Hostels and Community Justice for Women: The 'Semi-penal' Paradox

Alana Barton & Vickie Cooper

Introduction

Escalating rates of imprisonment bring into sharp focus a range of serious concerns

around human rights and social justice for criminalised women, as other contributions in

this book have adroitly highlighted. One apparent remedy for these problems is to increase

the use of community penalties as an alternative to incarceration (Gelsthorpe et al, 2007).

Increasing the use of community penalties for women has received academic and official

approval for a number of reasons. First, women offenders are deemed to be ‘lower risk’

than men, generally committing less serious and non-violent offences. Second, women are

believed to be ‘less resistant to accepting community supervision than men’ (ibid: 7) and

statistically a higher proportion of women than men complete their community sentence

successfully (Prison Reform Trust, 2010). Third, community sentences are perceived as a

means of minimising the adverse impact that a woman’s offending, and subsequent

punishment, might have on her family (Ministry of Justice, 2008a).

Hostels in particular have been depicted as suitable sites of community punishment and

rehabilitation for women. They are presented as offering re-integrative and restorative

opportunities whilst still providing the necessary restrictions on liberty demanded by a

sentence of the court and ‘success’ rates (in terms of non-reconvictions) are higher for

individuals sentenced to a condition of residence in ‘approved premises’ than for those

who are unable to access a place (Cherry & Cheston, 2006). However, despite these

commendations, hostels for women (both approved probation premises and other non-

statutory hostels) have been subject to very little critical scrutiny when compared with, for

example, analyses of the prison. Those studies that have been conducted have tended to

focus on the specific benefits (in terms of practicality, financial viability and ‘effectiveness’)

that hostels offer over custody for women (Carlen, 1990; Rumgay, 2004) or the benefits of

single-sex institutions over mixed accommodation (Wincup, 1996). Whilst these studies

are valuable, very little consideration has been accorded to the ideological assumptions

that underpin the philosophies and regimes of female hostels or to the politics and power

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relations around which they operate which, in turn, have implications in terms of rights and

justice for women.

In this chapter we examine the use of hostels, arguing that these institutions are

paradoxical in terms of the delivery of ‘justice’ for women. We begin, on a practical level,

by examining the scarcity and uneven geographical spread of hostel accommodation for

women, contending that this has detrimental implications for any notion of resettlement

into the ‘community’. We then continue by examining those institutions that are available

for women and we conceptualise these as ‘semi-penal’ (Barton, 2004; 2005). Here we

propose that women’s hostels represent a blurring of the ideological boundaries both

between the prison and the domestic sphere and between the construction of

‘criminal/deviant’ and ‘vulnerable/needy’ identities. We highlight that, in addition to

approved probation premises, non-statutory hostels (traditionally utilised for vulnerable but

non-criminal women) are part of a ‘semi-penal web’ (see Archard, 1979). Finally, we argue

that women-specific regimes in semi-penal institutions are not dissimilar to those of the

prison, in that they can serve to reproduce feminized identities through dominant gendered

ideologies of the ‘home’ and techniques of maternalistic governance. In particular we

examine how the supremacy of the concepts of personal responsibility and

‘empowerment’, achieved primarily thorough compulsory ‘groupwork’ and ‘self-reflection’,

can be conceptualised as contractual and feminised forms of governance.

The chapter will draw on two pieces of research conducted by the authors in Merseyside,

England. The first piece explored the experiences of criminalised women in an approved

bail and probation hostel (see Barton, 2005). The second (currently unpublished) study,

conducted by Cooper in 2011, focused on offenders’ and ex-offenders’ paths between

homelessness and imprisonment. The female participants in this research were, at the

time of interview, residing in one of three forms of hostel accommodation, namely an

approved bail and probation hostel (the same hostel that was the focus of Barton’s study),

a female refuge and a female homeless hostel.

Gendered Geographies of Punishment: Disempowerment and Dispossession

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The main element of discrimination against female prisoners and by extension

against female hostel residents was the distance between their family and

community and where they were located (Ministry of Justice 2008a:43).

