Life inside - Microsociété

There are over twenty police officers forming a semi-circle from one side of the door to the next. Within their perimeter is a garbage truck. It is trash day at San Pedro prison, just two blocks away from our hostel.

Right now, convicts, under the eyes of the police, are loading the garbage truck with buckets and buckets of garbage.

Of course, I only know they are convicts because I know that this is San Pedro prison. To look at them you'd think them to be regular citizens, after all, they are dressed just like the people walking by me in the street.

A man walks up to me and starts talking to me about the prison. He was inside for eight months and still has friends in there. He offers to give me a tour, not unheard of for tourists to be brought in as a specific prisoner's visitor, but I decline.

To be clear, the reason why tours are possible, is because there are no bars in the prison. No bars. No curfews. The prisoners can go where ever they want, as long as they stay within the confines of the prison. And, of course, as long as they don't step into somebody else's cell.

I decline telling him that I am fearful person.

And why am I afraid of going inside San Pedro prison? Because there are no guards inside the prison walls. Just on the outside.

He does admit that while most of the people inside are all right, that there are in fact some bad people in there.

When he says bad people, I'm not sure if he's referring to the occasional murder that happens at night, one of the ways that prisoners settle disputes, or the drug traffickers and producers, San Pedro prison being one of the primary sources of cocaine in La Paz.

He tells me that inside you have to buy your cell. Waving to the right, he says that all the nice cells are on that side. If you don't have money he says, you'll find yourself on that side, waving to the left. Packed into a bare cell, sleeping on the floor next to others. Hopefully at least one of them is a friend, or you'll wake up on the floor with nothing on but your underwear.

There's a prison transfer happening now. Men, in regular clothes, getting off a green bus with tiny windows, being ushered into the prison by police officers who don't follow them in.

He tells me that there are districts inside. That the prison is huge with many floors. There are nicer more affluent areas, likely the side that he waved towards on the right, and poorer ones, like those on the left. Each district elects their leaders. Each district fields a fútbol team. Each district hires prisoners to perform the tasks that need doing, collecting garbage, cooking, operating general stores, working in the library.

He tells me that life inside is incredibly interesting, for us, if a little dull for the prisoners, and, before leaving, he asks me one last time if I want a tour. I thank him but decline again.

We shake hands, I tell him that I'm happy to have met him, and we go our separate ways, as things go back to normal at San Pedro prison, with the queues of family members waiting to be checked by the policia outside before they can go in to visit their husbands and fathers, maybe for a few hours, maybe to spend the night inside with them.

Avez-vous regardé la série Prison Break? Toute la série? Si non et que vous ne voulez pas de punch, ne lisez pas la suite.

À un certain point de la série les personnages sont emprisonnés en Amérique Centrale dans une prison sans gardes. Ces derniers sont à l'extérieur et viennent régulièrement fournir nourriture, eau et recueillir les déchets. À l'intérieur, c'est la loi du plus fort, du plus riche, du plus puissant. Sans argent ni contact, on dort sur le sol, on mange très peu et on est chanceux si on a des vêtements.

Ce type de prison existe. Il y en a une au coin de la rue de notre auberge. La prison San Pedro. Bien sûr la réalité n'est pas aussi dure que la fiction. Le jour les gens visitent leurs proches sans danger et il n'y a pas un règne de terreur. Les prisonniers vivent ''librement'' à l'intérieur de la prison où s'est installée bien sûr une hiérarchie, pas tellement différente de la nôtre. Les gardes viennent régulièrement fournir en nourriture et récupérer les déchets.

C'est un concept que je ne connais absolument pas et les questions et hypothèses fusent dans ma tête. Une prison ainsi autogérée est-elle moins aliénante pour les prisonniers? Pourquoi sont-ils laissés à eux-mêmes? Ce modèle facilite-t-il la réinsertion sociale? Sont-ils seuls car moins considérés? Peut-on apprendre comme société d'une tel modèle?

Réflexion en cours.