Incarceration and the "Freedom to Read": how prison libraries function as instruments of state power.

Doyle, Brenna C.

Introduction

[1] Since their inception in 1790, prison libraries and literacy programs have been scrutinized and studied in order to gauge their potential usefulness in the rehabilitation of the incarcerated (Rubin, 3). A large body of literature, overwhelmingly consisting of personal accounts and analyses from librarians, and the occasional inmate, has been produced discussing these programs and institutions. The narrative of the prison library extends beyond memoirs and research. Many novels, films, and television shows which have prison as their setting or focus will include scenes or storylines within the prison library. The image of the reading prisoner is part of the American national psyche and with very few exceptions the narrative surrounding the prison library--be it fictional or nonfictional--is overwhelmingly supportive of these services. Besides routine lamentations about lack of funding or frustration over the occasional administrative roadblock, the majority of accounts are profuse in their praise of the prison library as beneficial to inmate growth and rehabilitation.

[2] The oft-stated positive characteristics of these programs are manifold. They offer opportunities for prisoners to gain knowledge and further their education. Book programs and libraries are often connected with education classes and vocational trainings in which inmates can learn skills that will be useful upon release. Outside of the prison walls, these individuals may not have had the opportunity to focus on education and literacy but during a period of incarceration they may be able to spend concentrated periods of time with library staff and volunteer educators. Access to books can also be seen as a way for prisoners to have leisure time and moments of freedom from the otherwise violent or oppressive life of an inmate. The relief these types of programs offer inmates is lauded as beneficial and perhaps even necessary to the survival of the individual within the prison system. Inmates themselves are often the most vocal advocates for access to reading materials while incarcerated and the most adamant protesters when these materials are removed, often taking part in lawsuits--with varying success--against prison institutions that try to restrict this access (Sweeney, 20). Literature "frees" the mind, conceivably making the fact that the body is oppressively contained somewhat more bearable.

[3] Considering these myriad potentially positive aspects of institutional libraries, educational programs geared towards inmates, and prison book programs/book groups, it is easy to assume that creating these types of programs and supporting them once they are in place is an important and necessary way for the government to support a population of its citizenry who are among the most at risk. Yet this idea becomes more complex when one recognizes that the prison system is one of the many influential tools of State power. Although organizations such as the American Library Association (ALA) have created guidelines for libraries within correctional facilities, these libraries are not in fact under the sole jurisdiction of librarians or any public library association. "Library facilities, library collections, and library services in the federal prison system fall under the jurisdiction of the Federal Bureau of Prisons, U.S. Department of Justice. Each of the fifty states has its own department of corrections (or similarly named agency) with responsibility for the state correctional facilities and libraries" (Lehmann, 490). Everyone, and everything, within the prison system is controlled by the State. Libraries and book programs within this system are there only because the State allows them to be and this beneficence comes at a high price.

[4] This price most often presents itself in the form of censorship. Prison administrations, as well as local governments, frequently censor the types of books available to inmates. This censorship can take the form of restricting access to reading materials that depict violence, such as true crime novels. In the case against Steven Hayes--a man accused of multiple counts of murder--in 2007, the prosecution requested a list of the books Hayes had read in prison, asserting that "his salacious choices in literature fueled his crimes" (Conrad, 407). In some U.S. prisons there have even been restrictions placed on the types of religious texts allowed. In 2007, for example, this took the form of several U.S. prisons banning Islamic texts out of a fear of Islamic extremism. This ban was enacted as a response to a Justice Department report urging state and federal agencies to "avoid becoming recruiting grounds for militant Islamic and other religious groups" (Goodstein, 1). Although texts from other religions have occasionally been scrutinized or removed, since the events of 9/11, Islamic literature and texts have been the most frequently labeled as corrosive to the mind of the inmate.

[5] If those in power believe that reading about violence in books makes prisoners more prone to committing acts of violence in life, then it makes sense that censorship would be employed by the State. This belief, however, does not seem to be backed by any substantial evidence. Instances of censorship reveals that although libraries and book programs within prisons are ostensibly allowing inmates greater access to knowledge, this access is being closely monitored and managed by those in power. The censorship of certain materials, such as religious texts, also suggests that some types of texts are considered inherently "dangerous" and prison administrators fear that access to them could further the criminality of the reader's mind. In her book, The Prison Library Primer, Brenda Vogel describes the prison as, "a nonnurturing environment of deprivation that fosters dependence through humiliation and compliance ... a hostile environment possessed by fear and intimidation" (20). Given this bleak description, can librarians within the prison system offer any lasting relief through granting inmates access to

reading materials, or is the prison system itself too broken to allow for such relief?

