Introduction
Prisons have historically been presented in mainstream media as either being âtoo softâ or âtoo hardâ. Austere interiors, grey walls, bars, over-crowded cells and environments that are too hot and too cold are contrasted with images of recreational spaces that are filled with televisions, pool tables, gymnasiums, libraries and nutritious food. The framing of prisoners within media discourse has similarly involved categorisations that, on the one hand, portray inmates as justifiably objects of punishment, the civil dead, who deserve whatever they encounter while inside and, on the other hand, as subjects with a humanity of their own, who experience mental and physical strains, who are victims in their own right and who deserve the chance to make good (Clifford and White 2017). The ârealityâ is much more complicated and variable, as are local conditions and facilities.
Responses to what occurs within prisons reveal significant ambivalence over the institution and the people who live and work inside it. This may be because it is not only the controversies over prison conditions that reinforce the otherness of the imprisoned; it is also the invisibility of their daily travails and the depressing nature of the institutional regime itself. The normal rhythms and routines of imprisonment have generally not been considered newsworthy while unusual events, such as prison riots and prisoner escapes, constitute the staple of much media attention. Even where routine practices within prison are clearly aberrant and abnormal relative to life outside prison, these are rarely treated as of substantive media interestâunless, for instance, prisoners die in circumstances that warrant particular interest. Sustained analysis of mediated representations of prisons indicates that these constructions contribute to popular misunderstandings about the nature of the prison as an institution and also underpin continued public support for an institution that demonstrably fails to either rehabilitate or deter (Mason 2005; White and Graham 2010). In some jurisdictions, such as the USA and UK, solitary confinement is âthe bedrock of that systemâ (Pendergrass 2015).
As Cross and Jewkes (2019) observe, anyone who has experienced or witnessed solitary confinement conditions could not fail to be alarmed. Solitary confinement can have significantly detrimental impacts on an incarcerated personâs physical health, resulting in symptoms such as the deterioration of eyesight, sleep disturbances, fatigue, impaired memory and concentration, and cardiovascular problems (Shalev 2008). Harassment by guards, substandard food quality and poor sanitation are frequently reported (Wener 2012). Self-harm and suicide are also more common in solitary units than in less-restrictive prison environments (Raemisch 2017). Then, there are the longer-term costs associated with the ongoing mental health problems and social exclusion experienced by people after their release from prison.
Critics of the practice have long argued that the negative effects of solitary confinement run counter to the primary goals of imprisonmentânamely rehabilitation and social reintegrationâand that the deprivations inherent to solitary confinement contravene the human rights of prisoners, constituting a form of torture (Shalev 2008). This also reflects the notion that imprisonment itself is the punishment, rather than prisons being a place for punishment. The United Nations has condemned the practice, as has the European Court of Human Rights. Organisations like Solitary Watchâa non-profit organisation that investigates, documents and disseminates information on the use of solitary confinements in US prisonsâhave labelled the use of solitary confinement an expensive practice that increases recidivism rates and fails to reduce violence (Heiss 2015). Estimates have it that it costs US taxpayers $75,000 to house a single person in solitary confinement for one year (bearing in mind that many people find themselves in segregation for years on end). This equates to around three times the average cost of incarceration of individuals within the general prison population (Casella and Rodriguez 2016; Reiter 2016). Estimates have it that, in the USA alone, around 80,000â100,000 people are in solitary confinement (Nolan and Amico 2017; Amnesty International 2014).
The fact that prisons are generally âclosedâ institutions means, however, that most people have little direct knowledge of what goes on inside the prison walls, and many will have never visited a prison themselves. From the point of view of mainstream media, this means that the ââŠmass-produced symbols and meanings take on even greater importance when they pertain to situated experiences which most of us do not experience, such as incarcerationâ (Jewkes 2007, 447). In other words, media frames play a major part in determining âwhat countsâ in terms of public perceptions of punishment and the emotions that accompany these perceptions (Clifford and White 2017). On the whole, significant silences exist in terms of prisoners whose stories do not get told and whose lives are not considered newsworthy (see Jewkes 2011).
