Becoming an offender : stigmatization and the production of offender-identity in the Dutch criminal justice system

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BECOMING AN OFFENDER

Stigmatization and the Production of Offender-Identity in the Dutch Criminal

Justice System

Name: Susanne de Munnik

Student Number: 5948649

Supervisor: Laurens Bakker

Second readers: Oskar Verkaaik, Anne de Jong

Program: MSc Cultural and Social Anthropology Department: Graduate School of Social Sciences Date of Submission: February 1, 2016

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3 "Declaration: I have read and understood the University of Amsterdam plagiarism policy [published on http://www.student.uva.nl/fraude-plagiaat/voorkomen.cfm]. I declare that this assignment is entirely my own work, all sources have been properly acknowledged, and that I

have not previously submitted this work, or any version of it, for assessment in any other paper."

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4 Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

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Acknowledgements

It is 2 o’clock in the afternoon, and I have not been to bed yet. In a few minutes, I will go out to print my thesis so that I can hand it in and finally go to sleep, but first I want to take some time to express my gratitude. I always read the acknowledgements section when I read a book, and I have always dreamt about writing my own someday. So here it is.

First and foremost, I would like to thank everyone who has participated in my research while being subjected to the criminal justice system. Thank you for consenting to my presence there and for generously sharing so many deeply personal experiences and stories with me. Without your trust and co-operation this thesis would not exist. I would also like to thank all the criminal justice employees that have invited me into their professional lives. The time, guidance, insight, and support that you have given me so selflessly has been invaluable. Of course, I would also like to thank my supervisor, Laurens Bakker, for his helpful suggestions and his advice, but also for believing in me from the beginning, and for bearing with me. The same goes for my study advisor, Marieke Brand. Thank you for your enduring engagement and enthusiasm. Finally, I also want to thank my mother here, for introducing me to the field of criminal justice, for all the practical help, and for leaving an endless supply of articles, newspapers and old study books on my desk.

I have always heard that writing a thesis is a lonely process, and yet that has not been my experience. So thank you, Rudolf and Marga, for welcoming me in your beautiful house by the sea, for the countless dinners, conversations and cups of coffee. Thank you for reminding me to take breaks, and for sending me back upstairs to continue writing. Thank you Peter, for putting up with me, for cooking me dinner – even if I did not always appreciate it – and for pretending to be asleep so that I could keep on writing. Thank you Mahir, Ludwig, Marc, Filip and Non, for your friendship and for trying to motivate (or distract) me. And finally, thank you Ivana, for everything.

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Abstract

This study aims to provide an ethnographic account of stigmatization processes and the construction of offender-identity within the Dutch criminal justice system. The research is centered around the following question: How is offender-identity produced, ascribed and constructed within the Dutch criminal justice system? It explores how processes of

stigmatization and identity-construction within the criminal justice system are shaped by their social and ideological contexts and by the lived experiences of criminal justice personnel. The findings are based on the analysis of literature concerning shifting penal ideologies, identity formation and stigmatization, as well as three months of anthropological fieldwork. The fieldwork has mainly consisted of prolonged participant observation at police stations, central cell complexes, prisons, court houses and parole agencies, as well as informal conversations, group discussions and interviews with police officers, parole officers, lawyers, suspects, offenders and ex-offenders. The research findings suggest that suspects and offenders are frequently reduced to their ‘offender-ness’ within the criminal justice system and that the shift in punitive ideologies that has characterized the past decades is changing how that ‘offender-ness’ is conceptualized. Disciplinary constructions of offenders as flawed, vulnerable, in need of care and reformable, are substituted by more exclusory constructions of offenders as subjects that are risky, dangerous, untrustworthy, and responsibilized.

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Introduction

‘You don’t have to be nervous…’ Shit. In my head I forcefully reprimand myself. Get

it together. While it is true that I am very nervous this time, I really do not want it to

show. The first rule of anthropological fieldwork – do no harm - resonates through my mind once again. ‘I’m sorry, interviewing is still new to me,’ I automatically reply, but my informant does not fall for it. He interrupts me: ‘No it’s fine, I understand. Let’s be honest, this is a completely different target group… I’m in detention under a hospital order… and a young girl like you… you just hop in here and now you are thinking to yourself where did I end up?’

About 30 minutes before the start of the interview that I have taken this excerpt from, my prospective interviewee gives his parole officer permission to hand over his file to me. In it, I read a detailed account of the crimes he has been convicted for: two counts of violent rape with attempted manslaughter. I then continue to read about his troubled family history, his addiction to alcohol and the personality disorders he has been diagnosed with. With only his file at my disposal, he reminds me of the ‘monsters’ that star in the detectives my father watches on TV. The file upsets me and for the first time, I can’t help being afraid of my informant. Before I get the chance to process and analyse my initial reaction, it is already time to meet him and despite my best efforts, my voice trembles when I introduce myself.

While my nervousness at the onset of this interview is an exception, the response of my interviewee is not. I find that most of the (ex)offenders that I interview expect me to be nervous or afraid of them. Our conversations typically start with them trying to put me at ease. ‘Please have a seat, there’s no need to be nervous.’ ‘Don’t worry, I don’t bite.’ These remarks never fail to evoke a hint of sadness in me. I cannot really imagine what it must be like to automatically expect other people to be afraid of you. What does that do to your sense of self? How does it change the way you relate to other people?

This thesis has grown out of my initial desire to understand what it means to be considered ‘evil’ in contemporary Dutch society. How do we treat and perceive people that we classify as morally wrong and how does this affect them? By means of introduction to his work on the construction of a morally acceptable self among prisoners in Norway, Ugelvik argues that, according to May and Abraham Edel, 'every member of every society (or indeed every social group on any level) is expected to accept a certain common bottom line of shared goals and values, if they want to remain members.' (Ugelvik 2012: 266). If this is the case,

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9 then what happens to people who - at least in their behaviour - (are presumed to) have shown not to accept these shared goals and values?

Much has been written about our dealings with criminal behaviour and the criminal subject. Philosophers and social scientists such as Foucault (1975), Bauman (2000), Garland (2001), and Schneider & Schneider (2008) have produced compelling analyses of how

criminality has been defined, perceived and dealt with in the past and at present. On a smaller scale, numerous aspects of both prison culture and rehabilitative programs have been

examined. See for example Isaacs & Lowen (2007), Sibley & van Hoven (2009), Wacquant (2010), Faccio & Costa (2013), Werth (2013) and, for an excellent review of prison

ethnography, Cunha (2014). In addition to that, a growing body of literature concerned with stigma management and the effects of the criminal justice system on the social and personal identities of offenders is emerging. For instance, Waldram (2010) writes about the connection between narrative strategies and the construction of a positive moral identity among sexual offenders. Ugelvik (2012) aims to explain how prisoners in Norway employ narrative

techniques of ‘neutralization’ to ‘reconstruct themselves as moral subjects in relation to their victims.’ (Ugelvik 2012: 259). In a similar vein, Toyoki & Brown (2014) analyse how prisoners in Helsinki manage their ‘stigmatized identities’ through talk.