[6] The Prison Industrial Complex (PIC) is an extremely problematic system, one that contributes to issues of race, class, and gender oppression, which are already rampant in the United States. As noted in the name, the PIC is first and foremost an industry, one that functions through the production of labor, as any other industry does. Since Congress created the Prison Industry Enhancement Program in 1984, federal and state prisons have been permitted to sell what inmates make on the open market and since "1996, more than seventy thousand inmates were working in the prison industry, performing data entry, light manufacturing, printing, and other labor" (Cozic, 95). Minimum wage in the U.S. is $7.25 per hour, but in the prison system this hourly rate can drop as low as $0.13, and standards for working conditions are often much lower than what would be acceptable outside of the prison walls (Thompson, 41-42). Inmates offer the PIC, and corporations that support the PIC, a quite literally captive labor force, a labor force without any protection or support.

[7] In the United States, the burden of maintaining this particular labor force falls overwhelmingly on African Americans, particularly young men. Earl Smith and Angela J. Hattery, in their article, "African American Men and the Prison Industrial Complex," explore the ways in which the PIC, "exploits African American men by extracting their labor for less than fair market wages" (388). According to 2010 statistics produced by the Federal Bureau of Justice, 60 percent of individuals currently incarcerated in the United States are racial and ethnic minorities ("Racial Disparity"). The Capitalist State, then, is bolstered by the increasingly high rate of incarceration of "African American men, especially those who are low-income, poor, and otherwise not contributing to the capitalist enterprise" (Smith and Hattery, 390). Incarcerating these "unproductive" members of society, and forcing them to produce within the PIC is an ingenious way for the State to rectify this perceived "failure to produce." This exploitation of inmate labor, when those incarcerated in U.S. prisons are so overwhelmingly non-white, creates what is arguably an "extension of the plantation slave economy," (Smith and Hattery, 389) a more politically, socially acceptable format for keeping non-white citizens "in line" and producing in the post-slavery U.S.

[8] Recognizing the dangerous racialized structure that exists in the modern U.S. penal system, it becomes vital to understand the ways in which, even a program with the best intentions, such as the prison library, can end up contributing to the very issues it hopes to alleviate. Any project that falls inside the parameters of the PIC will become warped by the power dynamics which structure it. The PIC, as a tool of State power, assists in the creation of an ideology, one which the State utilizes to keep all citizens--incarcerated as well as "free"--functioning as productive members of said State and its apparatuses. Prison libraries are contained within the PIC, and are thus bound to become a part of the creation of this ideology. My project is to explore how this ideology is created, what it entails, and how libraries can function within it as typically unintentional, yet powerful, tools of the State.

The Library as a Tool of the State

[9] In his essay, "Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses (Notes Towards an Investigation)," Louis Althusser discusses the tools utilized by the State to maintain its power. He differentiates between two types of apparatuses used for this purpose, namely the Repressive State Apparatus and the Ideological State Apparatus(es), or ISAs (79). A Repressive State Apparatus is any tool of the State, which does its works through violence and repression, such as the prison (79). By stripping inmates of their rights, their individuality, and their freedom, the prison system wields State power to control and repress its inmate population. This type of dehumanization can in itself be seen as a type of violence. Additionally, there is no shortage of evidence documenting that prison guards and administrators frequently utilize more traditional physical violence to maintain control over inmates.

[10] Repressive State Apparatuses utilize State power in typically more overt ways, and the dangers they pose to the rights of the individual are often clear. Repressive State Apparatuses are also often easier to resist and rebel against if necessary. When oppression is visible and the agents of that oppression are easily named, formal and organized resistance can more readily form against it. The second type of State tool Athusser discusses is significantly more insidious, harder to resist, and not nearly as straightforward. Ideological State Apparatuses (ISAs) are a collection of institutions, which work, just as the Repressive State Apparatuses do, to increase the State's power over its citizenry. Where Repressive State Apparatuses function primarily through violence, "Ideological State Apparatuses function [primarily] by ideology" (Althusser, 80). This ideology creates each individual as a recognizable subject; in this case a subject of the State.

