Two models of the prison: accidental humanity and hypermasculinity in the L.A. County jail.

• Author: Dolovich, Sharon
• Position: II. GP and K6G: Two Models of the Prison D. GP's Hypermasculinity Imperative through III. What Makes K6G K6G? B. Creating a Safe Space in the L.A. County Jail 2. Trust, Communication, and Mutual Respect Between K6G's Residents and Its Supervising Officers, p. 1002-1046

4. GP'S HYPERMASCULINITY IMPERATIVE

   Why are there no gang politics in K6G? The best way to answer this question is by exploring yet another notable difference between GP and K6G: the absence in K6G of any pressure to perform a hypermasculine identity. This hypermasculinity imperative (157) is a staple of life in GP, not only in L.A. County, but in many men's prisons and jails all over the country, in which literally hundreds of thousands of men (158) are spending their days doing their best to appear "hard and tough, and [not] show weakness." (159)

   There are both internal and external pressures to perform a "hyper" male identity. The more complex of the two is the internally generated pressure, which seems to have two key facets. The first relates to gender identity, and is consistent--in kind, if not degree--with similar pressures at work in other all-male or male-dominated contexts (160) like fraternities, (161) the military, (162) and even investment banks and other financial institutions. (163) In such environments, men tend to experience "anxieties ... concerning their masculinity," (164) which prompt the "competition" among men that is endemic in American culture in general. This competition leads to an exaggeration of the typical features of the identity that Frank Rudy Cooper associates with the "hegemonic patterns of U.S. masculinity," (165) features that are familiar and destructive both in prison and in society more generally. As Cooper describes it, this hegemonic model of the American male has four distinct features. First, he is "concerned with how other men rate him" as to his own masculinity level. (166) Second, he is "chronically insecure that he has not sufficiently proved that he is as masculine as he should be." (167) Third, he is driven to compete with other men, "to outdo [them] in collecting indicia of manhood." (168) Fourth and finally, men in this competition must "[repudiate] that model's contrast figures," among them "women [and] gays." (169) As Cooper explains, the hegemony of this model manifests itself in a compulsion on the part of those who are "denied the stature of the normative man" to project "hypermasculinity." (170) Displays of hypermasculinity compensate for a failure to "meet the masculine cultural ideal." (171)

   The archetype of the stoic, weightlifting, muscle-bound prisoner has its origins in this dynamic. (172) But in prison, displays of strength and toughness alone are not always sufficient proof of masculinity for men anxious about others' perceptions of their gender identities. As in society in general, the construction of identity in prison is relational: claims to masculinity are "only meaningful in relation to constructions of femininity." (173) Would-be men must therefore struggle against and ultimately vanquish the seemingly feminine in themselves, and in others. (174) In the absence of other socially productive means to prove their manhood (business, politics, family, "cars and the like" (175)), the domination of women, sexual and otherwise, becomes the method of choice. (176) In society in general, the imperative to conquer and repudiate the feminine frequently motivates rape, sexual harassment, domestic violence, and other forms of violence against women. (177) In the prison, men seeking to prove their masculinity will do their best to "punk" other, weaker inmates--harassing them, humiliating them, stealing their stuff. At its most extreme, this abuse will culminate in the "ownership" of weaker inmates--the "women" in this social system--whose utter subordination, known to include ongoing sexual access, stands as public proof of the abuser's masculine power. (178) In this culture, the performance of rape--the sexual penetration of another inmate defined as female--is a way to shore up the rapist's own claim to maleness (179) and, thus, his status and power in the prison hierarchy.

   Understanding this set of destructive gender dynamics makes clear the external source of pressure on men to perform a hypermasculine identity: the desire to avoid being victimized by other people who are also trying to prove their own manhood. (180) Displays of physical violence can serve the same purpose as raping someone or "owning" him as a sexual slave. As one of my interviewees put it, "If I'm in GP, and I shank [i.e., stab] someone, it's just like ... a strip[e] on my arm." (181) "[P]eople are going to respect you for it ... [b]ecause the more respect you have, the less you're going to have to answer to." (182) In order to protect himself, a man in prison may cultivate an image as someone capable of anything, since someone who is feared by others has less chance of being "punked" himself.

