On prison securitization and its zones of legal silence
Chris Garces Abstract: When a state of emergency in Ecuadors prison system was declared in 2007, municipal leaders in Guayaquil built the countrys first supermax prison, La Roca, for the administrative segregation of inmates considered a security threat. I suggest that administrative curtailment of access to these so-called worst of the worst prisoners merits legal comparisons with the juridical status of de- tainees in US black site facilities, the inter-American drug wars now paralleling the global war on terror insofar as prisoners rights are concerned. Contrasting my brief visit to La Roca with political-economic and media analysis, my article draws two conclusions: (1) that limited physical access to prisoners, stimulated by ad- ministrative zones of legal silence, demands an ethnographic focus on daily con- ditions of prison life using inconsistencies in administrative rhetoric; and (2) that measures to securitize the prison system have augmented prison directors powers to coerce inmates and to confound understandings of their living conditions. Keywords: drug wars, Ecuador, gangs, prisons, security FocaalJournal of Global and Historical Anthropology 68 (2014): 1834 Stichting Focaal and Berghahn Books doi:10.3167/fcl.2014.680102 Throughout Latin America, the last decade wit- nessed an unprecedented spilling over of prison violence outside the space of the prison itself. Time and again, cellblock mafias and their sicar- ios demonstrated their macabre and unsettling resilience. Consider just a tiny sample. In north- ern Mexico, imprisoned cartel members notori- ously collaborated with their warders, who in turn set inmates free to assassinate targets out- side the prison and then slip back inside unno- ticed (BBC 2010). In another facility, scores of Zetas managed to escape their specially desig- nated containment wing to kill 44 of their Gulf Cartel rivals in another wing and then flee en masse while prison guards were busy avoiding [the] violent jailbreak (Guardian 2012). In Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, security measures taken to segregate the regions most powerful trafficker moving him from a medium- to a maximum- security prisonstimulated a gang-led, obliga- tory general strike that brought the city to a virtual standstill (Penglase 2005). In Medelln, Colombia, city mayor Sergio Fajardo has been internationally lauded for restoring peace to whole neighborhoods ravaged by paramilitary fighting, though most who praise Fajardo are less aware that his civic leaders negotiated a cease-fire with Don Berna, the citys incarcerated paramilitary high commander (Grillo 2011: 289290). In Guayaquil, Ecuador, where I have carried out years of fieldwork, those few prison directors who dared to challenge the cellblock leaders sovereign privileges were systematically murdered. Such is the contentious traffic between Latin American prison authorities, the inmate shadow hierarchies, and the broader networks that mo- bilize themand such is the need for immedi- ate critique of overlapping state and criminal violence. This article endeavors to get as close as possible to the nebulous zones of legal silence in which penal state discourses articulate with informal prison hierarchies. In what follows, I describe a human rights delegations recent visit to La Roca, a maximum-security prison com- plex in Guayaquil, Ecuador, currently serving as a site of untold carceral experimentation with inmate segregation and isolation from the gen- eral populationa type of confinement more properly known around the globe as the super- max prison. Specifically, I consider a robust rhetorical encounter between this team of legal advocates and La Rocas prison director, analyz- ing their exchange against a background of political-economic and media critiques of state penalization; in the process, I problematize how advanced security measures may: (1) enhance the abilities of prison directors to coerce their wards; and (2) also mute or silence any direct, legal-forensic understandings of prison living conditions. Daniel Goldstein (2010) has challenged ethnographers to build upon what he calls crit- ical security studies, a project that should hold a central place within scholarly commitments to problematize the contemporary geopolitical situation. My wager in this article, however, is that anthropological critique of the national se- curity state can manage to probe its deepest structures of exceptionalitynamely, the secu- rity lockups dedicated to legally disappearing the most intransigent populations and quietly experimenting with their forms of custody. An- alyzing the globalization of inmate administra- tive segregation (eg. Ross 2013), I claim in what follows that Ecuadors harshest conditions of punitive enclosure can be likened to US black site confinement strategies, precisely to the ex- tent that both penal technologies create not just spatial segregation and unapproachable distance, but also zones of legal silence between prison- ers and advocates for rule of law protections. What is a black site? This study of administrative segregation, or ad seg, in La Roca builds on my Ecuadorian field- work on the rise of neoliberal hyperincarcera- tion, and the ways in which organized prison protests may illuminate the obscure machinery of penal state power. Studying prison conditions a decade ago, Ecuadors political landscape of- fered few alternatives to neoliberal reforms. Carranza et al. (1983) were among the first to document the initially spiking numbers of indi- viduals being held in pretrial detention in Ecua - dor, and throughout Latin American countries, during the 1980s, when the state underwent structural adjustments and major shifts in penal practice. In Rosa del Olmos words, looking back with twenty years hindsight, [a]nachro- nistic procedures, corruption and inefficiency play[ed] important roles [in the swelling prison population], but so [did] the significant rate of drug-related offenders being punished very harshly by recent legislation (1998: 117). By the turn of the millennium, the average Latin American pretrial detainee waited at least three years before seeing his or her day in court (ibid.). In countries embroiled with drug war policies, the spiking numbers of individuals be- ing held in pretrial detention, rather than judg- ment-and-sentence custody, was fast turning into the de facto mode of state punishment. In Ecuador, this politico-juridical precedent has been turned on its head since Rafael Correa and his coalition party, the Alianza PAIS, gained power. Under its new regime of twenty- first-century socialism, Ecuadors federal gov- ernment decriminalized possession of small amounts of marijuana and cocaine intended for personal consumption, and nullified the policy of indefinite incarceration without sentence (detencin en firme)twinned shifts in legisla- tion that immediately reshaped the prison itself. Ecuadors black site: On prison securitization and its zones of legal silence | 19 The national population in legal custody de- creased by approximately one-third within two years of the enactment of these reforms. Yet Ecuadors counterneoliberal legislation at the level of the federal government was quickly met with great resistance from regional autonomist strongholds, such as the lowland port city of Guayaquil, the nations major economic and neoliberal urban center. In Guayaquil, a new modality of incarcera- tion has appeared over the last five years that can only be explained in terms of a well-orches- trated municipal resistance to Rafael Correas policies, doubling down on the containment of drug trafficking while the state pushes for the decarceration of small-time drug users. Non- governmental organizations (NGOs) dedicated to providing citizens security are on the rise throughout much of the country, and are fa- vored antipolitical state mechanisms for