According to the Equality Act 2006, there is a legal obligation placed upon local and

national authorities to eliminate unlawful sex discrimination and harassment and promote

equality of opportunity between women and men (Player, 2007). Despite this legislative

progress, provision for women in the community is not ‘compatible with equalities

legislation’ (Ministry of Justice, 2008a: 42). The lack of accommodation availability,

coupled with its uneven spread across the country, makes it ‘geographically patchy’

(Gelsthorpe et al, 2007: 8). In 2012, there are 100 probation hostels (or ‘approved

premises’): six are female only and 94 are male only. There are no mixed sex hostels. 1 Up

until 2005, 28 probation hostels were mixed-sex, however the national directive suggested

that, due to ‘the abusive nature of many male residents and vulnerability of some female

residents’, mixed-sex hostels were impractical for reducing reoffending (Ministry of Justice,

2008a: 10). As such, it was recommended that mixed-sex hostels ‘should be converted to

single-sex establishments with immediate effect’ (Ibid: 15). Consequently, 26 hostels

changed to male only, but only two converted to female hostels (Ibid).

What we witnessed here was a paradoxical response to the perceived ‘needs’ of women.

Whilst it was clearly proclaimed that female single-sex hostels were better equipped to

respond to women’s ‘criminogenic’ requirements than mixed premises, the response was

to contract female hostel provision to the benefit of the men’s estate (Ministry of Justice,

2008a: 42). Consequently, women deemed in need of probation accommodation would

have to be dispersed around the country in order to have their offending needs met. In

Cooper’s study 66% of the female respondents did not originate from the regional area

(Merseyside) where they were residing when interviewed (compared with 28.5% of men).

Women in the probation hostel had relocated from a diverse range of places including

North Wales (Kayleigh), Cumbria (Elaine) and the Midlands (Catherine). In addition, the

histories of these women indicated that relocation around the country was not a rare event.

Natalie for example, was originally from Carlisle but in the previous six years, via prison

and various statutory and non-statutory hostels (with spells of homelessness in between),

1 Of these 3 female hostels and 10 male hostels are managed independently. Information concerning the numbers of hostels was gained via personal communication with the National Approved Premises Association (9th March 2012).

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had moved between Cumbria, the North East and Merseyside. The geographical

displacement of women from their home areas presents considerable challenges when

considering community rehabilitation and reintegration. Put simply, women may be

released to and/or serve punishment in a community, but generally not their community: as

such, they are in but not necessarily of the community (see Duff, 2001). Relocating women

for the purpose of a community sentence can mean social and family networks are

disrupted in much the same way as they would if a prison sentence had been imposed.

Making the transition to new and unfamiliar ‘communities’ can be a disempowering

experience, leaving women disassociated from existing personal support systems and

deprived of feelings of membership and belonging. Consequently, this can exacerbate

feelings of social exclusion, isolation and distress. As such, it is argued that these

experiences intensify problems associated with their offending (Gelsthorpe et al, 2007;

Ministry of Justice, 2008a). Nonetheless women are generally compelled to make the

move in order to avoid custody. As Belinda put it, ‘I’ve had to cut all ties, social services

and everything. But I don’t want to go back to jail’ (in Cooper, 2011).

Cooper’s study also found that, for the women who were referred to the hostel in

Merseyside from out of the area, this was often not a temporary relocation. Rather, several

women ended up permanently resettling in the locale. For some women, Merseyside may

have been simply their preferred location, but for others, given that previous social

contacts had been lost and the hostel had become their primary means of practical

support, the decision to remain in Merseyside was a pragmatic one. Clearly, providing

such support is obviously not a negative aspect of hostels per se, however the women in

Cooper’s study sometimes appeared resigned, rather than enthusiastic, about their future.

As Shirelle and Kate explained:

I’ve been trying for six years to get somewhere to live. I’ve been in and out of jail

because if you only do short sentences you don’t get help with housing so I just get

released straight back onto the street… I have decided to relocate up to here

(Shirelle, originally from Macclesfield).

I would rather be rehoused in Wrexham because that is where I am from [u]nless I

could get the money to go private and I don’t think that is going to happen …I have

been off the drugs now since I have been out of prison… I think that is mainly due to

being [in the hostel] and having the support and what not. But if I went back to

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Wrexham, I would just be taking a big step backwards I think because of the

housing situation… you go and present yourself as homeless and then they just put

you in a B&B which is full of other drug addicts. You do all that hard work to get put

back in the middle of it all (Kate, originally from Wrexham).