It already follows from the previous examples that more often than not in literature concerned with identity, stigma and the criminal justice system, the production of stigmatized identities within the criminal justice system is depicted as a seemingly taken-for-granted vantage point for a study that focusses on identity management and the construction of a moral self. Most researchers either briefly explain why or how offenders develop stigmatized identities by means of introduction to their subsequent argument, or continuously but

concisely reference the construction of stigma within the criminal justice system without making it a focus point of their research. I have found this trend to correspond with what I perceive as a general gap in the literature concerning stigma. Bluntly stated – and of course overly simplified - I would argue that most of the recent literature can roughly be divided into two categories. Firstly, the predominantly theoretical texts that deal with the validity of stigma as a concept, or with how stigma should be defined, how it works or how it is constructed. Secondly, the ethnographic studies of stigma that tend to focus primarily on how subjects that are affected by stigma experience, manage and conceptualize it. However, especially

considering the widely accepted theoretical notion that ‘stigmatization is an interactive social process’ (Gray 2002: 72), I cannot help but wonder: why are there so few ethnographic studies that chronicle and analyse actual stigmatization processes?

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10 With this thesis, therefore, I first and foremost aim to take a step back and provide an

ethnography of stigmatization processes and the construction of offender-identity within the Dutch criminal justice system. I hope to formulate a tentative answer to the following related set of questions: How is offender-identity produced, ascribed and constructed within the Dutch criminal justice system? How are processes of stigmatization within the criminal justice system shaped by their social and ideological contexts? Finally, how are the processes of stigmatization and the construction of offender-identity shaped and mitigated by the everyday experiences of actors in the criminal justice field?

The chapters of this thesis are all dedicated to a different phase in the criminal justice chain. The first chapter deals with police custody, the second chapter analyses the social implications of the criminal trial, and the third chapter is dedicated to parole services. The chapters all start with an excerpt of my field notes that aims to introduce the setting by bringing it to life. Following that, the aspects of identity construction and stigmatization processes that I have identified as being the most relevant to the specific phase that the chapter is dedicated to will be described and analysed. As a result, the first chapter will, for instance, primarily deal with everyday experiences in the field, whereas the other two chapters focus more strongly on the impact of social and ideological contexts.

I will use the rest of the introduction to the thesis to first discuss theories of identity and stigma that relate to my research. After that, I will provide a brief overview of relevant theories with regard to the social and ideological contexts in which the Dutch criminal justice system is situated. Finally, I will shed some light on the research process and discuss my primary research settings, methodology, access and the limitations of my research.

1.1 Notes on (offender-) identity

For several decades, the use of identity as an analytical concept has been prevalent throughout social science. However, because its use and validity has also strongly and thoroughly been criticized and problematized, I feel that it is necessary to briefly elaborate on my position in this debate before going any further. The tentative definition of (offender-) identity that I have worked with throughout my research will then follow from this.

Identity has been criticized (and subsequently defended) as a theoretical concept on several grounds. Because presenting an overview of this discussion is beyond the scope of this thesis, I will limit myself here to the arguments put forward by Brubaker & Cooper and

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11 Brubaker & Cooper take the fact that both the usages and definitions of identity are so

contested and multivocal as a starting point to make an admittedly compelling argument to do away with the concept altogether. They claim: 'Whatever its suggestiveness, whatever its indispensability in certain practical contexts, ''identity'' is too ambiguous, too torn between ''hard'' and ''soft'' meanings, essentialist connotations and constructivist qualifiers, to serve well the demands of social analysis.' (Brubaker & Cooper 2000: 2). In addition to

problematizing this tension between postmodernist constructivism and essentialist notions of fixed identity, Brubaker & Cooper identify and discuss five different ways in which identity is commonly theorized. This chaotic multitude then leads them to proclaim: 'Do we really need this heavily burdened, deeply ambiguous term?' (ibid.: 8).

Following Yuval-Davis (2010) I argue that we do. With reference to Brubaker & Cooper, Yuval-Davis argues that 'the complementary use of different theories of identity in the literature can add to, rather than detract from, its validity, as long as their boundaries in specific social contexts remain clear.' (Yuval-Davis 2010: 262). In accordance with this position, I believe that the fact that identity can be used as an analytical tool to theorize the construction of the self in relation to others, social categories and discourses, while it can also be used to as an analytical tool to research processes by which the 'other' is stigmatized or essentialized, means that it is highly relevant to my research on offender-identity. As such, Brubaker & Cooper's critique that identity is torn between 'essentialist connotations and constructivist qualifiers' becomes, in fact, a virtue.

Keeping in mind Yuval-Davis' contention that 'identity is an important and useful concept if it is kept within the boundary of a very clear and specific definition' (ibid.: 262), I will now try to demarcate what I mean when I speak of offender-identity. First of all, I want to stress that by choosing to take offender-identity as an object of inquiry, I by no means intend to reduce offenders (and their social and personal identities) to their being an offender. Rather, I seek to address that, if - following Bucholtz & Hall - 'identity is the social

positioning of the self and other' (Bucholtz & Hall 2005: 586) the legal and social

classification 'offender' becomes a vehicle for this positioning and thus a position to speak from and to be addressed in: to identify with and to be identified with. As such, both the self and the other are continuously constructed in relation to this marker. This continuous

construction of the self and the other in relation to one's 'offender-ness' is what I seek to address when I speak of identity. However, it is important to note that offender-identity is at the same time also very much an ascribed and potentially - depending of course on the social context - stigmatizing identity. More often than not it might be the 'other' who

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12 socially positions himself as a non-offender in relation to the offender. It is for this reason that I do not only aim to study how offenders construct their identity in relation to their offender-ness, but also primarily how relevant non-offenders perceive, position and address offenders in relation to this identity marker.

Finally, for the purpose of this research, I define offenders as subjects that have been convicted for a criminal act and that have thus entered into the criminal justice system. This definition is in accordance with the legal definition and therefore clearly demarcates who is included and who is excluded solely on a technical and practical basis. It is important to keep in mind that this does not mean that offenders are a homogeneous group. Relevant differences among offenders and social discourses about what makes an offender and about who is

included will be addressed throughout the thesis. Additionally, I will also discuss the experiences of people that are suspected of a criminal act throughout my thesis, as I have found that the construction of offender-identity already begins there.