neigh- borhood and grassroots development projects (cf. Nuez Vega 2011). These organizations in Guayaquil, such as the Corporacin de la Se- guridad Ciudadana, have attended to their local constituents civil society demands for law and order policies and have subsidized the expan- sion of prison facilities by organizing a fledg- ling, third-sector prison-industrial complex. On the one hand, Guayaquils fast-expanding prison capacities, and, on the other hand, the states newfound observance of state protections against detencin en firme, have curiously stim- ulated an increase in punitive containment. In Guayaquil, crime suspects have typically been thrown into the citys police lockups and in the Penitenciara del Litoral, where they are held in custody the maximum legal duration of their remand status as pretrial detainees and then immediately released. This new penal regime of transitory mass confinement has led directly to cellblock over- crowding and the consolidation of prison mafia influence. As local prisons fill up with the newly indicted, formal and informal cellblock leaders (caporales) have continued to profit from the extortion of newly admitted detainees. With prison mafias threatening and even attacking prison officials bent on reform, the state re- leased funding to build new maximum-security facilities to house the countrys most influential prisoners in permanent isolation from the gen- eral population. My aim in pointing out the ob- scure intimacy of local state and prison mafia developments, however, is not to account for the intransigence of criminal networks or gangs operating inside penitentiaries. Instead, I seek to demonstrate how the violence being unleashed by these groups can only be under- stood in concert with the organizing violence of spiking incarceration rates, or the adoption of a Latin American security state model of govern- ing through prison corruption. Drawing attention to the obscure bureau- cratic art of governing through prison corrup- tion, I am purposefully modifying Jonathan Simons (2007) apt phrase governing through crime in order to highlight how the twenty- first-century penal state has witnessed a dra- matic expansion of unchecked executive power whatever political form it may takebased on the successful administrative-rhetorical strat- egy of fighting crime. In the US context, Simon shows how the erasure of civil rights in the af- termath of 9/11 was long in coming; the abuses to legal process synonymous with the current US state of exception may date as far back as the early 1970s conservative, middle-class portrayal of American society as a victim in need of res- cue, assaulted at once by the blind giant of state militarism, the intimate betrayals of rebellious youth, and emerging structural cracks in the bedrock of New Deal social protections; but Si- mons argument goes even further to illuminate the governmental logic of how penal state power also became tethered to populist conser- vative rhetoric, interweaving the moralistic talk of crime as the warp and woof of civil society. Latin American scholars have presented in- teresting parallels with Simons thesis in their ethnographic research, but with a special twist. Throughout the region, the securitization of the prison roughly parallels the sea change in citi- zens security taking place in society at large, a shift in political discourse that assumes the cor- ruption of police and the impunity of criminal network activity. In Brazil, Bolivia, and El Sal- 20 | Chris Garces vador (cf. Caldeira 2001; Goldstein et al. 2007; Moodie 2010; Risr 2010), recent work demon- strates that political-economic elites and mar- ginalized urbanites, if anything, share one ideological element in common: an unflappable belief in the states inability to successfully po- lice its own corruption or to protect its own cit- izens from crime and physical assault. Latin American urbanites consensus that crime is now the primary threat to state sovereignty has indeed, in recent years, given rise to a discourse of security as the proper domain of citizens in- terests qua the guarantees and protections of state citizenship (Goldstein 2010). New mana- gerial experts wielding a discourse of security and technoscientific know-how have also en- trenched themselves as a legitimate policy- making class (e.g., Salle 2006: 30; Nuez Vega 2011). And growing numbers of NGOs, includ- ing paramunicipal security corporations, now respond to this breach in civil confidence by of- fering logistical and material support to state police and private enterprises (e.g., Krupa 2010). As I have mentioned, such auxiliary organiza- tions that supposedly channel and regularize in- stitutionalized corruption have formed the back- bone of Ecuadors fledgling prison-industrial complex, seeking new ways to safeguard the frictionless flow of capital and to manage the working-class youth of towns and cities through their preemptive capture and neutralization. Simultaneously, the very architecture of state custody is shifting to accommodate these crime- fighting expectations and demands. The prison discourse of maximum security in Ecuador now shares a family resemblance with the strat- egy of punitive containment in US supermax fa- cilities, where inmates are held in conditions of 23+ hours a day lockdown and isolation from the general population. In the United States, it is a matter of public record that supermax prisons were used as a template for the war prisons set up in the aftermath of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. Ecuadors new prison regime of maximum se- curity mimics, yet scales downward, the US global strategy of terror suspect capture, extra - ordinary rendition, and indefinite detainment in ad seg prisons (Mayer 2007). The US removal of nonstate terror suspects from the global bat- tlefield, along with their tragically ambiguous juridical status as unlawful enemy combatants, has come in for no small amount of critique over the last decade (see De Genova and Peutz 2010 for a variety of ethnographic perspectives on the issue). The military base at Guantanamo Bay remains merely the tip of the icebergthe most visible example of a global penal system wedded to a US-led state of exception with in- ternational reach. Across the worlds black sites, which have gained this name due to their un- known locations, the identity of untold num- bers of US detainees amounted to a secret of state before the Obama administration purport- edly shut them down; as is already known, mul- tiple forms of extralegal persuasion and nego- tiation have been exercised in such war prisons in order to extract information critical to the progress of global counterinsurgency (Danner 2009). A recent report by the Open Society Foun- dation (2013) has catalogued the collaboration of 54 countries with the United States interna- tional detention program, along with at least 136 known individuals subjected to this form of capture and experimental custody; a great deal has been made of the prevalence of torture in these interrogation sites, an established fact that I wish neither to challenge nor to revisit anew. Yet what concerns me most about this US/ Ecuadorian comparison is the ease with which new legal barriers to prisoners defense have be- come technologies of juridical capture trans- ferred between the far-flung prisons of the global war on terror and those of the inter-American war on drugs. The national public defenders and human rights communitys curtailed or elimi- nated access to these ad seg facilities, and the absolute power of executive command exer- cised within them, lends itself to prison abuses fundamentally beyond the law (ibid.: 710). The Ecuadorian prison situation certainly falls at an oblique angle to the United States war on terror, with the great majority of prisoners be- ing held in custody on drug-running charges. However, Ecuadors recent embrace of the dis- course of maximum security