Indeed, recent studies suggest that prisons that implement peer mentors and
honor dorm programs (Collica, 2010; Swanson, 2009), where inmates are
utilized to mentor other inmates and co-manage their dorms, have lower lev-
els of violence and recidivism. Skarbek (2014) also shows that inmates natu-
rally form groups to mediate the pains of imprisonment and that gang
formations are not inherently bad.
Although this research is conducted in the most visible prison in the
Philippines, there are reasons to believe that the findings may not be fully
generalizable to all other penal institutions. As has been noted, the sheer size
of the MSC and the type of inmates housed in this prison suggest that the
dynamics observed may be unique only to the MSC. However, given that
most prison guards are trained and initially assigned in the MSC before they
are deployed to other prisons suggests that they extend the practices in the
MSC to other penal institutions. Indeed, our discussions with correctional
officers from other penal facilities suggest that the use of inmate leaders is
ubiquitous. More systematic studies are nonetheless needed to paint a more
holistic picture of the nature of prison management in the Philippines.
The use of inmates for shared governance, at least in this Philippine prison,
is therefore not a major problem in prison management. The key issue lies in
the incapability of the Philippine government to provide for the needs of the
prison. The deprived conditions induce creation of informal coping mecha-
nisms that are subject to abuse. The Philippine government must first embark
on improving prison conditions by addressing overcrowding, staff training, and
providing operational resources. This may be realized with passage of the
Modernization Law of the BuCor in 2013. Without attendant improvements in
prison conditions, especially by increasing well-trained and professional staff,
eradicating inmate leadership will make prisons even more ungovernable
(DiIulio, 1987). As a prison staff mentioned earlier, the prison will collapse.
This research has shown that inmate leadership structure is rooted in the
Filipino culture of damayan and bayanihan, a cultural trait that inmates import
(Irwin & Cressey, 1962) into the prison. The inherent collectivist nature of soci-
ety, respect for people in authority, and penchant for family and community
suggest that shared governance, as practiced in a Philippine setting, has a devel-
opmental component. This may differentiate it from the self-governance prac-
ticed in Latin American prisons, where inmate gangs have enough leverage to
run the prisons and where it is unsafe for guards to even enter (Darke, 2013). At
least, in the Philippine context, prison officers still run the prison, though on a
personal, not institutional, basis. The problem is that this practice, due to an
idealized notion of prison governance, is not formally adopted and translates to
discretionary implementation and abuse. If this practice is formally acknowl-
edged and monitored, then there is a possibility that abuse could be curtailed and
the practice redirected toward good use. For example, a policy of meritorious
selection and training of inmate leaders and the articulation of the scope and
limits of their functions could be introduced. This research suggests that inmate
leaders are willing to assume more therapeutic functions, if the BuCor provided
the cue. In short, while the long-term resources are not yet available, the short-
term solution is to formally incorporate inmate leaders in shared governance.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publi-
cation of this article.
Notes
1. The UN Standard Minimum Rules for the Treatment of Prisoners, for example,
suggest the following: “28.(1) No prisoner shall be employed, in the service of
the institution, in any disciplinary capacity.”
2. Informal discussions with prison officials also suggest that this practice is preva-
lent in all seven penal colonies managed by the BuCor and in all the 23 city
jails in Metro Manila managed by the Bureau of Jail Management and Penology
(BJMP).
3. The two other compounds are the Medium Security Compound with 6,000
inmates and the Minimum Security Compound with 800 inmates. There is also a
Reception and Diagnostic Center with around 2,000 inmates.
4. Literally, orbit means visiting from cell to cell in circles, like the earth orbiting
the sun.
5. In comparison, monthly salary for a prison guard is less than US$300.
6. We acknowledge, however, the difficulties faced by Filipino correctional officers
in tracking and recording the number of inmates returning in prison, which could
explain the low recidivism rates.
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Author Biographies
Raymund E. Narag, PhD, is an assistant professor in the Department of Criminology
and Criminal Justice at Southern Illinois University Carbondale. His research inter-
ests include comparative criminology, corrections, and the role of culture in the crimi-
nal justice system. His recent work has appeared in The Prison Journal and Criminal
Justice and Behavior.
Clarke R. Jones, PhD, is a visiting fellow at the Regulatory Institution Network,
Australian National University. Before moving to academia, he worked in several
areas of national security for the Australian government. His current research interests
include prison gangs and the effects of the prison environment on the disengagement
and deradicalization of terrorist inmates in the Philippine and Indonesian correctional
systems.