   In such an environment, any sign of weakness is like blood to sharks; it draws the abusive attention of other (fearful) men trying to avoid being victimized themselves. The imperative not to be seen as weak can dominate the lives of men in custody, especially in high-security facilities. Men cannot be perpetually violent, but they can be--and in the worst prison environments, must be--constantly vigilant lest they convey an impression of vulnerability. Among the qualities explicitly suppressed to this end are any that might be associated with femininity: emotional expression, sensitivity, kindness, etc. In this culture, these behaviors can be code for weakness and signal a person's availability for victimization. Putting up a hard front is thus a key component of the hypermasculinity imperative.

   The imperative of hypermasculine performance sparked by anxiety about gender identity is to a greater or lesser extent a feature of life in virtually all male-dominated environments. (183) But in prison, there is a second source of internal pressure to engage in this performance, one that may be expected to arise in contexts in which participants are systematically regarded with some combination of contempt and indifference and thus routinely made to feel worthless and invisible. To occupy this position--in which prisoners are denied any social standing and treated as if they were of no account--can be a source of constant humiliation and disrespect. (184) It is an experience shared to some extent by many people of low socioeconomic status, whose needs, interests, and concerns are systematically ignored by society at large. This experience appears to ground what Elijah Anderson calls the "code of the streets," a set of "informal rules of behavior" (185) that is "trace[able] to the profound sense of alienation from mainstream society and its institutions felt by many poor inner-city black people, particularly the young" (186) and is "organized around a desperate search for respect." (187)

   But perhaps no group suffers more collective disdain and indifference than prisoners. The incarcerated population is already comprised of people disproportionately likely to be socially and economically marginalized--those who are indigent, undereducated, unskilled, illiterate, learning disabled, mentally ill, and/or drug-addicted. (188) Taken collectively, these are not only people about whom mainstream society cares very little, but they are also very often people who, even when free, are shown little respect in their interactions with individuals and institutions. Imprisonment seals their status as outside society's moral circle, and the experience of being incarcerated demonstrates daily in myriad ways how little value they are thought to hold. (189) As Craig Haney puts it:

   [V]irtually every man in prison is a failed or fallen man, in some important ways, and they are constantly reminded of their devalued status as an "inmate" by the levels of deprivation they endure, the humiliation and degradation they experience at the hands of their captors, and the stigmatization and other obstacles that they know await them once they are released. (190) For men in this position, hypermasculine performance can provide a way to garner some power, status, and respect (191) in a climate that offers them few if any other means to do so. (192)

   The link between hypermasculine performance and the craving for respect is evident from the urgency and alacrity with which men in prison may police and punish any displays of "disrespect." (193) For some men in custody, the craving for respect seems to put them on the offensive; it makes them willing to respond to all perceived slights, however minor, with unhesitating and even pitiless aggression. But even for these men, hypermasculine performance is best understood as a defensive posture against the ever-present threat of being "dissed" and revealed to be weak and therefore a "punk" (194)--i.e., someone to be disrespected and humiliated even by fellow prisoners. Here is where the fear of being "unmanned" and the desperate desire for respect come together: in men's prisons, one path to respect and status is to show how tough you are. (195) The harder and tougher you are, the more respect and status you enjoy, and the less likely you are to be victimized. (196) And the most obvious way to show how hard and tough you are is to reveal someone else to be a "punk." This dynamic explains the constant pressure men in GP can feel to maintain their places in the pecking order. (197)

   What does all this have to do with gangs? Gang culture thrives where people anxious not to be seen as weak and therefore vulnerable are willing to enforce the rules. (198) Recall the rules that govern life in the Jail's GP. People in GP cannot, under pain of violence, mix with members of another race, or even use objects that someone of another race has used. And at the slightest sign from a shot caller, they must be willing to jump in and physically attack other people simply because of their race or gang affiliations. Reading between the lines of these explicit directives reveals a further set of unspoken precepts governing life in the Jail's GP: unquestioned loyalty to one's own group; hostility...