has led to the de- Ecuadors black site: On prison securitization and its zones of legal silence | 21 velopment of entire prisons dedicated to ad seg, which, in addition to relocating select inmates into segregated wings or facilities, also gives rise to the shocking absence of legal transparency de rigueur across these cellblocks and fortified complexesa juridical problem more or less symmetrical to the emerging critique of securi- tized counterterror detention practices across the planet. Access to Ecuadors maximum-security fa- cilities is virtually barred to outsiders, or heav- ily restricted with bureaucratic red tape and endless deferred promises of greater openness. My article follows other anthropological proj- ects (Gill 2000; Lutz 2002) in improvising new ethnographic strategies to carry out research within a security state unfriendly to any kind of investigation not undertaken by paid experts or insider advocates; the denial of access to these heavily securitized zones is particularly irksome to the extent that such areas are usually those most desperately in need of immediate evalua- tion and comparison. It should come as no sur- prise, for example, that my research on this topic was delimited by lack of authorization to carry out proper fieldwork inside La Roca. To the extent that my only contact with the facility happened when I tagged along as a member of a human rights teamcasting me neutrally as an external observermy only exposure to La Roca was somewhat happenstance. This ar- gument, however, combines my unexpected prison encounter with media and political-eco- nomic analysis to show how the importation of the discourse of maximum security turns on a technocratic game of shadows, limiting prison- ers access to rule of law protections. Each ap- proach in itself would seem insufficient to the task of witnessing the depths to which ad seg plunges the inmate within a sunken legal labyrinth. Combined, however, they provide a more robust analysis of shifting penal dynam- ics, both inside and outside the space of the ad seg confinement. In the process, I document the zones of legal silence that effectively neutralize the rights and protections of inmates deemed a security risk to the prisons staff and the general population alike. An unexpected tour Visiting with Guayaquileo human rights workers in 2010, I was surprised to be asked to join them along with personnel from the Public Defenders Office (Defensora del Pueblo) on their official business to interview prison staff in La Roca. At the time, La Roca was approxi- mately one year old and already exhibiting plenty of managerial problems. Human rights personnel correctly assumed that I would want to participate. Seven years earlier, with the aid of the same organization, I carried out human rightsbased fieldwork in the Penitenciara del Litoralthen and still Ecuadors largest prison on a series of protests that inmates waged suc- cessfully against the unlawful imprisonment of individuals who had already served their time or who never received a sentence to begin with (Garces 2010). My intention was to catch up with old colleagues, and perhaps to learn what had transpired behind the Penitenciaras walls in the meantime. Instead, I found myself scrunched into a car driving 30 minutes in the reverse morn- ing commute to this imposing new prison com- plex, built directly adjacent to the Penitenciara. The biggest surprise of the morning, however given our heavyweight legal companywas that we were turned away at the gate. We havent seen your request [to visit], the prison guard said, with a flat and uninviting af- fect. We all stood around for what seemed like a minute. Indignant and not knowing what to do with themselves, our delegation of human rights workers filmed an interview with the state de- fense lawyers about their unexpected banish- ment from the complex. Some tried to peek across the gate when police vehicles passed through; others endeavored, hard as they might, to speak across the mirrored windows of the guards office, inviting their dialogue or recog- nition. Cars and buses sped by on Rio Daule highway at top speed, kicking up dust and mak- ing it difficult for us to communicate. Thus, the prisoners state of architectural and juridical iso- lation was momentarily our own as we sought to investigate the rules and conditions govern- ing prison life on the inside (cf. Jefferson 2012). 22 | Chris Garces In actuality, the Defensora del Pueblo had indeed notified La Rocas administration about its plans to visit inmates the day beforea proposition legally within the right of any state supervisorial body, given a 24-hour notice. It was not the first time Ecuadorian defense lawyers had been denied access to their clients legally permitted by penal code. Most public defenders I met with were quick to decry these verbal invitations to visit La Roca, and outright rejections at the front gate. The director of a major human rights organization in Guayaquil a local NGO allied with the Inter-American Commissionaverred that over the course of the last year, legal watchdog groups had talked with prisoners on merely one occasion. This particular failed visit was intended to be the De- fensora del Pueblos second, and the human rights committees very first. And I confess: I quickly forgot about our failed excursion to La Roca. But a week later my phone rang at 8:00 AMthe same personnel had received an invitation from the prison director himself. And off we drove again. This time our delegation met with no obsta- cles. Passing across the external checkpoint, we were obligated to walk through a metal detec- tor, individually patted down in a quick body frisk, and told to make our way to the facility. The external gate and the prison itself are lo- cated perhaps 1,500 meters apart on a road lined with a towering cyclone fence and high-voltage electric wiresthe only passage into or out of the complex. A hulking, windowless mass of concrete, the prisons architecture projects an air of impregnable solidity. Marcelinoa high- ranking member of the Defensora del Pueblo knocked on the facilitys only door, a large steel portal with no visitors instructions, for what seemed like ten minutes under the blazing trop- ical sun. Finally, guards opened the door and let us all in as if we had just arrived. Ushered into a dimly lit and humid checkpoint abounding with surveillance technology, I noticed a sign to the left reading, The centers security is your secu- rity and wondered what I had invited upon my- self by entering this place. I have been processed through many of the security worlds traditional rites of passage, whether in airport checkpoints, border crossings, local courts, or state prisons. Yet this procedure far outstripped anything I had come to know. Each visitor was patted down, was made to have his or her mouth X-rayed and his or her arse X-rayed, and was processed through the denuding surveillance of a back - scatter imaging machine (four quarter turns in front of a Rapiscan detector that penetrated right through your clothes). Later I would learn that certain female visitors were additionally subjected to hands-on body cavity searches (for being principal suspects in gun-smuggling ef- forts on the inside)an unhappy fact I will de- scribe below. Passing one security gate after another, we entered the administrative section and were es- corted by guards to the directors office. Andrs gave an air of easy bureaucratic competence, mellifluously swallowing his vowels, despite the fact that he was assigned his post only a month before and was, in his own words, learning on the job. The director was cordial to a fault in explaining that we could not directly communi- cate with his wards, except for one hand-picked prisoner, because of federal rules regulating inmate contact with nonfamily members. No exceptions could possibly be made. I take di- rections from my superior in all juridical