[11] Althusser lists a variety of examples of ISAs, including religion, the media, even the family (80). I argue that the prison library can be added to this list. Like the other examples on Althusser's list, the prison library can be used to craft an ideology without the knowledge of the individual using its services. This ideology is one of the inmate transformed and reformed by education, by literacy. It is the ideology of the inmate who chooses the pursuits of the mind over the pursuits of the body, an inmate better able to tolerate incarceration because of the intellectual escape offered by reading. An inmate entrenched in this ideological system is perhaps significantly easier to control than an inmate who continues to resist inclusion in the same system. This inmate will more readily produce for the prison industry, doing their work without complaint or rebellion so as to preserve access to privileges like time in the library.

[12] Althusser asserts, "ideology 'acts' or 'functions' in such a way that it 'recruits subjects among individuals (it recruits them all), or 'transforms' the individuals into subjects (it transforms them all) by that very precise operation which I have called interpellation or hailing, and which can be imagined along the lines of the most commonplace everyday police (or other) hailing: 'Hey, you there!'" (86). Through access to the prison library or to prison books groups, the inmate too is being hailed. When prison administrators control what prisoners read they are actively, if insidiously, shaping the inmate into the type of subject who will keep the prison system running smoothly. It is necessary to explore more closely just what kind of subjecthood this hailing is meant to produce and who benefits from the transformation brought about by this hailing.

[13] The prison, and those who run it, can do everything within their power as a Repressive State Apparatus to bully and berate inmates into becoming individuals who produce for the State and are thus "worthy" of reintegration into the general population. In order for this reintegration to have a better chance of being successful, however, an inmate must allow himself or herself to be hailed as the rehabilitated, productive, citizen the State hopes they will become. The inmate must be complicit in their own transformation. The prison library can help in this process. A frequent theme in the narratives produced about prison libraries is that of the library as integral to recovery, "the library is by no means a rehabilitative cure-all, but it can be a key means to satisfy the basic needs of mind and spirit so necessary if that rehabilitation is to be meaningful for the inmate" (Gulker, 62). The focus here is on the transformation of the inmate, the "hailing" of the inmate as reformed as well as their acceptance of this hailing. The rhetoric surrounding the prison library feeds into the assertion that this reformation is made more possible through the presence of the library in the life of the inmate.

[14] This rhetoric also suggests that the prison library is a positive contribution by the PIC, a way to show that prison administrators care about their inmate populations and their success outside the prison walls. By offering library services and educational programs, these same administrators can claim that within the correctional system inmates are offered more opportunities than might be possible outside of that system. Prisoners are less likely to question the system's dangerous flaws if they perceive that a part of that system has their best interests and rehabilitation in mind. As I have discussed, the U.S. PIC is a profoundly damaged structure, one in dire need of reform or complete dismantling. It is a system ostensibly created for the reformation and rehabilitation of the individual but in reality, "under the rubric of the PIC incarceration has little to with rehabilitation or deterrence and much to do with the detention, removal and exploitation of labor" (Smith and Hattery, 388).

[15] By directing public--and inmate--focus onto the positives of prison libraries, and by crafting this ideology of transformation and reform, the State can further, "[shift] attention away from the institutions and social structures that must be changed" (Sweeney, 255). It is certainly in the PIC's interest to keep inmates from focusing on their incarceration and the societal and structural issues that contributed to their situation. In her book, Reading is my Window: Books and the Art of Reading in Women's Prisons, Megan Sweeney studies reading practices of women in three prisons, located in North Carolina, Ohio, and Pennsylvania. In all three of these prisons she found that prison administration, "ban most books and periodicals that address contemporary U.S. punishment practices, particularly materials written by prisoners" (Sweeney, 59). Not only are the State and its apparatuses "recruiting" subjects, through censorship and materials management they deny these subjects the opportunity to question their subjecthood and those very apparatuses that shape it.