We suggest that women’s experiences of being supervised in approved premises (or of

residing in non-statutory hostels after being released from prison with no fixed abode) can

be considered antithetical to, what are clearly, idealized ideologies of ‘the community’.

Whilst academic studies have deconstructed ideological discourses surrounding

‘community punishment’ (Worrall, 1995) and identified various practical difficulties in terms

of meeting women’s needs in the community (Gelsthorpe et al 2007; Malloch and McIvor,

2011) we remain bereft of the real meaning of ‘community’ for female ‘offenders’ and ‘ex-

offenders’. The notion of ‘community’ generally has been politically idealised yet

theoretically under-developed (Cohen, 1985; Worrall, 1997; Duff, 2001) and arguably only

really exists at a conceptual level (Frazer and Lacey, 1993). Even though ‘community’ has

become an essential part of criminal justice rhetoric (Duff, 2001), within this discourse the

term remains equivocal, referring solely to a geographical location which can be as

indistinct as ‘outside the prison walls’. With regard to hostel accommodation, there has

been a tendency to present this form of ‘community’ as being qualitatively antipodal to

‘custody’. This false polarisation of the two sites implies that because custodial institutions

are regulative environments, hostels are presented as restrictive but primarily supportive,

‘curative’ and, importantly, ‘empowering’ institutions (Buckley, 1987; McLeish, 2005), like

an extension of an idealised ‘communal’ unit such as the family (see Sinclair, 1975;

Sheppard, 1979). In the following section of this chapter we challenge this romanticised

notion, examining the ways in which hostels for women might be considered an extension

of rather than an alternative to formal custodial punishment.

The hostel for women as a semi-penal institution

Hostels for offenders were originally perceived as the ‘high watermark of welfarism’ (Cowe,

2007: 69) and as far back as the early 20 th century had been accepted as appropriate

forms of community punishment and justice for women (Barton, 2005). But the welfare

element of hostel accommodation has not been sufficiently theoretically untangled from

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the inherent disciplinary functions of such institutions. Barton (2005) characterised

probation hostels for women as ‘semi-penal’. This description refers to their paradoxical

construction. Probation hostels are not formally incarcerative or wholly punitive in the

sense of the prison and they clearly lack the visible symbols of exclusionary punishment

such as high walls, locked cells, solitary confinement, uniformed guards, continuous

surveillance and so on. But nor are they representative of the idealised forms of informal

social control or support associated with the ‘community’, which is most commonly

represented by the neighbourhood or family. Whilst probation hostels provide shared

spaces for living, socialising, eating and food preparation (and could therefore be defined

as physically ‘communal’), residents are subject to surveillance and supervision on the

premises and hostels generally provide no, or at least very limited, private space for

residents from which others can be excluded. As the title of the HMI Probation (2007)

report ‘Not Locked Up but Subject to Rules’ infers, although hostels provide various

systems of practical support, they necessarily have to function around formalised

regulations and regimes that imitate those found in custodial institutions. Thus, for

example, rules prohibit the use of alcohol and dictate if and when residents can leave the

premises. Visitors are strictly regulated with visits from children not permitted (Ministry of

Justice, 2008a). Moreover, residents’ actions and behaviours are monitored and recorded

and they are frequently required to engage in a range of compulsory activities, to the

extent where some female residents have complained that hostel regimes are stricter than

those they had experienced in prison (Ministry of Justice, 2011).

As stated above, Barton’s characterisation of ‘semi-penal’ institutions was originally based

on the physiognomies and structures of probation hostels for women. However, it is

important to establish that although probation hostels are the primary (but not sole) focus

of this chapter, they are just a part of a much wider ‘semi-penal network’ for women which

encompasses a variety of statutory and non-statutory premises. In this ‘network’ individual

institutions accommodate a mixture of convicted offenders on supervision orders, non-

convicted bailees and ‘vulnerable’ non/ex-offenders. Thus, the conceptual boundaries

between women’s ‘criminality’, ‘deviance’ and ‘vulnerability’, and responses to them,

become indistinct. Of course, this is not unique to the hostel environment but rather

reflects the hegemonic, and paradoxical, construction of ‘normal’ femininity, whereby

women’s conduct is understood and explained by recourse to (biologically and socially)

deterministic conceptualisations which, in turn, ensures their personal/social problems

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and/or moral ‘failings’ become conflated with their ‘deviant’ or ‘criminal’ behaviour

(Heidensohn, 1996; Carlen, 1998; Ballinger, 2000).