mat- ters, he explained. Im not the person who you should ask [for a more open-ended visit], but rather the institution. The recourse to displac- ing ones agency to ones superiors, and to claiming powerlessness from a position of di- rect bureaucratic command, was in full effect. Yet Andrs clearly positivized his role as prison director, focusing our conversation on what he could accomplish during his time as the prisons chief executive. In his own words, the prisons system of asylum embraced the practice of ex- treme segregation in order to promote rehabili- tation. This new penal regime demanded a sea change not only in the treatment of prisoners, but also in the everyday regulation of prison staff. For Andrs, the key component to any sys- tematic prison reform lay with the proper com- portment of guards who live with the inmates, and who know the[ir] truths. But there was Ecuadors black site: On prison securitization and its zones of legal silence | 23 also, he claimed, a gap in the guards comport- menta lack of uniform training (formacin) in the task of providing security as a form of custody. When asked whether prisoners relocated to his prison had ever been transferred back to medium-security facilities, the director admit- ted that none so far had returned to the general population; what is more, he quite often blocked other directors requests to admit their own trouble prisoners. Those who did arrive in La Roca were scheduled to remain until the com- pletion of their sentence. Being transferred into maximum security was a one-way ticket. But Andrs argued in favor of this arrangement be- cause maximum security isnt maximum pun- ishment. He also gave unimpeachable examples to back up his claims. For example, the presi- dent of Garca Moreno prisons Inmates Com- mittee, a nationally recognized legal entity in the capitol city of Quito, had fallen out of favor with his prison director. The director put in a formal request with the Ministry of Social Re- habilitation (Direccin Nacional de Rehabil- itacin Social, DNRS) to have him transferred to La Roca. However, Andrs refused to accept the DNRSs transfer request on the basis that al- lowing it would turn La Roca into a space for institutional reprisals or the exercise of prison system vendettas. He also claimed that his great- est hope was to give Ecuadorian society a prison for true rehabilitation. When asked about the prisoners therapeutic treatment, Andrs de- murred and said it was in the process of being organized. When defense lawyers wanted to know what criteria might count as evidence of a prisoners dangerousness, he effectively dodged the question, claiming there is a great deal to do here, a great deal [and] I believe we are on the right path. Responding to these questions, he redirected our attention to La Rocas custodial regulations. Eight groups of ten prisoners divided into affin- ity groups (i.e., groups with no rival gang mem- bers or personal enemies) were given 1.5 hours per day in a common patio. Still, patio liberties could be restricted or withheld for a prisoners lack of cooperation with the guards. The human rights workers among our delegation explained to Andrs that informal conversations with prisoners relatives on the outside signaled that severely limited access to common spaces was the norm rather than the exception inside. The director immediately shrugged off the allega- tion. According to him, sanctions against pris- oners were typically meted out in frequency of visits and the availability of psychological ther- apy. When human rights workers countered that prisoners friends and family members were complaining that guards included the time being processed across the security controls as part of their visit, Andrs replied that family members always exaggerate about their own treatment. Andrss first action as director, he said, was to address inmates complaints about their food. When he arrived, the meals were still being pre- pared at the Penitenciara and delivered three times a day to La Roca. As I knew from previ- ous research inside the Penitenciara, nobody except the poorest inmatesor those with no cellblock mafia connections or external assis- tancetook their meals exclusively from the prison kitchen. In La Roca, family visits were less frequent, and no one could fully provision their loved ones. The result of this situation was what Andrs disparagingly called the obligation to eat prison food. There are things you have to learn along the way, he said. I wondered about the extent to which prison directors could use such a logic of deferred accomplishment to engage repeatedly in penal policy false starts, or self-serving managerial experiments, doomed to failure, and get away with it. I remember thinking, How, at any rate, could Andrs not fall into this managerial trap, as a first-time prison director with no on-the-job experienceeven if he was well-intentioned? In his administrative-managerial speech, Andrs sought to implement measureson a case-by-case basisto improve prison labor and living conditions for those who share space on the inside. Yet in a context of ad seg confine- mentthe absolute endpoint of inmates free- domthose who were being detained were akin to human products being manipulated to pro- duce desired administrative effects. Our inter- 24 | Chris Garces view drawing to a close, the director welcomed us to take a guided tour of the complex led by a prison guard. Barred from entering La Rocas cellblock, we were still free to visit other parts of the facility at our own discretion. We expressed our gratitude about his openness. But forebod- ing signs appeared almost immediately. On leaving the administrative section, we noticed blood on the ground in a hallway and asked our guard where it came from. We were told a staff member had a bloody nose. On this quick 30-minute tour of the prison complex, we were taken first to the control rooma classic panoptical structure, embed- ded in the middle of the cellblock, with win- dows overlooking a panorama of cells and video monitors lining the remaining surface areas. The scene was rather humdrumwatching prison- ers pace up and down the patio areauntil a member of our delegation noticed a few of them holding their shirts up to their noses and queried the guards about it. At this point, we were told to keep moving on our tour of the fa- cility, and were led to stairs that spiraled upward to a rooftop platform overlooking the cellblock. Upstairs, we encountered a group of armed guards who immediately complained to our le- gal personnel about their hazardous work con- ditions, substandard armaments, and low rate of pay. But prisoners were clearly shouting and upset in the background, too. In a few short seconds our group began to notice a horribly acrid smell. Tear gas canisters had somehow been dropped from the rooftop into the prisoners common patio, and the in- mates were making a racket. I found myself nearly blinded, and our whole group was stand- ing far outside and above the prisoners cell- block area. This confusing scene carried on for several minutes, during which time it was nearly impossible to make out particular voices. When we could marginally discern a prisoners words, he was usually telling us his name and imploring us to contact a lawyerclaiming that his rights were being violated. At a distance from the cellblock, we could still discern that guards were lifting up and carrying away a pris- oners limp body. Walking across the rooftop to the edge of an- other patiothe prisoners only point of access to open airwe spotted five persons availing themselves of their allotment of time in the sun. On seeing us converge above and around them, they shouted that prison guards were in the habit of shooting tear gas into the cellblock at the slightest provocation. Its our daily bread, one of them explained. At some point, prison guards carried a nearly unconscious body into the middle of the courtyard