1.2 An Introduction to Identity Formation

How does the legal classification of someone as an offender turn into the construction of an accompanying identity? Leaving the discussion of identity as an analytical concept behind, I now want to take a step back and focus more in-depth on how identity is constructed, in order to theoretically substantiate my claim that offender-identity is indeed constructed within the criminal justice system. Essentially, I want to establish that identity formation is a continuous, social, intersubjective process, and that identity is constructed through narratives and

practices, in relation to power structures and the physical environment one is in. Anthropological understandings of identity are greatly influenced by social constructionist theory. In a review article on identity theory, Cerulo explains that social constructionists - such as Goffman - have argued that collective identities are not the product of static and essential characteristics of social groups, but rather that identity is constructed through social interaction, categorization and 'cultural scripts.' (Cerulo 1997: 387). How subjects negotiate (especially gender and ethnic) identity through language and performative actions thus becomes an important object of study.

As a reaction to social constructionism, Cerulo continues, postmodern scholars - following among others Foucault and Derrida - emphasise the influence of power structures, categorization and institutions on the formation of identity. Social constructionists, they argue, ascribe too much agency and intentionality to the involved actors. Instead, identity

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13 should first and foremost be studied in relation to power. In order to make this relation visible and thus deconstruct identities, the analysis of public discourses is stressed. (ibid.: 391). Building upon these theoretical insights, Judith Butler studies how (gender) identity is constructed through performance. She does not, like the social constructionists, study

performative actions as deliberate acts of agency, or as 'the act by which a subject brings into being what she/he names, but, rather, as that reiterative power of discourse to produce the phenomena that it regulates and constrains.' (Yuval-Davis 2010: 270).

Eventually, the exclusive postmodernist focus on power and discourse is also nuanced and social constructionist and postmodernist identity theories come to be used

complementarily. Bucholtz & Hall have written an excellent multidisciplinary essay on identity and interaction that attempts to achieve such a synthesis. They conclude:

'Any given construction of identity may be in part deliberate and intentional, in part habitual and hence often less than fully conscious, in part an outcome of interactional negotiation and contestation, in part an outcome of others’ perceptions and

representations, and in part an effect of larger ideological processes and material structures that may become relevant to interaction. It is therefore constantly shifting both as interaction unfolds and across discourse contexts.' (Bucholtz & Hall 2005: 606)

The multifaceted approach to identity construction that I have taken during my research is very much informed by this perspective. It has guided me to focus on personal experiences of offender-identity and interaction, as well as on perceptions of offenders that other relevant actors might hold, and on the dominant discourses or power structures related to punishment, justice, and offenders. Finally I have also taken into account the influence of meaningful material surroundings on identity construction in the criminal justice system. Therefore, I will conclude this introduction to identity formation theory with some notes on the relationship between identity and the physical environment.

A growing body of recent anthropological theory has been concerned with place identity and the interaction between identity and the physical and material environment. Rood's essay on slum environments and the self can serve as a relevant example of this. Snell-Rood argues that slum inhabitants are being defined by their living environment.

Interestingly, she discusses both positive and negative effects of the slum environment on the social and personal identities of her research participants. However, for my research the point she makes about social exclusion is the most important: environmental factors such as

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14 pollution, she argues, convey symbolic meanings that stigmatize inhabitants and form the foundation for social exclusion. As a result of this, slum inhabitants have come to socially embody pollution. (Rood 2013: 273). In terms of my own research, the point that Snell-Rood makes here interests me because I would argue that several settings and material conditions that offenders encounter within the criminal justice system -most notably within the prison system but also within police stations, court rooms, and even rehabilitation centres- act upon one's (ascribed) social identity and sense of self in a similar fashion. To name one example, the continuous confrontation with bars, thick walls and heavy doors, locks, guards, extensive surveillance and handcuffs implicitly conveys that offenders are by definition dangerous and untrustworthy.

1.3 Stigmatized Identities

As I have mentioned, offenders’ identities have often been portrayed as being stigmatized and therefore, I will now briefly consider how stigma can be defined and how it is thought to emerge. Following Goffman (1963), Toyoki & Brown – whom I have referenced before - define stigma as ‘any perceived physical, social or personal quality that leads a social group to regard those characterized by it as having tainted, inferior or discredited identities.’ (Toyoki & Brown 2014: 717). While this is still a widely used definition of stigma, I find it too broad and unspecific for my purposes. In contrast, Link & Phelan have – in an excellent review article on stigma - constructed a definition that is much more telling. They explain:

‘In our conceptualization, stigma exists when the following interrelated components converge. In the first component, people distinguish and label human differences. In the second, dominant cultural beliefs link labeled persons to undesirable characteristics to negative stereotypes. In the third, labeled persons are placed in distinct categories so as to accomplish some degree of separation of "us" from "them." In the fourth, labeled persons experience status loss and discrimination that lead to unequal outcomes.’ (Link & Phelan 2001: 367).

Additionally, they introduce a final component that is too often neglected or taken-for-granted in discussions about stigma, namely, power. Stressing that stigma cannot emerge within a power continuum, they write that ‘stigmatization is entirely contingent on access to social, economic, and political power that allows the identification of differentness, the construction of stereotypes, the separation of labeled persons into distinct categories, and the full execution of disapproval, rejection, exclusion, and discrimination.’ (ibid.: 367).

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15 It can be inferred from Link & Phelan’s work that stigmatization is a continuous multifaceted process. In this thesis, I aim to analyse and uncover this process as it unfolds within the Dutch criminal justice system. However, I want to stress that, while I have chosen to focus on the construction of stigma, my findings should by no means be taken to suggest that offenders are but passive subjects who have no other alternative than to powerlessly accept and internalize stigma. Indeed, as literature on the subject importantly reminds us, offenders are active agents within this process and I have found them to resist the stigma they are confronted with in a multitude of ways. Nevertheless, as Link & Phelan conclude, ‘the simple fact that these forms of resistance exist suggests there is something out there to avoid and that there are powerful constraining forces at work.’ (ibid.: 378).

1.4 Social, Structural and Cultural Contexts: Conceptions of Crime and Criminality What kind of undesirable characteristics are offenders generally believed to possess? How do we deem offenders ought to be treated and what rationales are being given for this? If we seek to foster our understanding of the nature of the stigma that comes with being identified as an offender, we must ask ourselves these types of questions. Therefore - since, as Garland reminds us, ‘crime control/penal processes cannot be viewed independently from their social, structural, and cultural contexts’ (Lynch 2002: 109) - I want to use this paragraph to discuss and contextualize dominant conceptions of crime, punishment and the criminal subject in contemporary society.