Both the female homeless hostel and the female refuge in Cooper’s study were

accommodating a combination of women with a history of offending (although not

necessarily on formal supervision orders), homeless women released from prison, women

fleeing from domestic violence and women with substance misuse and offending related

needs. In the probation hostel, residents primarily consisted of convicted women on

supervision orders but even in these cases it was not always solely the woman’s ‘offender’

status that led to her referral to the hostel. For example, Natalie was being supervised by

MAPPA2 (and thus deemed a ‘high risk’ offender). However, having had a history of

homelessness and domestic violence, her referral to the hostel had been considered

necessary both as a punishment and a means of protection.

…the police, drug councillors…and other agencies like Freedom Programme for

domestic violence…[t]hey used to have meetings about me and…what was best for

me. They all decided that it would be best for me to come somewhere like this.

Obviously, because my partner was released three weeks ago from prison then I’m

at risk because of him (in Cooper, 2011).

In addition some women were resident in the probation hostel under the ‘emergency

accommodation’ facility and thus had not been charged with or convicted of any criminal

offence at all. For instance, Shirelle had been referred because she was homeless

(Cooper, 2011).

It has been argued that community disposals provide a necessary remedy for breaking the

cycle of offending and punishment for women (Carlen, 1990). However, we propose that

semi-penal institutions can become part of the cycle rather than a solution to it. The

blurring of institutional boundaries means that ‘deviance’ and ‘vulnerability’ become

conceptualised as mutually reinforcing characteristics of particular groups of women for

whom institutionalisation (custodial and non-custodial) is seen as the necessary response.

2Multi Agency Public Protection Arrangements (MAPPA) were introduced under the Criminal Justice and Court Services Act 2001 and consolidated in the Criminal Justice Act 2003. They were set up to supervise and monitor high-risk offenders within the community. Police and probation are mainly responsible for delivering multi-agency protection, but there is also a duty placed on wider agencies to ensure that offenders are supported within the community, in accordance with their offending-related needs and risks. Agencies can include domestic violence units, drug and alcohol action teams, health authorities, mental health trusts and social landlords. (Wood and Kemshall, 2007).

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Thus, these women become entrenched in an enveloping network of institutionalisation.

This process is starkly highlighted by the following ‘snapshots’ of the paths between

homelessness and (penal and semi-penal) institutionalisation for two women over a period

of six years from Cooper’s study.

Natalie (originally from Cumbria) –> HMP Durham -> homeless in Cumbria -> HMP

Durham -> homeless in Cumbria -> HMP Durham -> domestic violence refuge in Carlisle -

> homeless in Cumbria -> approved probation hostel in Liverpool (on supervision order

and fleeing from domestic violence).

Sarah (originally from Warrington) –> homeless in Manchester -> drug rehabilitation

centre in Nottingham -> HMP Styal -> approved probation hostel in Liverpool (on

supervision order).

Not only are convicted women, non-convicted women and non-offenders accommodated

together in the semi-penal network but, more significantly, they are frequently subject to

the same compulsory regimes of ‘rehabilitation’ which raises concerns about the potential

‘net-widening’ and stigmatising impacts of the ‘parity’ of treatment between these groups.

Requiring unconvicted individuals to participate in programmes regarded as ‘punishment’

(which, according to the Approved Premises Handbook National Probation Service for

England and Wales, 2002) is necessary in order to aid their re-integration into the

community), is premised on a presumption of guilt and deemed to be in contravention of

the Human Rights Act. Because of this, the Handbook goes on to stipulate that the

consent of bailees must be sought if they are asked to take part in such programmes.