[16] The ALA creates circulation policies that they intend to be applied to prison libraries but once its librarians enter the prison system, the rules change. Prison administrators often overrule ALA policies and create their own regulations that dictate which materials are accessible to inmates and which are not. They support these regulations by asserting that, "anything viewed as a threat to the security of the correctional institution" should be restricted (Conrad, 410). Although many prison librarians feel their ability to serve their inmate patrons is hindered by State-sanctioned restrictions, on occasion, even the prison librarian--though a member of the ALA--can contribute to the limitation of inmate knowledge. Unlike a librarian in a public library, who is fully bound and supervised by the ALA, prison librarians can at times be given more control of materials within the prison and this additional control can sometimes lead to further censorship (Sweeney, 62). Megan Sweeney notes that in a prison in Pennsylvania, the librarian was given control over the acquisition of books and refused to stock titles that fell within the genre of "urban fiction," despite the fact that they were frequently requested by inmates; her argument being that the subject matter would be damaging to the continued rehabilitation of these inmates, an assertion with troubling implications I will discuss in more detail later in this project (Sweeney, 143). The ALA might hope that every one of its libraries and librarians will, "reflect the needs of its community" (American Library Association), but a library housed within a prison is not, in reality, a public library. Control over materials is no longer dictated solely by the guidelines and criteria of the ALA. The ALA-affiliated librarian may make suggestions but once the State becomes involved in the policing of materials and the monitoring of information, the "patrons" of this library are no longer free to learn without restriction.

[17] The concept of a prisoner's right to read is a noble one but, "penal objectives dictate library policies and frequently override" this theoretical right (Sweeney, 21). Censorship is a very real issue to consider within the prison library. When materials are censored, that censorship allows prison administrators to control the information to which inmates are allowed access. By controlling information and knowledge, those wielding State power through the PIC can shape ideology. Once this ideology is shaped, the inmate who finds himself or herself hailed is hailed within this existing ideology, and the subjecthood it produces is altered. The prison library may lead the inmate to believe they are being hailed as a free citizen but within the confines of the prison system this hailing cannot be true. Ensuring that the inmate responds to this hailing--fallacious though it may be--is a necessary part of the PIC's production of the docile body and productive citizen-inmate.

[18] This is not to say that libraries that exist within prisons are dangerous or evil, and I certainly wouldn't claim that the librarians who oversee these libraries are necessarily complicit or willing participants in the State's control over the mind and body of the inmate. I would think it safe to assume that the vast majority of librarians maintaining prison libraries are individuals who are trying to do what is best for their inmate patrons, to give them as much access to information as possible within the constraints of the prison system. The problem remains: once a library is placed within the boundaries of a Repressive State Apparatus, it can no longer function as anything other than an Ideological State Apparatus. The prison as industry requires all subjects within its boundaries to produce and every system, no matter how good intentioned, that enters these boundaries will be drafted into service to keep production running. The Capitalist State has many tools at its disposal, and when those tools that require violence to function do not quite get the job done, other, subtler tools will be implemented.

[19] The State and its various apparatuses function to create a certain type of individual, a certain type of "citizen" of the State. This citizen must fit within the State's ideology and answer to the "hailing" I discussed above, as a productive member of society. Though their circumstances and surroundings might differ from a "free" citizen, the inmate is just as much a product of State power as any other individual. What constitutes this citizen-inmate and how might the prison library facilitate its production and maintenance?

Creation of Docile Bodies

[20] In his book, Discipline and Punish: the Birth of the Prison, Michel Foucault explores the historical shift in the penal system from one of punishment to one of discipline. He asserts that the system of, "discipline produces subjected and practised (sic) bodies, 'docile bodies'" (138). The production of these docile bodies is achieved through the concept of the "Panopticon," which is based on a prison surveillance structure consisting of a central tower with a guard stationed in the top, which is surrounded by cells (200). The idea of this structure is that prisoners know that at any given moment the guard could be watching them, but because the top of the tower is too high, they are never sure where the guard is looking. As a result of this uncertainty, inmates police their own behavior on the off chance that the guard is looking in their direction (200-201). A good prisoner is a docile prisoner, a self-policing prisoner. A docile prisoner is easier to control, less likely to act out or behave violently. A docile prisoner is also less likely to question the problematic and oppressive structure of the PIC itself. The prison industrial complex relies on its ability to create these docile prisoners in order to function efficiently and prevent active resistance.

[21] When prisoners spend time reading in the library, they are engaged in pursuits of the mind. Time spent in the library is less time that could potentially be spent in prison fights, riots, or conflict with guards and prison administrators. According to Foucault, the body becomes an "object and target of power" (136) and this is especially true when that body is incarcerated. In order to qualify for release--to be considered "rehabilitated"--inmates must prove themselves to be non-violent. No actively violent or rebellious inmate will be considered ready to reenter "free" society.