and literally dumped him there. After spitting uncontrollably for sev- eral minutes, the prisoner looked up and gave us his name and other personal information. There were additional remonstrations about lack of human rights. One prisoner claimed that he already had served 33 months on a 24-month sentence; others confirmed that several prison- ers in the facility were living under similarly ambiguous conditions (what I refer to elsewhere as being a juridical hostage [Garces 2010]) including one who chimed in about serving his fifth year on a two-year sentence. Before he was transferred to La Roca from the Penitenciara, another prisoner claimed he was ordered out- side for a group roll call evaluation, during which time he was fingered by another inmate as a leading member of a prison gang (banda). Ive never even killed a chicken, he protested. Yet here he was, living under a regime that de- nied all his customary liberties as a prisoner for being suspected of shadow hierarchy collusion. Recognizing there was no way for us to verify his claim, we moved back downstairs to speak with the director about the use of tear gas and the prisoners cacophonous response. Inside his office, Andrs argued that the new prison was still influenced by the Penitenciara. Whats more, he suggested that we think about the tear gas incident using counterintelli- gence. The internal report he was given stated that a single member of his guard accidentally dropped a tear gas canister during our visit right before we walked upstairs. Just a coincidence? he asked. In all likelihood, he claimed, a pris- oner paid off the guard to gas them knowing that our delegation would further investigate irregularitiesin effect, fabricating prison Ecuadors black site: On prison securitization and its zones of legal silence | 25 mistreatment in order to stimulate a legal proc - ess or human rights commission. The directors words were both compelling, brazen, andin my opinionentirely given over to an institutional logic that denied any semblance of accountability. All possible blame for irregularities was placed on the shoulders of prisoners and low-ranking prison guards. The regime of penal truths could never in any case be verified or deniedonly ambiguously taken into account. When asked about a shoot- ing that took place inside La Roca only two months prior, Andrs suggested that the shooter himself, or a close associate, might have commissioned the attempted murder so that the victim would be judged a custody risk and relocated to another prison facility where his own associates operated with impunity. Mem- bers of the Defensora del Pueblo sat upright in their seats and looked flummoxed, but agreed that his educated counterintelligence guess wasnt entirely implausible. The director went on to adumbrate the custodial dilemmas he faced in carrying out his duties: a prison with- out employees who are satisfied with the condi- tions of their labor will never be secure. The guardsnearly all of themwere privately ask- ing to be transferred to other carceral complexes. Its a [great] prize to be relocated [to a prison with mafia kickbacks (see Nuez Vega 2006)], and theyll do whatever they can to generate a change of scenery. Later in the afternoon, we argued among ourselves on the drive back to Guayaquil whether an Ecuadorian maximum- security prison was a time bomb waiting to explode. In the final analysis, we couldnt un- derstand precisely what we had observed at the prison. Worse yet, our delegation had little basis on which to assess the directors claims. What seemed undeniable, however, was that our limited access to prisoners and their living conditions exercised multiple negative effects. Legal personnel were denied the kind of sus- tained, firsthand encounters that could verify structural phenomena beyond what the prison- ers had managedvia extraordinary means to convey to them. Follow-up visits barred, the human rights or defense lawyer is forced into the position of relying on the administrations claims. Yet even minimal firsthand exposure to maximum-security practices reveals a yawning gap between administrative rhetoric and the claims of prisoners and guards. While my visit highlighted conversations between the director and human rights workers, along with the predicament of prisoners themselves, media analysis reveals another side of the institution of (super)maximum security, where the mediating agent of La Roca is instead the figure of the prison guard. Zones of legal silence The Centro de Rehabilitacin Social Numero 2 (CRS-2) is located seventeen kilometers beyond Guayaquils city limits, adjacent to the Peniten- ciara del Litoral. Popularly named La Roca (The Rock)perhaps for Alcatraz, the now de- commissioned US prison island famous for housing the most uncontrollable subjects, or maybe after the 1996 Hollywood movie, quite popular in Ecuador, about the extrajudicial fight against homegrown terroristsCRS-2s inmates are at any rate presently entangled in a penal state challenged from within and without. The split-level physical structure of CRS-2 houses up to 152 prisoners (divided across two separate floors) placed in single- or double-occupancy cells. Ringed by two perimeter walls and bol- stered inside and out with reinforced concrete, the building is also topped with razor wire and high-voltage cables. Prisoners living in La Roca have been segre- gated from the general population to an un- precedented degree: all those unfortunate enough to be transferred herewhether or not they merit(ed) their relocationhave been (1) prevented from circulation among other pris- oners; (2) restricted from their weekly access to spouses, friends, and relatives; (3) denied cus- tomary liberties to leave their cells or to access common patios; and (4) monitored 24 hours a day with greater surveillance, even in their most intimate spaces and moments. When Ecua dor - ian technocrats attempted to build public sup- 26 | Chris Garces port for this model prison, they lauded a new penal ideal of a video camera for every cell. (El Universo 2010a, El Telegrafo 2010a) Having spo- ken with La Roca control room operators and surveyed their equipment, the initial claim in retrospect seems exaggerated; but with scores of videos rolling at once, low-functioning prison personnel claim that they have a camera record- ing and keeping watch on several inmates at any moment. Though the prison had been operational for less than two years when I visited it, teams of lawyers and human rights workers had man- aged to gain access on merely two occasions and interviewed prisoners but once. My own visit, described above, was the second of such suc- cessful legal delegations. The penal regime that La Roca inaugurated cannot be studied by out- siders or noncontracted penologists. It is hence too early to draw full conclusions about the ef- fects of La Roca, or its novel custodial use of maximum-security as the raison dtre for con- fining the worst of the worst in supermax conditions. Yet preliminarily, one still can trace institutional developmentsboth internal and external to the Ecuadorian prison systemthat have conditioned La Rocas operations. CRS-2 opened its doors on 24 July 2010. But municipal technocrats developed the architec- tural model for it back in 2005, when the mayor of Guayaquil, Jaime Nebot, together with his counselors, authorized prison management specialists to develop strategies for mitigating overcrowding in the Penitenciara del Litoral. The latter prison had by that time gained a wide spread national reputation for unchecked drug mafia impunity, administrative corrup- tion, and spectacular inmate protests. In his own words, Nebot sought to create a new car- ceral space that would separate the contrarian from the true delinquent (El Comercio 2005). The mayors office commissioned the municipal Chamber of Commerce to work alongside a special, Guayaquil-based private foundation the Corporation