However, several of the bailees in Barton’s (2005) study complained that they experienced

considerable levels of coercion with regard to group activities, in particular those

programmes aimed at confronting/reflecting on offending behaviour. They reported that

they felt under pressure to participate because they were unconvicted, for as Kate noted,

‘it looks better [at your trial] if you go with a good record from the hostel’ (in Barton, 2005:

126). Furthermore, women may find their (understandable) reluctance to take part in

compulsory programmes institutionally re-constructed as evidence of their personal failings

or ‘denial…in respect of their needs’ (McLeish, 2005: 14). Thus, contrary to the assertion

that women in rehabilitative programmes ‘are encouraged to voluntarily examine and

reshape their own subjectivities…’ (Kendall 2002: 186. Emphasis added), they may feel

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compelled to participate in (mostly compulsory, often daily and frequently offence based)

group work in the semi-penal institution (Cruikshank, 1999; Barton, 2005; see also

McLeish, 2005).

Referring to the complexity and nebulousness of the multi-agency response to young

offenders, Stan Cohen supposed that, in the official imagination, ‘[t]he “deprived” are not

very different from the “depraved”’ (1985: 60). Arguably he could easily have been

describing the situation for women. Semi-penal institutions provide ‘a service which is

simultaneously a response to [deviance] and to other ‘crises’ (family breakdown, deviant

leisure styles…) in the “normal” life cycle’ (ibid. Emphasis added). In other words, rather

than interrupting women’s trajectory through the penal system, the semi-penal network

acts as a ‘magnification and expansion’ of mechanisms of penal and social control for

women (Barton 2005: 19). The formal facets of hostel life discussed above emphasise

their status as semi-penal in that they offer a ‘modified form of imprisonment as opposed

to a modified form of liberty’ (Cowe 2007: 69). However, as noted earlier in this chapter,

hostels function not only around the regulatory methods and disciplinary techniques

generally employed in the prison but also, importantly and paradoxically, around the

dominant, idealised and feminising ideologies of the ‘home’. In this sense, they are semi-

penal and it is to this feature that the chapter now turns.

The reproduction of feminised identities in the semi-penal institution

Regimes within custodial institutions for women have historically operated around

feminised constructions that serve to regulate female prisoners as gendered beings. As

Sim has argued, ‘the social order of the institution has been sustained and reproduced not

only by organisational demands and individual personalities but also through deeply

embedded discourses around masculinity and femininity’ (1994:102).

Such discourses are not confined to the prison. Probation officers have also been accused

of ‘colluding’ with the stereotyping of women according to entrenched constructions of

femininity, specifically in terms of women’s perceived ‘emotionality’ and ‘irrationality’.

Rumgay contends that within the realm of community penalties there is a ‘professional

preoccupation’ with the ‘social and personal distress’ of women (2004: 104). Thus

women’s offending becomes mediated by an emphasis on their personal characteristics,

‘dangerous’ desires and interpersonal relationships ‘as a target and vehicle for change’

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(Rumgay, 2004: 107; Haney 2010). So, whilst research indicates that male and female

probationers share similar ‘risk factors’ (eg. anti-social attitudes, (un)employment and

substance misuse) women are perceived as having a higher ‘frequency of need’ in terms

of personal/emotional, marital and family relations (Dowden et al., 2001 in Cherry and

Cheston, 2006: 260).)

This fascination with the ‘personal’ aspects of women’s lives deflects from a consideration

of women’s social and structural circumstances. Instead, as Rumgay has argued, it

promotes a consensus that what women on community orders require are programmes

that seek to resolve intrinsic problems relating to issues such as ‘poor self-esteem’ (2004:

106). In other words, a conceptualisation of women as agentic beings is undermined by a

deterministic discourse around personal and emotional deficiencies that can, and should,

be remedied. A recent Ministry of Justice report highlights this clearly. In its presentation of

the various community programmes available for offenders (which include those focused

on drinking and driving, domestic violence or sexual offending), the programme developed

specifically for women is described as ‘a programme with an emphasis on managing

emotions and building healthy relationships’ (2008b: 3). Similarly, in her recommendations

regarding the resettlement of women ‘offenders’ into the community, Baroness Corston

claimed that ‘…forming and maintaining relationships, developing self-confidence, simply

being able to get along with people… must come before numeracy and literacy skills’

(Corston, 2007: 7). She went on to remark that, as well as accommodation needs and

employment training, there is an overarching need for life skills training for women ‘for

example, how to live as a family or group, how to contribute to the greater good, how to

cook a healthy meal’ (ibid: 6).

The construction and perpetuation of idealised forms of femininity are particularly evident

in the semi-penal institution. Herein, pedagogies of ‘life-skills’ are concerned with women

coordinating their daily conduct in a way that is congruent with ideologies of the family.