[22] By making non-violence a requirement for reform, prison administrators encourage inmates to seek out forms of recreation and leisure time that foster this non-violence. The library offers an ideal location for these types of recreation. While reading, inmates focus on their minds, not their bodies, and by this process the docile body emerges and is maintained. In this way, though the inmate may feel they are choosing how to spend their time, it is in fact the agents of power within the prison system who are working to shape the ideal citizen. For Foucault, State power acts from all sides and can be found in everything. Even with the best intentions of the prison librarians, the library can easy function as a coercive tool of an oppressive, dehumanizing system.

[23] The body of the inmate must be docile and non-violent but it must also be productive. It must contribute to the maintenance and success of the prison system. The body must be disciplined to function in ways that most effectively serve the State, "it is a question of extracting, from time, ever more available moments and, from each moment, ever more useful forces" (Foucault, 154). The purpose of incarceration is to shift the mentality and body of the individual from uselessness to productivity, from "criminality to citizenship" (Rolston, 109). The ideal citizen being produced by incarceration is one who produces for the State, and who does so without resistance. An individual cannot work constantly, however. Much like those who produce for the State in the world beyond the prison walls, inmates must be given some form of recreation to offset the hours of labor they produce. The illusion of leisure is necessary to keep the worker from becoming exhausted and either being unable or unwilling to continue work. Here, again, the prison library plays an important role. When given time to "relax" in the library or with a book in their cell, inmates can recharge and feel that they have rested, thus being more likely to docilely return to work when it is required of them. The ratio of work to "leisure" time granted to those incarcerated may vastly differ from that granted to the "free" citizen but the resulting willingness to produce can be notably similar.

[24] There are certain unofficial--and at times official--criteria that an inmate should meet in order to enhance their chances for release, in order to be defined as "reformed" and therefore worthy of reintegration into society at large. As I discussed above, one of these criteria is a commitment to non-violence, as shown through the consistently docile body of the inmate. Another criteria is the willingness to produce, a criteria intimately connected with the maintenance of the docile inmate body. In addition to a docile and productive body, a reformed inmate should show a commitment to education. As Vibeke Lehmann notes in his article, "Challenges and Accomplishments in U.S. Prison Libraries," many correctional agencies, both at the state and federal level, have begun to focus extensively on what he calls, "reentry initiatives" (506). These initiatives include a focus on education, whether this takes the form of formal courses such as GED programs or informal courses related to issues and challenges inmates might face upon "reentry". These informal courses may include, "the development of personal portfolios in conjunction with assignments to obtain information" (Lehmann, 506). Considering the extremely high rate of recidivism for incarcerated individuals in the Unites States, one must question whether or not these "courses" are proving effective as means of preparing inmates for release. There are some "courses" which focus on more practical skills that might be of more use to inmates, such as teaching inmates about financial literacy, how to find employers who will hire ex-convicts, or how to find housing (Lehmann, 506) but these types of courses are still relatively new and are not offered in all correctional facilities. The focus on education as a means to facilitate successful reentry seems to be somewhat unrealistic when one considers the reality of inmates' lived experiences and the social factors which have contributed to their original arrests.

[25] Considering the fact that the PIC only functions as an industry if it has "workers" to keep it running, the often-slipshod organization and implementation of some of these programs might make more sense. The penal system in the United States strives to be a self-sustaining entity, one which utilizes its captive labor force to produce all the goods and manpower necessary to keep itself functioning (Thompson, 40). Additionally, large corporations have long recognized the benefit of inmate labor and have manipulated the legal and political system to gain access to this labor force. It is clear that despite the purported reformatory goals of the penal system, recidivism can only benefit the PIC and the many corporations that remain interconnected with it.

[26] Although the library and its services may not actively contribute to the high rates of recidivism for U.S. prisoners, they contribute to a narrative of reform that remains unrealistic and deceptive. When prison administrators set criteria, whether explicit or implicit, they are marketing a road to success that, if followed exactly, will lead to reform and release. The production of the docile body and the improvement of the mind through literacy are integral parts of this narrative of reform and thus utilization of the library becomes an important steppingstone on this imagined road to success. It is the production and proliferation of this narrative of reform that becomes suspect when the frequency of recidivism is considered. The reform promised by this dominant discourse is not actually achievable for most inmates. Following the prescribed road to success does not guarantee the attainment of said success.