for Citizen Securityin order to subsidize a model prison that would concen- trate and isolate the most dangerous elements residing in the Penitenciara. The initial con- struction was valued at $1.5 million, but would amount to $1.8 by its completion. Almost immediately, El Universo and other major newspapers began to publish investiga- tive reports bearing titles such as Penitenciara Officials Indicate That At Least One Hundred Prisoners Are Psychopaths, accompanied by administrators earnest, pragmatic testimony, including the claim that psychopathological prisoners could easily be fingered, because their [very] life is doing harm to others. They suffer from an irreversible illness and require special treatment (El Telegrafo 2008). According to a paid Chilean prison consultant, Ecuadors facil- ities had turned into a university of crime (El Universo 2007a) The official assessment merely repeated what was already known among Guayaquils human rights organizations: that is, that the Penitenciara del Litoral was already enveloped in shadow hierarchy coercion and largely unaccountable to the state. Various gangs ruled everyday life on the inside, and cellblocks organized into shadow hierarchies influenced most aspects of prisoner custody. Prison guards were directly implicated in the breakdown of Penitenciara security. Poorly paid and institutionally demoralized, these low- ranking staff nevertheless served as key inter- mediaries between the administration and the informal cellblock leadership. A habitual short- age of these low-ranking staff only increased the power of cellblock mafia to exercise coer- cive force over prisoners and even their warders on the inside. The role of the guard had deteri- orated to such an extent that, by early 2011, all who performed this role across the nations cor- rectional facilities were subject to police investi- gations and formal retraining. The same year, nearly 30 percent were dismissed from their positions for being caught up in black market activities, acting as intermediaries with the pris- oners external collaborators (Expreso 2011a, 2011b; El Universo 2011a). All the while, Ecua - dors prisoners vociferously decried the culture of extortion and violence they suffered at the hands of the guard-mafia alliance. At no other time had the cellblock mafias coercive grip on the prison system grown more Ecuadors black site: On prison securitization and its zones of legal silence | 27 apparent than in 2006 and 2007, when two prison directors were assassinated at the hands of sicarios sent by cellblock leaders threatened with administrative attempts to curb their influ- ence. Both execution-style events took place outside the Penitenciara. In response to the second, the DNRSs internal investigations failed to verify how many prisoners were even housed in the Penitenciara, much less to iden- tify those who had ordered the killings. The ministry quickly arranged for a census of the national prison population as a whole. Hence, for the first time prison administrators began to formally identify the level of their wards risk, that is, to gain knowledge about the pris- oners who comprised the prison population, their [respective] danger-levels and their legal status (Expreso 2007), segregating select indi- viduals and preempting the consolidation of cellblock mafia power. With Penitenciara overcrowding at nearly 300 percent above max capacity and the situa- tion fast deteriorating in other national deten- tion centers, Ecuadors federal government decreed in May 2007 a state of emergency for the prison system as a whole. The order had im- mediate political-economic and legal conse- quences. Since building prisons was no longer restricted by their high price tagsor compet- ing national and/or regional funding interests the DNRS inaugurated construction on six new facilities. The budgetary allotment for the Peni- tenciara del Litoral included new minimum-, medium-, and maximum-security wings where maximum units approximated the super max conditions of administrative segre- gation in other global prisons (Ross 2013). But a new prison experiment, dedicated to housing the most intransigent inmates in permanent lockdown, was built directly adjacent to the Penitenciaras groundsCRS-2. The impetus to build La Roca, already far along in planning stages when the emergency period was decreed, was pushed through all red tape in spite of the DNRSs reservations about its private subsidiza- tion and ambiguous charter. La Roca was thus midwifed into existence between emergency politics and bureaucratic expediency, becoming one of the very first Ecuadorian construction projects immediately born of securitized puni- tive containment. The rules of operation for La Roca were not made available to the public during its first five months. The regular visitas typically enjoyed by prisoners (when spouses, children, friends, and relatives visited their loved ones)an institu- tion not just normalized, but institutionally necessary for the subsistence of prisoners un- derfunded by the statewere severely delim- ited. According to relatives testimony, the food served on the inside was poorly prepared, and the inmates had been given merely one set of clothes. The private companies that won con- tracts to administer the prison, and that served bureaucrats as a model for private-public prison governance, were found incompetent from the outset. Nevertheless, the interinstitutional identity of these foundationslegally neither private nor public, but an amalgamation of elite moneyed and select public interestsappeared to delimit their will to protect inmates civil rights. Even Rafael Correa, the president of Ecua - dorlocked in a regionalist fight against Jaime Nebots mayoral influence in Guayaquilde- nounced the new penal model that La Roca rep- resented just a few weeks before the facilitys inauguration, calling it a windowless bunker, with no [exposure to natural] light, good only for burying [people] alive (El Hoy 2008). The minister of justice also expressed grave reserva- tions about the capacity of La Roca to protect the rights of those scheduled to be stripped of their customary liberties in the general popula- tion. The construction site lay abandoned for nearly three months as the government and municipal authorities debated its regulatory mechanisms. But the new facility would eventu- ally spring to life when backroom conversations broke the federal governments resolve; as the minister of justice protested, Theyve done a stupendous job building a prison in terms of maximum security, but rehabilitation is [quite simply] missing (El Universo 2008a). The DNRS, however, seized control of the new prison shortly before its inaugurationa 28 | Chris Garces great scandal to local municipal bureaucrats in Guayaquil. Federal administrators promised to respect the intentions of the NGOs that finan- cially brought La Roca from being a mere idea to a concrete facility. In the promotional mate- rials of the Corporation for Citizen Security, this meant providing a contrast with the actual system [of the Penitenciara del Litoral] that threatens prisoners human rights and the secu- rity of citizens. (El Universo 2008b) 9 But mu- nicipal authorities also struggled against the central governments regulation of La Roca, es- pecially when the DNRS approved the transfer of scores of prisoners from Quitos largest prison, Garca Moreno. The municipal tech- nocrats and moneyed elite behind the Corpora- tion for Citizen Security had envisioned La Roca as an auxiliary to the Penitenciaraa re- lease valve of sorts that would depressurize nor- malized conditions of prison overcrowding and mafia rule. In the highland capitol of Quito, DNRS officials claimed that prisoners reas- signed to La Roca had been apprehended in Guayaquil and were simply being returned to their hometown or place of arrestan argu- ment that falsely borrowed from the logic of un- derfunded