Towards the end of Barack Obamaâs presidency (2016), the practice of solitary confinement in US prisons emerged as one of these âsilencesâ to experience a surge in mediated visibility, in part due to the issueâs prominence on the political agenda and a nationwide push in the USA to rethink the âcarceral compulsion to isolate peopleâ (Heiss 2019). Journalists who were at the time experimenting with innovative storytelling toolsâthe use of virtual reality (VR) and 360Âș video in news productionârecognised the newsworthiness of the push for penal reform and sought to develop immersive experiences that focused on the practice of solitary confinement. Over a two-year period, a string of productions emerged, including RYOTâs Confinement (2015), The Guardianâs 6x9: A Virtual Experience of Solitary Confinement (2016), and PBS Frontlineâs After Solitary (2017). Each one sought to shed light on the psychological deterioration and sensory deprivation that segregated prisoners experience by virtually placing users inside a US solitary confinement prison cell and giving voice to the stories of former inmates as part of the soundscapes of virtual experiences.
This chapter examines how such stories of human suffering have lent themselves as ideal âtest subjectsâ for this burgeoning style of reporting, known as immersive journalismââthe production of news in a form in which people can gain first-person experiences of the events or situation described in news storiesâ (de la Peña et al. 2010, 291). Through the lens of media criminology, the chapter evaluates the role of VR storytelling within professional journalistic practices, as well as its contribution to enhancing public understandings of the harsher realities of prison life. In doing so, we examine the framing effects associated with enabling media audiences to âstep insideâ a news story. By far, one of the most prevailing and vigorously debated of these has been VRâs capacity to create empathy among users, helping usâso the argument goesâto become better-informed, more understanding people and thereby contributing to the creation of a more compassionate and cohesive society. Empathy has long been extolled as one of the central tenets of VR, but especially since 2015 when filmmaker and digital artist Chris Milk referred to the technology as the âultimate empathy machineâ (a phrase likely borrowed from the late Roger Ebert) in his now-infamous TED talk. Since then, a number of VR projects âhave legitimated themselves in these termsâ (Bollmer 2017, 66). Increasingly, however, practitioners have started to question whether VR has turned out to be the moral game-changer that it was originally heralded to be.
Critics rightfully point out that the ârhetoric of the empathy machineâ has asked us to endorse the technology âwithout questioning the politics of its construction or who profits from itâ (Yang 2017). This is quite aside from the numerous other documented applications and benefits of VR, including its capacity to hone oneâs personal performance, improve learning and communication skills, assist with traumatic recovery and even prepare inmates for their release from prison and their transition back into local communities (see Dolven and Fidel 2017). It is also in spite of the fact that studies analysing how users respond to and make meaning from VR experiences remain limited (Jones 2017), as does research on the practice of immersive journalism, and the place of empathy-creation in relation to journalismâs normative ideals of objectivity and the more recent turn towards the affective in news media (see Wahl-Jorgensen 2019). In a nutshell, while apparently revolutionary and progressive, the evidence in regard to VR and associated emerging media trends is rather thin. Basic assumptions about VRâs use therefore require closer scrutiny.
In this spirit, this chapter asks why it is that the empathy-creation proposition has been given such primacy in discussions about the virtues of VR and what this means for VR storytelling and ethics in a journalistic context. By way of a case study analysis of RYOTâs Confinement, The Guardianâs 6x9: A Virtual Experience of Solitary Confinement, and PBS Frontlineâs After Solitary, we examine whether VR has really been able to live up to its reputation as the âultimate empathy machineâ when it comes to highly contentious issues, such as solitary confinement. The chapter furthermore questions whether the focus on VRâs virtues has obscured its potential shortcomings, particularly in the application of the technology to the production of law and order news.
Solitary Confinement: A Punishment for âthe Specific Purpose of Breaking a Prisonerâ
Documenting what she calls the death-in-life experience of solitary confinement in America from the early nineteenth century to todayâs supermax prisons, Lisa Guenther (2013) observes: âThere are many ways to destroy a person, but one of the simplest and most devastating is through prolonged solitary confinementâ (xi). Prisoners in ...