[27] Historically, prison libraries have played a particularly important role in one of these illusory steppingstones to success: the goal of education. This role has not always really been about the best interests of individual inmates but rather about normalization. In the history of the penal system, this normalization involved creating a clear idea of the ideal inmate, which was--and continues to be--an ideal closely connected with class ideals. The assertion was that inmates, who began to read, also began to espouse more "civilized," middle-class characteristics. They were often encouraged to read books that would make them more "moral," that would push them to "'climb' up the 'inclined plane' of literary taste" (Sweeney, 30). In a published statement about inmates involved in a prison-sponsored literacy program, one warden wrote, "'They keep themselves now neat and clean, while they formerly were very filthy in their habits. They have better manners, and look more intelligent, more like human beings'" (Sweeney, 22). The implication is, of course, that while illiterate, these men did not qualify as human beings but once engaged in "appropriate" reading, they could exchange their primitive ways for "refined 'intelligence,' introspection, and self-discipline" (Rolston, 110).

[28] In the narrative and discourse of the penal system, literacy is linked with intelligence and with rehabilitation. This is what Simon Rolston, in his article, "Conversion and the Story of the American Prison", calls "the prison conversion narrative" (104). With its stated goals of rehabilitation and reform, the PIC relies on this discourse of conversion to "prove" that inmates are transforming into ideal citizens. The history of the prison system has perpetuated this narrative and "learning to read and write ... continued to be a clear, irrefutable sign of rehabilitation in a system that often had difficulty defining what rehabilitation looked like" (Rolston, 108). In the goal of being considered on the road to recovery, inmates can be aided by showing an active pursuit of literacy. In the minds of prison administrators, and often of society in general, literacy equals class and class equals a better citizen.

[29] By choosing, and closely monitoring, the reading materials available to inmates, prison administrators--and librarians themselves--believed, and perhaps still believe, that they could mold criminals into their vision of productive members of society, "They not only sought to control what prisoners read; they often sought to control who prisoners would become" (Sweeney, 28). This language of civilization is still present in modern rhetoric about the prison library. In the first few pages of their book, Library Services to the Incarcerated: Applying the Public Library Model in Correctional Facility Libraries, Sheila Clark and Erica MacCreaigh write, "libraries lend a measure of civilized normalcy and familiarity to an otherwise regimented and often frightening environment" (5). The language of civilization and normalcy is incredibly problematic when one recognizes the connections these terms have to class and the ways in which this language assigns value to some individuals while simultaneously labeling other inmates as worthless or perhaps irredeemable.

[30] These ideas of class, normalcy, and morality espoused by those in charge of prison libraries become even more problematic when one considers the ways in which these ideas connect not only to class but also to race. Historically there has been unequal access to materials depending on the race of the inmate, and the worth of the inmate has frequently been connected with the color of said inmate's skin. Access to materials remains an issue in the modern prison system and these issues of access still contain racial elements. An example of this can be seen in the tendency for modern prisons to ban the genre dubbed, "urban fiction" (Sweeney, 143), as I touched on briefly before. This is a genre of books primarily written by black authors, and the books tend to focus on black characters in urban settings. Their tendency to foreground situations involving violence, crime, and drugs has contributed to their removal from many prison institutions, despite huge popularity with inmates (Sweeney, 140). Yet the fact is, almost one million of the total 2.3 million incarcerated individuals in the United States are black (NAACP.org), and these books are often the only pieces of literature that black inmates feel speak to their particular experience (Sweeney, 144). According to Megan Sweeny, these books also, "foreground racial disparities in the administration of justice and underscore the difficulty of trying to achieve economic security in a racialized capitalist system" (141), and thus the banning of them fits well into the State's reasons for censorship I have previously discussed.

[31] Foucault's assertion that the body becomes an object of power should be amended in light of the type of racialized censorship Sweeney notes in her study. It is not only the body in general which becomes an object of power within the PIC but specifically the non-white body. Through the type of censorship Sweeney discusses, the mind and body of the non-white inmate is being subtly shaped into a version of citizen that most effectively serves the goals of the PIC, a citizen disconnected from cultural ties and experiences, which might undermine "rehabilitation."