The most influential book ever written on shifting perspectives on criminality and punishment is arguably Foucault’s Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison (1975). Here, Foucault provides a historical account and philosophical analysis of how crime was dealt with in Europe and more specifically France, from roughly the 18th to the 20th century. He describes a shift in the nature and rationales of punishment: a change from corporal punishment - primarily concerned with punishing the body of the offender - to disciplinary punishment – primarily concerned with correcting the offender. As a result of this shift, he argues, it is no longer just the criminal act that is being taxed, sentenced and punished, but also the soul of the offender. To clarify with an example, it is not only the act of abuse that is being condemned, but also the underlying aggressive personality of the offender. (Foucault 1975: 29-31). The bulk of Foucault’s analysis is centered around the emergence of the prison system. He analyses the prison as an 'omni-disciplinary' institute that does not only serve to punish, but also to discipline (and thus reform) every aspect of the lives of those locked away

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16 in it. (Foucault 1975: 320-323). As such, the birth of the prison is exemplary of the broader tendency within society and the criminal justice system that he identifies: the movement away from punishment for the sake of punishment, towards the reluctant acceptance of punishment as a means to achieve corrective goals. (ibid.: 19). Furthermore, he argues that as a result of the shifted rationale behind punishment and the emergence of the prison sentence, the act of criminal punishment has largely disappeared from the realm of the public, into the realm of the private, the hidden and the bureaucratic. (ibid.: 19).

Even though Foucault’s analysis is focused primarily on 20th century France, much of his work is still highly relevant when one attempts to make sense of the nature of punishment in contemporary Dutch society. The correctionalist approach to punishment that he has so thoroughly studied has long been in place in the Netherlands and it has made an enduring impact on all segments of the criminal justice system as well as on the public discourse of crime, punishment and offenders. That being said, in more recent literature concerned with societies’ dealings with crime, a subsequent historical shift has already been identified. Cunha speaks of a shift from a ‘disciplinary society’ to a ‘security society’ based on risk

management. She explains: ‘Its aim is no longer to change people but instead to keep danger at bay. It is not focused on correction but on defence and is more concerned with assessing, managing, and preventing risks than with redressing offenders’ behaviour or reintegrating those in the margins of society through welfare.’ (Cunha 2014: 219). In a similar vein, Schneider & Schneider argue that ‘the rehabilitative ideal has given way to “expressive justice,” evident in a populist language of condemnation and punishment.’ (Schneider & Schneider 2008: 354). They trace this development back to the 1970s and link it to ‘the risks and insecurities of neoliberal capitalism and welfare state decline.’ (ibid.: 354). In the new discourse that is constructed, offenders are being portrayed as ‘those who refuse to

“responsibilize” themselves, threatening national and local security.’ (ibid.: 354). In response to this, Schneider & Schneider explain, both politicians and the general public consistently insist on a tough response to crime and retribution again becomes a more distinct rationale for punishment. (ibid.: 354). Adding to the previously described arguments concerning the

emergence of a discourse that pushes the notion that criminal offenders pose a serious security risk that needs to be contained, Lynch (following Garland) makes a connection with modern media usage. She claims that ‘there is certainly much evidence that the salience of crime as a social problem has dramatically increased with (among other things) the rapid proliferation of electronic mass media, thus shaping the public’s collective perception that crime is rampant.’ (Lynch 2002: 110).

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17 Similar trends have been identified in the Netherlands. For instance, de Wit & Claessen write:

‘The image of the offender has changed markedly since the 19th century – and in our view it has also hardened in the past decades: from sinful and (socially) vulnerable fellow men that need to be held accountable, but that at the same time also deserve our help and support, offenders now appear to be seen as serious risk factors or even incorrigible enemies of society, that need to be scared off and defused as much as possible.’ (de Wit & Claessen 2015: 5).

It already follows from this citation, that the implications of the new shift in thought about punishment and crime are significant. Whereas the correctionalist discourse gave way to the construction of offenders as subjects that are flawed or incompetent and thus in need of reform, structure, guidance and care in order to be rehabilitated, the security discourse

inspires the conception that offenders are dangerous, irresponsible, immoral subjects that need to be excluded from society in order to keep society safe. Furthermore, criminal behaviour is – especially in public discourse - increasingly constructed and understood as being the result of a deliberate choice of the offender, rather than structural or personal problems.

However, as Cunha reminds us, it is important to note that ‘changing general trends can be identified in penal institutions, but they do not necessarily indicate a unified and coherent rationale. The focus on existing practices and daily routines can reveal composite layers from different penal eras.’ (Cunha 2014: 219). Therefore, throughout this thesis, there will be an identifying and analysing link between both the correctionalist and the security discourse on the treatment of offenders and the construction of offender-identity within the criminal justice system.

1.5 Setting, Methods and Collected Data

What exactly is the criminal justice system and how does one go about studying it? Generally, the criminal justice system is defined as a set of institutions 'through which an accused

offender passes until the accusations have been disposed of or the assessed punishment concluded.' 1 The Dutch criminal justice system is built up out of four main components: law enforcement, the judicial system, the penal system and parole services. Together, these components aim to control, penalize, and minimize crime. It follows from this that I have

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18 conducted my fieldwork in the buildings of multiple institutions throughout the Netherlands. For a period of roughly three months, I have spent most of my time at police stations, central cell complexes, courtrooms, parole centres, lawyer’s offices and – unfortunately to a lesser extent - prisons, as these places make up the bulk of the criminal justice system in practice. My primary research method has been participant observation. I have spent a little over two weeks at a central police cell complex where I accompanied police officers as they carried out their daily tasks and hung out in the canteen. I have let myself be locked in a police cell for about 30 hours to experience what it was like; I have spent a day at the police department of a courthouse, and I have instigated three spontaneous group discussions with police officers during the weeks I spent at the complex. I attended a dozen court cases, on my own as well as with parole officers, police officers, lawyers and their clients. I was also present at about twenty supervisory and advisory conversations between parole officers and their clients. I accompanied lawyers and parole officers when they visited clients in prisons, a rehab centre and a clinic for detention under a hospital order. In the clinic for detention under a hospital order, I attended a team meeting concerning a parole client that I had previously met to get an impression of the extent of the supportive network that is formed around clients with mental disorders. Finally, I spent two days with a lawyer on standby duty, which meant visiting clients in the immediate hours following their arrest, sitting in during the police interrogations of minors and informing their family members. One of the interrogations that I sat in on was an interrogation conducted by a special task force concerned with the

interrogation of sexual offences that lasted for more than six hours.