medium-security prison facilities. Just as open competitions for private con- tracts were publicly announced yet evaluated behind closed doors, La Rocas officials system- atically kept the Ecuadorian public in the dark about the prisons regulations or happenings on the inside. Inmates were not informed why they were selected for relocation and subjected to unfamiliar, isolating penalization. The new prisoners family members stood vigil outside La Roca, burning tires, staging blockades of the highway, and generally agitating to make the living conditions of their loved ones publicly known. A campaign waged by YouTube clips aimed to expose Ecuadors Guantanamo. Ironically, however, the same carceral dy- namic of life-threatening abuse and corruption that marked life inside the Penitenciara quickly began to appear in La Roca. To start with, the prisons security equipment proved less effective than officials had ideally hoped. Time and again, prisoners inside La Roca managed to procure firearms. William Pveda, alias the Cuban (the author of a Penitenciara directors assassi- nation, and arguably the most reviled inmate in Ecuadors prison system), was shot at near- point blank range on two occasions inside La Rocasurviving each attempt on his life. When the first shooting occurred on 28 January 2010, the minister of justice tried to explain it away, noting that the attack happened one day before full body scanning machines were installed in La RocaX-ray surveillance, he argued, that could prevent such irregularities. The prison- ers were getting in their last shot at deadly force while they could. When six months later Pveda was shot at againthis time saved by his incarcerated brother, Walter, alias the Caiman, who took his bullet and likewise survivedthe minister made no show of justifying how a gun was smuggled inside. After both attempts, however, female spouses of prisoners who visited their husbands were charged with helping to facili- tate an attempted murder (El Universo 2011b). These women were circumstantially suspected of secreting the components of semiautomatic handguns, piece by piece, inside their private parts, over 15-day intervalsfollowing La Rocas schedule for conjugal visits. A crackdown ensued against female visitors at the security fil- ters, where a select few were regularly asked by prison guards to submit to body cavity searches. Every time the security filters broke down that is, every time a prisoner managed to wield a firearmpublic authorities demanded an in- vestigation into the assailants suspected collab- oration with prison guards. The DNRS director ordered all guard personnel to be evaluated and requalified in order to keep their jobs, and even temporarily militarized the nations prisons, with police and armed forces assuming cus- todythe former charged with supervising the inside, the latter guarding the gates and build- ing exteriors. As is public knowledge, most prison guards are poorly paid, live far away from their home, carry old or outdated weapons, and are ordered at the whim of super- visors to work double shifts. They are likewise made to provide for their own bulletproof vests Ecuadors black site: On prison securitization and its zones of legal silence | 29 and other kinds of body armor, basic materials that many felt were necessary to perform their labors. It goes without saying that prison guards carry out their work in a life-threatening envi- ronment. Almost by definition, they manage cellblocks and therefore to a certain degree col- laborate or collude with the cellblock mafias (El Telegrafo 2011): a relationship that places them on a knifes edge between the formal adminis- tration and the prisons shadow hierarchy. As one ex-director put it, I know some [guards who] were pursued [by mafia associates] all the way to their homes, and their family members were threatened if they wouldnt help to bring illegal goods to them inside (El Universo 2012) The dangers inherent to the guards position are such that many consider themselves at grave risk merely by showing up for work at the com- plex. For example, La Roca came under attack by unknown and heavily armed forces a few months after the facility opened. On 3 October 2010, a group of paramilitary-style assailants supposedly allied to certain prisoners on the in- side partly demolished La Rocas exterior wall using dynamite, and when the dust settled a firefight broke out between guards and insur- gents. The armed intruders were pushed back, but eight guards were critically injured in the process. In other words, low-ranking guard per- sonnel by definition must expose themselves to such trauma, internalizing life-threatening dan- ger as a routine possibilityeven, and perhaps especially, during moments that seem peace- fulin order to stay the course with their jobs. The prisoners relocated to La Roca were those most deeply implicated in the prison sys- tems shadow hierarchy, that is, those who liter- ally managed the flow of narcotics, money, and bodies inside (and, to a certain degree, outside) the states jails and prisons. La Roca was created in order to contain mafia influenceseparating caporales from their networks, eliminating their extraordinary privileges, and providing 24- hour surveillance in cellblock pavilions. Yet La Rocas cellblock inspections may illustrate how the same shadow economy and culture of vio- lence has flourished in spite of these advanced custodial measures. The best example is that of Oscar Carranqui. Journalists described this ma- jor drug traffickers previous cell in Garca Moreno prison as five-star quality; the police had discovered not only expensive curtains, marble floors, televisions, [and] jewelry, but also a hidden cabinet in a piece of furniture built into the wall that stored a [laptop] com- puter, a USB modem, a revolver with five rounds in the chamber, two Blackberry cell phones, and a professional-grade voice recorder (Expreso 2010). While living in La Roca, Carranqui still enjoyed a variety of clandestine privileges. When conjugal visits were suspended after the first attempt on the Cubanos life, for example, personnel still allowed Carranquis spouse to visit on the normal schedule. Moreover, police inspections of La Roca dur- ing 20102011 turned up plenty of otherwise il- licit materials, including cell phones, arms, nails, wire, kitchenettes, refrigerators, [and] tel- evisions, among other things (El Universo 2010b) The presence of high-status commodi- ties clearly indicated the existence of the same black market dynamics that operated, and con- tinues to operate, inside the Penitenciara del Litoral. In other words, cellblock mafia influ- ence may have been scaled back, yet by no means was it eliminated. Such irregularities di- rectly implicated the collaboration of prison guards. Expensive security equipment and the promise of high-tech surveillancemultiple body scanning devices, digital modules to iden- tify biogenetic markers, and so forthwere not sufficient to dissolve the guard-mafia alliance. As I wrote this article, yet another prisoner alias el Negro Joswas shot and killed by a fellow inmate (in revenge, he claimed, for an- other murder) the day before the victim was scheduled for a release hearing. Much like the second assassination attempt on William P - veda, security personnel were unable to locate and decommission the discharged firearm. The rules governing La Roca were made public in mid-2011. But federal standards for relocating prisoners to La Roca continue to re- main cloudy. The new regime of maximum se- 30 | Chris Garces curity (previously restricted to specific cell- blocks in the countrys largest prisons) had been implemented to protect against threats to the smooth functioning of national rehabilitation centers. The prison mafias coercive reach out- side the prisonundeniable after two prison directors were murderedwas a sufficient na- tional executive motive for calling a state of emergency