[32] The claim that urban fiction depicts too much violence to be allowed within the prison is suspect, as many of these same prison libraries stock various mystery novels with equal violence. The difference seems to be that the violent books allowed in circulation are written by white authors and focus on "white" storylines. Megan Sweeney describes her frustration at being told she could not assign an urban fiction book by Zane, the pseudonym for an incredibly prolific and popular African American author of erotic fiction, to her inmate reading group but that she would be permitted to substitute an alternate crime novel--provided it avoided themes of drug violence and urban prostitution (Sweeney, 142). The concern seems to be not that inmates would read about violence but that they would be permitted to read about instances of violence that speak to their unique experience and which might allow them to further reflect on this experience. Considering that "African Americans are incarcerated at nearly six times the rate of whites" (NAACP.org), it is clear that the State has something to be gained not merely from attempting to hail and shape the ideal citizen. It also must work to hail the "ideal" black citizen, and this ideal black citizen cannot be one who relates to the situations depicted in "urban fiction."

[33] That this genre of literature would be banned so frequently, often by prison librarians themselves, highlights the fact that the prison libraries--and their staff--can still contribute and perhaps reinforce racial disparities, despite the assertions that these restrictions have the "best interests" of inmates at heart. This strict control over reading materials, which speak to the lived experience of many black inmates, is an attempt at whitewashing cultural difference within the prison system. The imagined, unrestricted access to reading materials gives the false impression that all inmates have equal access to resources, regardless of race or class. Part of the purpose of shaping an "ideal inmate" is to make that ideal absolute, allowing for no variations that could make the inmate less easily controlled. Unique, lived experiences have no place in the type of transformation the PIC truly hopes to engender.

[34] The example of the banning of "urban fiction" is interesting for another reason as well. In addition to assertions that these books are dangerous for the reformatory goals of black inmates, another justification for banning these books rests on their perceived lack of merit as "good" pieces of literature (142). They are deemed not as worthwhile as more classic literature, and it is assumed that their consumption by inmates will not contribute to the betterment of their minds through education (Sweeney, 142). Defining what reading materials count as "good" or "intelligent," and denying access to those materials that do not fit this arbitrary criteria, contributes to the problematic focus on education and literacy as the only path to redemption and reintegration and establishes prison administrators as the authority on what inmates "should" be reading. Education and literacy may not be universally bad pursuits for an inmate but it is problematic when these pursuits become requirements and when they are pursuits which are historically so closely bound to ideas of class and race. The purported PIC's goal of "rehabilitation" and "reform" are clearly politically correct buzzwords with little to do with learning from one's mistakes or understanding the social factors that contributed to these mistakes. The inmate most worthy of release must meet a set of criteria that overwhelmingly adheres to a white, middle-class value system and which is, in reality, extremely difficult to achieve.

Availability of Resources and Underserved Inmate Populations [35] The challenges faced by the prison librarians are manifold and each contributes to the difficulty of providing unfettered access to information for its inmate patrons. In her analysis, "The Ohio Department of Youth Services Juvenile Prison Library System", Deidra N. Herring notes just a few of these challenges, "(1) short staffing and librarians filling in as teaching substitutes; (2) lack of money and resources due to rising cost of materials; (3) bureaucracy and the extension of time it takes to get things done; and (4) evaluating and selecting appropriate materials for student needs (155)." The fourth challenge she lists includes not only the difficulty of finding materials that the young inmates want, but maneuvering around the restrictions placed on material acquisition enforced by the prison administration. This can be extremely difficult as different prison facilities place different limitations on what their inmates can read.

[36] The second challenge she lists, lack of resources, is a vital challenge to understand when evaluating prison libraries and analyzing their potential benefits or detriments to the lives of inmates. The State plays an important role in the access to knowledge granted to inmates. Perhaps equally important to the State's role in access to knowledge is the role that funding and donors play. Funding for prison libraries and their collection materials has always been somewhat limited but in the wake of the economic downturn in the United States, this funding has become even more scant (Sweeney, 173). What this means is that prison libraries are becoming more and more dependent on donations from individuals and groups that are unaffiliated with the federal or state government, let alone the ALA or public library system. The economic downturn has caused a decrease in federal funding to prison libraries, leading to an increase in private donations. These private donations often come from religiously affiliated groups, mostly Christian, often evangelical, who still maintain the private funds necessary to make large donations (Sweeny, 174).