At the onset of my fieldwork period, I did not expect to be able to conduct participant observation in the way that I have. I feared that many of the situations that I previously

described would be considered too precarious or private, either by police officers, lawyers and parole officers or by the suspects and clients that they worked with. In practice this proved not to be much of a problem. As soon as I had permission to conduct research at a certain

location, both the present employees and the suspects and (ex)offenders almost always immediately and wholeheartedly consented whenever I asked if I could be present

somewhere. In fact, many employees as well as (ex)offenders that I spoke to functioned as gatekeepers and suggested new research locations and people for me to talk to. During most of the interactions between (ex)offenders and criminal justice system employees I was allowed and encouraged to ask questions, so that I have continuously conducted spontaneous informal ‘interviews’ with employees and offenders, based on what I had just witnessed. Because I do not own a car and many of my fieldwork sites are notoriously difficult to

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19 reach by public transport, I have also spent a significant amount of time in cars with lawyers, parole officers and police officers that generously offered to drive me everywhere. This has generated a lot of useful data because it allowed me to talk to them informally and it helped build rapport. Additionally, it provided me with the opportunity to listen in as they answered work related phone calls, and to reflect on the topics of those phone calls together.

Conversely, I have relied less heavily on formal interviewing than I had previously intended, also because – in contrast - scheduling and conducting formal interviews proved to be harder than expected. I had primarily hoped to interview (ex)offenders and my access to them was dependent on their schedules and consent as well as those of the criminal justice system employees that worked with them. Oftentimes, the circumstances for interviewing were not ideal. I was not allowed to take recording equipment with me to most sections of the prisons and police departments that I visited and the police officers under whose authority I fell did not allow me to be alone with arrestees. They deemed that it would not be safe. Asking arrestees questions that could in any way pertain to their case, criminal history, personal feelings and treatment by the police of course proved to be utterly nonsensical (and arguably even unethical) with a police officer looking over my shoulder, so I refrained from that as soon as I found out the police officers would not grant us any privacy. I also found that I only very seldom had the opportunity to meet with arrestees and (ex)offenders more than once, so it was difficult to build rapport with them specifically. In some cases this did not seem to be too much of a problem. There were interviewees with whom I was quickly able to establish a personal connection, who genuinely seemed to appreciate the opportunity to talk about their experiences and tell their side of the story or unburden on me. These interviews have provided very valuable data. However, I have also conducted interviews with

(ex)offenders who had consented to an interview but nevertheless clearly did not feel comfortable sharing anything personal. While this might have been in part linked to

personality – these were often practical men of little words - I still feel that these interviews might have gone differently had we had the chance to get to know each other first and perhaps also to conduct the interview in a more informal setting than for instance the parole officer-client meeting room inside of a prison. I do also have to conclude that my inexperience as an interviewer has occasionally been a problem. Several of my interviewees had to deal with complex issues – such as severe mental health problems or a very low IQ - and I do not feel that I was always sufficiently able to adapt my interview style and questions to that.

Seeing as I was always meeting with (ex)offenders inside criminal justice system institutions, introduced by criminal justice system employees, I worried beforehand that it

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20 might be difficult for some of them to separate me and my intentions from those of the

government officials that worked with them professionally. To try and counter this I

consistently made sure to dress casually, explain clearly what my research was about and not ask specific questions about the crimes my interviewees were accused of or convicted for. I also naturally found myself refraining from showing any judgement. In practice however, both employees and (ex)offenders generally seemed to automatically assume I was ‘on their side.’ My young appearance and timid character have probably worked in my favour: most of the people I met were eager to help me and make me feel comfortable. My social identities of researcher, student and someone-without-a-criminal-record all turned out to be less decisive than my nice-young-girl identity. Nevertheless, it was not hard to establish myself as someone of knowledge simply by explaining the field of anthropology and my personal research to everyone. This created a basis for equal exchange.

1.6 Access, Regulations and Limitations

The institutions that I have conducted my research at are all well-guarded and negotiating access to them has been a complicated and time consuming process. Unfortunately, my formal requests to conduct research in prison have been denied, even though I followed the procedure meticulously. Through my work with other institutions and their connections to prisons I still ended up going to prisons more frequently than I had expected after my requests had been denied. I even ended up conducting interviews there for a day. Still, I have not been able to collect enough ethnographic data to be able to dedicate a full chapter to it, which is of course a serious limitation of my research. I negotiated access to the judicial system and law

enforcement through my personal network, which proved to be indispensable as previous formal attempts had all failed. Finally, I successfully formally applied to do research at two parole organizations (Reclassering Nederland and SVG Tactus) by submitting research proposals that were reviewed by research committees and by giving introductory

presentations, but only after I had acquaintances direct me to the right people and put in a good word. As a rule I would say that all doors appeared to be hermetically closed at first - I despaired a lot - but once I finally got in things were in some respects surprisingly easy. Of course, having gone through all those procedures meant that I had already established a certain amount of legitimacy and contacts before I entered the field. After they had allowed me to conduct my research, criminal justice system employees oftentimes felt obliged to help me get set up and several of them have invested a considerable amount of time in informing

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21 me, showing me around, introducing me to other people and helping me schedule

appointments. However, in other respects my freedom has structurally remained limited due to the exceptionally high level of regulations of the criminal justice field. I had to schedule appointments for everything, I always needed all sorts of official documents – certificates of conduct, letters explaining my research, visitors passes and non-disclosure agreements2 - and I was continuously confronted with new supervisors who all adopted different rules. There have been times at which I was allowed to open and close cell-doors myself as I accompanied police officers on their rounds and there have been times at which I was not allowed to enter the cell-block area. On some occasions I was allowed to take files home with me, on others I was not allowed to look at files. I was hardly ever allowed to take pictures and I often could not take recording equipment with me. I have thus spent hours writing down detailed descriptions of my surroundings.

Consequently, I have collected my data in an unusually concentrated fashion. I have never had the typical fieldwork experience of waiting for days and days for something relevant to happen. For me, everything that happened – even within waiting rooms and employee canteens - was relevant. At the same time, employing the classical anthropological method of spending all of my time in the field was simply not a possibility. I cannot count the times that I was nervously biting my nails at home because lawyers did not pick up their phones, parole clients did not show up for their appointments and police officers sent me home by mistake because they were unaware of the fact that I had permission to be there. Much like the (ex)offenders that I studied, I was always completely reliant on the co-operation of the people that worked in the criminal justice system.

The most significant result of my reliance upon other people and the workings of institutions, is that I have not been able to exercise enough influence over the field so as to generate enough data to focus on a specific type of offender. As I had expected that an offender’s treatment in the system would be dependent on a variety of variables such as age, gender, nationality, ethnic background and the nature of the criminal act that he had been convicted for or accused of, I had initially hoped to gradually develop a focus on – for instance - the experiences of male adult Dutch sex offenders. In practice, however, I found myself clinging on to every opportunity I got to be present in the field at all. Moreover, I learned that – especially at the police cell complex - interactions with arrestees often took place without me (and even without the officers) knowing what they had been suspected of.