in the prison system. The emergency periods raison dtre was to separate mafia ca- pos from their network associates. In precisely this sense, La Roca owes its institutional con- ditions of existence to the Penitenciara del Litorals mid-2000s security crisis. Yet this new prison clearly reproduced most of the informal mechanisms that governed life inside the Penitenciara. Cellblock shadow hier- archy power had not been eliminated across La Roca. On the contrary, I would suggest that Ecuadors prison system added a powerful new mechanism for the strengthening of formal and informal penal state unaccountability. As was signaled in the countrys newspapers, the mere presence of a prison dedicated entirely to peel- ing back inmates layered civil rights has exer- cised a number of undeniable effects on the relationship between cellblock hierarchies and the prison administration. Nationwide, prison directors can now utilize the open threat of re- location to La Roca in order to ensure inmates they view as particularly dangerous, including the leaders of incarcerated mafia, remain squarely under their command. As one such in- mate anonymously reported to a journalist well before the inauguration of La Roca, Some of the prisoners here have already handed over their guns a few weeks ago to avoid being sent to the maximum-security prison (El Universo 2007b). Clearly, national prison officials must do everything within their powers to guarantee a system of social rehabilitation; there is no pos- sible context in which firearms should make their way into their wards hands. The potential for unharnessing the prison directors coercive powersand holding them nearly unaccount- ableis raised in this prisoners anonymous comment. The comment also reveals shifting zones of legal silence within the discourse on maximum security. While cellblock mafias may continue to operate in shadow hierarchies, the prison directors now have more say in how they do, or do not, exercise such penal state power. Conclusion The possibility of finding oneself stripped of civil rights is lamentably a sign of the times, nationally and globally. Inside Ecuadorian pris- ons, the reality of blackmail, torture, and phys - ical subjugation is both lived and commonly lamented among prisoners and staff alike. But in La Roca and other sites of maximum security emerging across the global South, all of the nightmares of civil erasure come together; every- oneprisoner, guard, and administratorwho makes contact with this hidden core of punitive containment deserves more recognition and le- gal protection. Yet La Roca is merely one, semi- visible peak in a new topographical arrange- ment of penal power that has been laid down across Ecuador and Latin America as a whole. The 2008 emergency period inaugurated a considerably deeper set of legal mechanisms that affected Ecuadorian prisoners, and kept them hidden from the public eye. My argument has employed political-economic and media analysis to describe the penal regime surround- ing La Roca and its culture of secrecy. There is an extent to which I literally backed into Ecuadors private world of supermax-style confinement. By using the expression backed into, however, I do not want to suggest that my prison encounter happened against my will. Rather, my contingent and unexpected access to the new prison regime has led me to believe that any outsiders understanding of the experience of advanced custodial measures, at least in the Ecuadorian context, has been severely compro- mised by draconian legal restrictions and mul- tiple veils of institutional secrecy. Prison ad- ministrations keep inmate living conditions in administrative segregation far beyond the pur- view of direct or sustained legal observation. In such a context, any prison visitor will make do Ecuadors black site: On prison securitization and its zones of legal silence | 31 with compromised data, furtive scraps of infor- mation, or details gleaned by moving as close as possible to inmates themselves, and then ana- lyze this modicum of understanding against in- consistencies in prison administrators claims about their wards. The security measures taken to isolate La Rocas inmates have also shifted the complex field of state and criminal forces. Ecuadorian state and private business leaders inaugurated maximum security incarceration in order to segregate inmates deemed a threat to state au- thority inside as well as outside local prisons. Ecuadors prison climate may have trans- formed greatly in the wake of Rafael Correas anti-neoliberal presidency. But changes to state penalization have occurred unevenly, a thing of shreds and patches sewn together haphazardly instead of the substitution of one model for an- other. Ultimately, I have shown how the Ecuadorian discourse of maximum security chipped off its original neoliberal matrix and became useful again under twenty-first-century socialism. To summarize, President Correas justice sys- tem reforms have, in spite of his governments best intentions, stimulated the very same poli- cies of punitive containment he successfully campaigned against. Guayaquil is now a bell- wether city for the broad-spectrum securitiza- tion of urban life and the scapegoating of poor, informal workers and young persons of color. In the view from the Ecuadorian prison, the challenge of critique is rather to explain untold continuities in the transition from a neoliberal to a popular socialist model of state punish- ment. Similarly, I have demonstrated that Ecuadorian maximum security discourse is a truth effect generating the figure of the uncon- trollable prisoner, a figure deeply troubling to the smooth, uncontestable functioning of car - ceral capitalism and penal state order. In Ecuadorian criminal justice discourse, persons denied liberty (personas privadas de la libertad) are taken into state custody and a different set of rights are given to them in penal code. Inside La Roca, however, those labeled ex- tremely dangerous have turned into experimen- tal subjects for the dispossession of minimal civil guarantees and state protections. Their liv- ing conditions mirror those of the wretched populations being held in supermax, black site prisons in various parts of the world, in- cluding most detainees being held inside todays war prisons. In drawing this conclusion, I am less concerned with assessing the threat level represented by leaders of cellblock mafias than with documenting the birth of administrative segregation as a new and ill-understood legal form of punishment in Ecuador. Not long ago, anthropologist Joo Biehl (2005) introduced the concept of zones of so- cial abandonment in order to show how state police, pastoral institutions, and legal systems across Latin America unconsciously withdraw support for individuals who fail to live up to the brutalizing political-economic demands of state neoliberal transformation. In Guayaquil, Ecua - dor, these overlapping mechanisms of dispos- session continue to survive across prisons in spite of state-level neosocialist attempts to curb prison overcrowding and to break the coercive grip of inmate shadow hierarchies. The penal regime demonstrated by La Roca, however, ac- tively problematizes legal access to wards of the state and mitigates their rule of law protections. Such zones of legal silence are the direct prod- uct of punitive containment strategies and the global development of drug warfueled hyper- incarceration underlying them. Acknowledgments I want to express my gratitude to Andrew Jeffer- son and Tomas Martin, my good though distant compaeros de trabajo, for helping to coax me back into full-time prison ethnography. I also want to thank Lorna Rhodes for her inspiration and intellectual care, without which this discipli- nary jump would have been next to impossible. Chris Garces teaches in the Department of An- thropology at Cornell University. 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