[37] These religious groups shrewdly recognize the strong desire inmates have for any new reading materials, and the fact that these inmates constitute a--quite literally--captive audience. Because of this, many prison libraries in the United States contain a disproportionate amount of religiously themed materials, although as I discussed earlier, not all religions are represented in these materials. Due to this influx of primarily Christian religious material, as well as an increase in Christian volunteers and educational programs, "some opportunities, privileges, and reading materials are available only to prisoners who are willing to embrace a Christian perspective" (Sweeney, 174). This adds an additional layer to the control of knowledge, and further limits the amount to which inmate access to materials is unhindered. The focus on Christian values and perspective also plays an important role in the creation of ideology within the PIC. Considering Christianity's focus on non-violence, espousing values complimentary of this focus is another way for the State to create the docile inmate who is so necessary to the maintenance of the prison as industry.

[38] The saturation of prison libraries with literature espousing Christian--particularly evangelical Christian--values is problematic in an additional way, namely, that these values may contribute to the dangerous situation faced by many LGBTQ-identifying inmates. There is a large population of LGBTQ identifying inmates who face incredible amounts of violence and oppression within the prison industrial complex, both by fellow inmates and by prison guards and staff. This is a population in dire need of support and protection but it is also a population stripped of many of their rights and thus unable to access some of the legal assistance they so desperately need. The prison library is supposed to be a safe haven of sorts for inmates, a place for them to escape the often chaotic, dehumanizing experience of incarceration. How can an LGBTQ-identifying inmate feel safe in a library overwhelmed by literature claiming their identity is sinful?

[39] The issues facing LGBTQ inmates are not new, but public recognition of these issues and of the difficulties facing this prison population is only beginning to gain a public spotlight. A select few non-profit organizations are doing important work in raising awareness about the rights of LGBTQ inmates and providing "advocacy, education, direct service, and organizing" (Black and Pink). In April of 2013, this organization also held a book donation drive of its own, during which it collected reading materials to send directly to LGBTQ-identifying inmates. The Boston Prison Book Program (BPBP), a grassroots organization established in 1972 that works to provide reading materials to incarcerated individuals across the United States, also publishes a National Prison Resource List, which suggests further resources for inmates who request reading materials. This list includes a section on "Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender" organizations across the country, and brief descriptions of what these organizations do. Some are non-profit organizations, and some are for profit organizations, which offer free materials for LGBTQ inmates.

[40] The fact that these organizations exist and recognize the existence of a need for LGBTQ resources is encouraging. However, in this same resource guide, the BPBP lists categories of materials that they rarely carry, and "GLBT" is prominent on this list (BPBP, 1). Additionally, it is difficult to track materials once they enter the prison walls, so it is unclear how many resources are accepted and distributed to the inmates who need them. The lack of ready access to reading and educational materials directly related to the experiences of these inmates is troubling. It highlights a gap in the ability of prison libraries and book programs to adequately service all inmate populations. Noting these types of gaps in service is important when considering moving forward with any program geared towards public service. For library services within prisons to meet the needs of their inmate-patrons, those in charge of the programs must be aware of those sections of the population not being served appropriately.

[41] In the case of LGBTQ materials, the issue of censorship within the prison facilities is likely to once again throw up roadblocks to the successful service of LGBTQ-identifying inmates. Suzanna Conrad writes, "the Federal Bureau of Prisons continually reviews literature and compiles lists of approved readings, also removing works that could be deemed as provocative or could threaten security" (415). In the current climate of the United States and its government, which is subtly--or often overtly--hostile towards LGBTQ individuals, it is not surprising that fiction and non-fiction materials having to do with the experience of these individuals might be considered "provocative" and subsequently banned from approved reading lists.

[42] As Foucault writes, the penal system creates a "policy of the body, a certain way of rendering a group of men docile and useful" (Foucault, 305). State Power is constantly at work on the body of the inmate, and this work cannot be ignored by anyone hoping to provide services within the PIC. My project has aimed to draw attention to the issues inherent in participation in the U.S. penal system and the ways in which any organization that functions within this system can, and will be, used to further the PIC's Capitalist goals. The PIC aims to create the image, if not the reality, of the transformed inmate, and the prison library can be manipulated into playing an important part in the creation of this image. Librarians, book group leaders, even inmates themselves, can similarly be manipulated and end up contributing to problematic race, class, and gender constructs which the PIC perpetuates. Although the negative effects of State Power on the prison library cannot perhaps be eliminated--at least not without eliminating the PIC altogether--being aware of this power and how it functions may help alleviate the damage it has on the individuality of the inmate. It may also lead to the more conscious application of these programs within the PIC and the further inclusion of populations, such as LGBTQ-identifying individuals, who have so far been under-served or ignored.

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