2_{I am allowed to write about the situations I encounter, but I have to make sure that the privacy of everyone}

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22 Reflecting on it, I think a strong argument can be made for focussing on all offenders, as I have ended up doing. The criminal justice system works according to rigid protocols that inevitably ensure that all experiences with it are – to some extent - remarkably similar. During interviews, a lot of my informants –even those who had only once been arrested for petty theft- reflected on what it meant to ‘be treated like a criminal.’ This, of course, is exactly what my research is about and taking other identity markers out of the equation might even make that more clear. However, I am well aware that in real life, it is quite impossible to ‘take other identity markers out of the equation.’ Therefore, I do consider the fact that I have not, in any significant way, been able to take them into account the most serious limitation of this research and I hope to get the opportunity one day to pursue this further.

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23

The Police

Eric, the police officer with whom I am teamed up today, is standing protectively between me and the door he has just opened. From behind his back I am trying to peek into the small greyish room, and I see that the arrestee has thrown his food against the wall and torn up his mattress. It is a big mess. The arrestee – a man in his early forties- is yelling at us, angrily demanding his medication while he is ripping up magazines. ‘Well no smoking for you then!’ replies Eric, and without hesitation he closes the door. ‘Good God…’ We report the situation upstairs. (‘Number 2 has thrown his food against the wall and he is not allowed to smoke until he cleans it up himself.’)

It is a slow night, so when we hear commotion over at holding cell 2 about half an hour later, we walk back over there to check it out. Two police officers are standing in front of the open cell door. They are both yelling: ‘ARE YOU GOING TO CLEAN THIS MESS UP? ARE YOU? ARE YOU?’ Meanwhile, the arrestee sits on the bench in the far right corner of the room, nervously hugging himself and endlessly reiterating that he cannot move and that he needs medication. ‘Well if you don’t clean this up you cannot smoke!’ the police officers conclude cheerfully and again they close the door.

The officers all leave and I follow them reluctantly, but Eric and I return shortly to see if we can calm the man down. When we approach him he is already clumsily trying to clean up the food, so we get him a trash bag and talk to him about his meds. He is still agitated and he tells us everything in his head feels ghastly. ‘So aspirin won’t do you any good.’ ‘No, that’s why I need Seroquel.’ Eric doesn’t respond right away and the arrestee starts pacing and rambling again. His words are becoming increasingly hard to make out, but I still gather he is afraid that he will either kill himself or someone else if he does not take his medication on time, just like his old cellmate in prison did in his presence a while back. Eric ignores the chilling monologue and calmly explains that the arrestee will be sent back to prison tonight and that they will give him his medication there. This new information immediately calms the man down, so we take the trash bag, promise him a cigarette and leave.

Later that night, when it is almost time to go home, I tell Eric and one of the other officers that I cannot stop thinking about the arrestee. ‘He must have been so very afraid,’ I say. ‘Afraid?!’ They both stare at me incredulously. ‘Yes, to lose his mind, that’s what he said right? And Seroquel is an antipsychotic.’ ‘Hum yeah, I mean, I don’t know what all of those meds are. They all want meds.’ ‘Yes, yes, and only in here of course, at home they never need

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24 them,’ they say sulkily.

2.1 Introduction

For most offenders, getting arrested and spending some time in a police cell marks the beginning of their dealings with the criminal justice system. Therefore, I spent the first few weeks of my fieldwork at a central police cell complex in Houten. For the most part, this chapter stems from data collected during those weeks. It aims to provide an ethnographic account of life in the police cell complex and the experience of being locked in, as well as an analysis of the possible effects of becoming an arrestee on the social position and identities of those involved.

By means of introduction, I will first provide an overview of the activities that take place in the complex and briefly reflect on my position and activities as a researcher there. After that, I will go into how being locked up at the complex is experienced by the arrestees and analyse the everyday realities of working at the complex to make sense of the processes of dehumanization that follow from it. Finally, I will argue that immediately upon arrival, arrestees are being placed in a new social category: namely that of the ‘immoral other,’ and discuss the implications thereof for the construction of offender identity and stigma.

The central police cell complex in Houten has been in use since 2007. It was built to accommodate every arrestee that is to be detained for more than six hours within the Province of Utrecht. Usually arrestees spend no more than three days in Houten, but if the situation requires it, their stay in the complex can be extended to up to a maximum of ten days. Arrestees spend most of the day in their cell. Twice a day they are allowed get some air and smoke a cigarette. Furthermore they are usually allowed to take a shower in the morning, and every now and then they are escorted out of their cell for activities related to the investigation of their case – such as interrogation, identification or a meeting with their lawyer or parole officer. Arrestees that are underage are allowed to be visited by their parents.

The complex has a capacity of 105 cells: 92 standard cells and 13 observations cells that are intended for aggressive or suicidal arrestees that need to be monitored closely.

Because the complex is quite new, its facilities are – according to the police officer that shows me around enthusiastically - state of the art. In practice this mostly means the security levels are high. The elevators are equipped with a barred compartment so that aggressive arrestees can be transported safely to a different floor. There are two digital interrogation rooms so that interrogations regarding grave or sexual crimes can be recorded on camera. The windows of

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25 the complex are all made out of bullet proof glass. The whole building is equipped with cameras and ‘aggression meters’ that measure noise and set off a silent alarm whenever, for instance, an arrestee raises his voice in the corridors. While at most police stations, lawyers and parole officers are supposed to meet with their clients cramped up in a little room together, here they are separated from their clients by armoured glass. Having visited other police stations as well, I observe that the updated security measures inspire a heightened sense of potential danger. The presence of the armoured glass for instance, automatically seems to communicate that lawyers would not be safe without it.

I have managed to negotiate access to the complex – which, as everyone will

continuously remind me, is very unique - through an acquaintance of my parents, who is the head of integrity of a related police department. Even so, it always takes a while to get in or out of it. The complex is situated in an industrial area and it is surrounded by security cameras and a high electric fence. In order to get in, I have to walk towards the fence, press a button and state my name and the purpose of my visit through the intercom. Someone inside will then open the fence so that I can proceed towards the reception desk, where I usually have to explain myself further before I am allowed to hand in my passport in exchange for a visitors pass that I need to wear visibly at all times. When I am all set, I am instructed to wait for an officer that is paged to escort me to another officer - higher in rank - who will assume responsibility for me for the day. Typically, this officer will go over the rules with me one more time. I have to listen carefully to all the officers; I have to stay away from conflicts and aggression; I am not allowed to take anything with me on the floor; I have to sign a

confidentiality form and I am not allowed to talk to the arrestees without an officer present. Finally, I am neither allowed nor capable to go anywhere on my own. I have never seen a building with so many doors before, and all of them are locked. I nod, say ‘yes, of course, that goes without saying’ and promise to adhere to the rules. Once he is reassured, the high ranked officer will turn me over to the officers in the canteen and there everyone will urge me to, by all means, help myself to as much coffee as I want. The day can begin.

The ritual I have to perform each day to get in is significant. It exemplifies how highly regulated the space is, how dependent my research is on the goodwill and assistance of the officers, and how few outsiders ever find their way into the complex. As a young woman (some of the officers say ‘little girl’), a student, and someone wearing civilian clothing, I am an absolute oddity and in the beginning I have to explain myself to everyone. This is not a bad thing per se because it initially motivates both officers and arrestees to talk to me. After a few days everyone is used to me and because I am rather quiet and apparently perceived as

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non-26 threatening, the officers that have not taken it upon themselves to drag me along , to answer my questions or to make me feel comfortable just generally pretend I am not there.

Most of the arrestees I encounter in passing look very confused when they see me and yet, all of the arrestees to whom I introduce myself are cooperative. They never object to my presence, not even at interrogations and they generally agree to talk to me. It might have helped that I look really young and – again - non-threatening, but I think that for the most part it is attributable to the fact that most of the arrestees might be used to having all kinds of people (lawyers, interns, psychologists, police officers in training etc.) observing them, asking them questions or listening in. So once they find out who I am and that I will do nothing that affects their case directly, they oftentimes simply do not care and either look right through me or wink at me from time to time.

2.2 Being Locked In: Loss of Autonomy, Dependence and the Vulnerable Arrestee Throughout the course of my research, informants often tell me that those first few days in a police cell are the worst. Recurrent themes in their stories about this experience include boredom, shame, uncertainty and - most importantly - the pains of being dependent. Indeed, inside the central cell complex, arrestees come to be fully dependent on the police officers that work with them. This can be frightening, especially since a lot of arrestees either do not trust the police or do not know what to expect from them. A few weeks into my research, a 20 year old arrestee explains: ‘The first time it was hard, I did not know what they would do to me and what would happen. I cried a lot actually. But now I do not care anymore.’

The loss of autonomy starts as soon as the arrestees are escorted through the arrestee entrance, into a really small holding cell with a small anchored bench in it. The holding cell has a glass door so the arrestees remain visible at all times. Some of them try pacing around, but there is hardly any room so most of them just sit there. They remind me of caged animals. They have to wait in there – sometimes five minutes, sometimes a few hours - until an officer comes to check them in. During check in, they are searched and their personal belongings, shoes and belt are catalogued and taken from them. Finally, they are made to answer a series of questions about their medical history. Arrestees lose the right to privacy. When the paperwork has been completed, they are escorted to their cell. Inside their cell, they have a small digital clock, a radio with four or five channels, an anchored aluminium toilet with a water tap on top of it, an anchored bed and bedside table and a plastic mattress, blanket and pillow. There really is not much to do, so most arrestees just lie in their beds and stare at the

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27 walls all day. They will now experience what according to Foucault, who analyses the

criminal justice system as ‘an economy of suspended rights,’ is one of the cornerstones of modern punishment: loss of freedom. (Foucault 1975: 20-21.) Put differently, arrestees are confronted with an intense restriction of their abilities to decide and arrange even the most basic things for themselves. Quite obviously, they cannot decide to leave. However, they can also no longer decide when to eat or drink, and what to eat or drink. They no longer have the freedom to see a doctor whenever they feel they need to, and they do not have immediate access to painkillers or their usual medication. They can only shower, shave, brush their teeth or change their clothes if and when these privileges are being offered to them. They cannot stop police officers from entering their cell and talking to them whenever they want to. They cannot turn off all the lights at night, or get an extra blanket when they are cold.

This is uncomfortable. I get to experience it first-hand when I let myself be locked in for about 30 hours to increase my understanding of what being locked in feels like. I always worry that police officers will walk in just as I am peeing. I worry that there are cameras even though I know there are not. It is too warm inside and there is nothing I can do about it. It is too cold and again there is nothing I can do about it. I am feeling nauseous and I cannot get myself an apple or a dry cracker like I normally would. When the officers come by to bring me lunch through a hatch in my door, I ask for bread that does not have meat on it. They give me a sandwich with chicken and leave, so I do not eat anything until dinner. From 23.00 onwards, the officers start doing checks every hour, which means that they open another hatch in my cell door – this makes a lot of noise - and stare into my cell for a bit. The staring makes me feel very uncomfortable and the noise makes it hard to get a good night of sleep. When I finally doze off in the morning, they wake me up again. It is 6 AM: breakfast time.

I want to stress here that being dependent can be unpleasant and annoying if one is healthy and calm before being brought in, like I was. However, it is when you feel awful that it can sometimes become almost unbearable or even traumatic. The fact is that oftentimes, arrestees do not feel fine when they are being brought in. In my experience, most of the arrestees that come in are vulnerable in some way or another, be it mentally, physically or socially. For instance, I have encountered arrestees that are pregnant; arrestees that have been badly beaten; arrestees that are either drunk or hungover; arrestees that are addicted, confused or very emotional; arrestees that do not speak the language and do not know their rights; arrestees that are only thirteen years old and arrestees that are battling severe mental or physical illnesses. Perhaps that is one of the reasons that every day so many arrestees use the intercom in their cell to ask for a doctor. During the hours I spend in the CPA room, where the

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28 intercom is being answered, the calls just keep on coming in. Among other things, arrestees report headaches, sore arms and legs, blurry eyesight, and, more than once, an assorted list of complaints (nausea, trouble breathing, dizziness and chest pains) that I – as an expert by experience - am inclined to interpret as possible signs of a panic attack. The arrestees that call in during my presence are all immediately being put on the doctor’s list.

However, according to my informants, it often does not come across as self-evident that they will receive the care they ask for. A young woman explains to me: ‘I do not do well getting arrested. I start to feel very panicked. I really need my medication and last time when I asked for it they said they would only give it to me if I identified myself. I knew they were required to give it to me, and that they were only trying to intimidate me, but still… You never know, you know. I was really scared.’ These feelings of powerlessness, uncertainty and fear can significantly shape the experience of being locked in, even if in the end care is provided and no misconduct does take place.

2.3 The Arrestee as Work: Lived Experiences, Pragmatics and Dehumanization Up until now I have mainly focused on the experiences and position of the arrestees within the complex. However, it is important to consider that their experiences and position are at least in part shaped by the police officers that work with them professionally. So who are these police officers? What is expected of them? What does their working day typically look like? What kind of difficult situations do they encounter at the complex, how do they deal with those situations and how are they affected by them? In this paragraph I will write about the lived experiences of the police officers I have worked with during my time at the complex in order to answer these questions. Furthermore, I will continuously relate their experiences and praxis back to the subsequent experiences of the arrestees and analyse how they are shaped and formed by each other.

Most of the police officers that work at the cell complex are white men. I do not have specific numbers on this but if I were to make a rough estimation I would say that no more than 15 percent of the complex employees are women or people of colour. I am told that racism and Islamophobia are a problem within the police force and that a lot of officers with a different cultural background are struggling with this, especially since the rise of IS and the Charlie Hebdo attacks. While a complete analysis of how these social and political factors impact on both the officers and the arrestees at the complex is unfortunately beyond the scope of this research, I have continuously been mindful of them. Moreover, I think it is important

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29 that I at least stress here that the interactions between arrestees and police officers, as well as the interactions between officers, are being shaped by these factors. While I have not

witnessed any overt instances of explicitly racist or sexist misconduct towards arrestees, the officers do make a lot of racist and sexist remarks among each other and I have noticed some of them being slightly more patient and polite towards arrestees that are white and Dutch. The officers range in age from about 20 years old to somewhere in their sixties and their educational and employment background varies. About half of the younger officers are still studying at the police academy to move up in rank. They only work at the complex temporarily. In addition to that there are usually a few high ranked police officers present that have completed either intermediate vocational training3 or higher education. However, during an introductory conversation with a high ranked officer that is in charge of managing the complex, he explains that most of the officers that work with the arrestees directly have not received a lot of schooling after secondary school.4 While several of them have been working at the complex or at other complexes and police stations for many years, others come from diverse backgrounds. For instance, an officer in his sixties explains to me that he has actually been a postman for most of his life. Another man shares that he used to work as a firefighter before he landed here. I will dedicate the rest of this paragraph specifically to the officers at the complex that work with the arrestees directly, or as they say it, that ‘work the floor.’ The officers work in day- and nightshifts and the heaviness of their workload varies from day to day. When the complex is packed with arrestees the work can be stressful and tiring. The officers have to stand on their feet throughout the whole shift and especially if there is an incident things can get quite hectic. When the complex holds few arrestees it often happens that officers spend days on end almost exclusively hanging out in the canteen: talking, drinking coffee, watching television and ordering food. On those days the few tasks they do have to carry out can either feel like a short annoying interruption of their downtime, or like a very welcome temporary distraction.

At the beginning of their shift, the incoming officers are briefed. Have there been any incidents at the complex? Are there any arrestees that need special care or that are particularly agitated or aggressive? Does the complex hold many arrestees at the moment and are many expected to come in? After the briefing, they are divided into teams and assigned specific tasks. Regular tasks include checking arrestees in, checking arrestees out, identification, airing

3_{In Dutch this corresponds to MBO3}

4_{To be allowed to work at the complex, one has to complete a one year lower vocational education program at}

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30 the arrestees, taking care of food, juice and magazine rounds, and manning the central post (CPA) from where camera footage can be watched, intercom calls from the arrestees can be answered and doors can be opened electronically. Normally officers will change tasks once or twice during their shift. On slow days the task division is not really adhered to in practice and everyone decides who will do what organically.

As I have mentioned, a large proportion of the day to day tasks at the complex is made up out of either escorting the arrestees from point A to point B and back, or bringing them things. Especially on busy days, where one carries out these tasks without breaks, the work can feel quite monotonous. After accompanying two police officers that are in charge of airing for almost an entire shift, I write in my notebook:

Walking through the green corridors, knocking on doors and dragging arrestees to and from the greyish courtyard where they can smoke a cigarette and get some air soon becomes a repetitive blur. I am starting to understand how this work can slowly turn the arrestees into a number or a task, instead of a person. But still, it remains strange to think about the invisible presence of the 57 people that are presently being detained here, who are quietly waiting in their dens in the wall, behind doors that we can open or close whenever we want to.

Struggling to put into words the exact feeling that often creeps up on me while I accompany police officers as they set out to complete their daily tasks, I jot down lots of strikingly similar notes in my notebook over time. ‘In the camera room I watch a suicidal man in an observation cell. He is lying under a blanket and he hardly moves. It feels very strange to watch him like this, I feel a certain distance, as if he is not a real person.’ A few days later: ‘On the one hand it feels alienating and embarrassing to watch how another person uses the toilet. On the other hand, it does not seem real and we hardly take notice of it.’ Later on: ‘When we open doors, it feels as though the arrestees suddenly appear, when we close doors, it feels as if they

suddenly disappear again. It is hard to grasp they are there the whole time.’

While I am still struggling to uncover why and how this happens exactly, the tendency of the notes is clear. Somehow, in the process of carrying out the daily tasks that the police officers have to carry out, the arrestees seem to lose part of their humanity. To some extent, they cease to be a complete human being in the eyes of the officers. This process is probably exemplified as well as intensified by the way in which the officers commonly refer to the arrestees: by their cell number. ‘Number 44 wants his coffee black.’ ’16 is not allowed to smoke anymore.’

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31 Possibly in part as a result of the automatic ‘dehumanization process,’ the officers for the most part seem exceptionally capable of ignoring the arrestees whenever they feel like it. At some point I have written down that the arrestees become ‘ignorable.’ The most visual example of this is the opening and closing of cell doors. The cell doors allow the officers to exercise an unusual amount of control over social interactions. If they want interaction, they need only open a cell door. If they do not want interaction, all they have to do is close it. Indeed, it often happens that an officer closes a cell door while the arrestee is still talking. Another example from my field notes:

We escort a dim, hyperactive young boy who is hoping that he will be allowed to go home soon back to his cell. He vividly and loudly explains that he does his best to speed up his case during questioning. 'I just tell them the truth, you know, everything exactly as it has happened, I have even told them that my friend stabbed someone, because he has told them about me also, and if he talks about me it is only fair that I talk about him right?' And yet, he concludes, the detective force is accusing him of not telling the whole story! ‘But I have’ –we have arrived at his cell and one of the police officers immediately interrupts him, says ‘Good luck son!’ and closes the door.

A strange social situation is created, especially because officers most often suddenly close the door if an arrestee is becoming agitated, aggressive, argumentative or emotional. The closing of the door therefore often immediately transforms a rather intense situation into a calm situation for the officer, while suddenly leaving the arrestee to his own emotions and frustrations, cut off from the world.

In addition to being able to ignore arrestees by using a heavy door, officers are – from what I have observed - also quite capable of ignoring arrestees by using only their mind. They often joke and converse among each other while they are working with an arrestee and when that happens they appear to put up this wall that temporarily makes the arrestee disappear from the social space. Sometimes they casually talk about the arrestee while the arrestee can still hear them, or they focus all their attention on me and they explain why they are doing something or why the arrestee is supposed to do something, without paying any attention to privacy or to the fact that the arrestee is also still present and waiting. I always really have to make an effort to ask the arrestees for permission for my being there because the officers that escort me are usually eager to involve me in any type of spontaneous social interaction with the arrestees (I have told some of them these interactions are my main focus of interest)

Becoming an offender : stigmatization and the production of offender-identity in the Dutch criminal justice system