We expect the women here to treat this hostel like they would their own homes.

They have to do the dishes…help make the tea… It’s nothing new for them, they’d

be doing that at home (staff member, in Barton, 2005: 128).

Such ideologies represent romanticised conceptualisations of ‘the family’ even though, as

Frazer and Lacey (1993) point out, the domestic arena frequently embodies the principle

features of women’s oppression. Ideologies of the family are primarily rehearsed and

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mobilised through maternalistic power relations in semi-penal institutions for women.

Maternalism refers to the diverse and complex set of relations that emerge when women

play a role in the discipline and government of other women. At the most basic level, the

presence of female staff can legitimise and justify specific, and intrusive, practices and

procedures that male staff cannot. As Sarah (probation hostel) articulated:

I think there should be more male staff here. I bet you the rules would be

different if there were more men on the staff… no way would a bloke come into

your room in the morning to get you up out of bed (in Barton, 2005: 133.

Original emphasis).

Moreover, maternalism represents a deep and redoubtable discourse in the management

of ‘deviant’ women. Hannah-Moffat (2001) argues that prisons for women function around

maternalistic relations between female guards and prisoners which mirror family

relationships. Similar processes can be observed in the semi-penal environment. For

example, in Barton’s study, when probation hostel resident Martine refused to do the

dishes after dinner she was warned by a female staff member that continued resistance

would result in none of the residents receiving any supper that night. This was, according

to hostel staff, an effective strategy to ensure women’s compliance with the rules. The

threat to punish all residents for one person’s misdemeanour resulted in the ‘offender’

being subjected to ‘peer pressure [from] the others’ and this usually made her acquiesce

(staff member in Barton, 2005: 120). These ‘familial’ forms of discipline, which operate

through displays of ‘parental’ chastisement, ‘sororal’ disapproval and eventually ‘filial’

conformity, are powerful and infantilising.3 The language used by Vivienne, a respondent

in Cooper’s study, to describe relations in the probation hostel clearly expresses this.

[The manager] is very fair [but] I’ll tell you something, don’t get on the wrong side of

her! But …if you’re in the wrong, you’re in the wrong [and] if she knows that you

have been naughty, then you will be punished.

In the probation hostel domestic work (doing the dishes, cleaning floors and so on) was

frequently used as an informal means of punishment (known as ‘sanctioning’). Such was

the gendered normality of domestic expectations that many staff members did not even

3 This is not to suggest women always willingly accept or conform to ‘infantilising’ regimes. On the contrary, both pieces of research established that women are able to resist the constraints of institutionalisation in both subtle and overt ways. Word length prevents us from discussing these here however see Barton (2005) for a full discussion of women’s resistance in the probation hostel.

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consider sanctioning as a form of discipline, even though it was invoked as a penalty for

minor rule breaking. Rather, it was generally perceived as part of a ‘normal’, disciplined

routine for women. As one member of staff stated:

…It’s a bit pathetic, making out that doing the dishes is a punishment for the women

here… it’s only doing the dishes, they’d do that at home anyway. Most of them here

have it easy because at home they’d be doing more than a few dishes and making

their beds. They’d be running around after husbands and families as well (staff

member, quoted in Barton, 2005: 128).

Expectations of femininity also underpinned many day to day recreational activities, for

example cookery and hairdressing sessions which were presented as a crucial part of

rehabilitation work with women.

Rehabilitation is attempted through assertiveness courses, drug work, even in the

hairdresser coming in once a week. This gives the women pride in their

appearance…They get their hair done and they look better, they feel better and I

suppose you could argue that they are better….that’s part of the process towards

getting on their feet…it’s a step towards independent living (staff member, quoted in

Barton 2005: 128-9. Original emphasis).

Disciplinary mechanisms for women have become socially and culturally entrenched

through seemingly ‘benign’ practices such as dietary and make up regimes. Through such

practices, women become self-regulating with regard to ‘appropriate’ outward

appearances (Bartky, 1988; Grimshaw, 1999; Haney 2010). What is represented as ‘free

choice’ (for example, ‘getting their hair done’) becomes entwined in an institutional process

of normalisation because the ‘appropriate’ appearance is itself a normalised one. In the

semi-penal institution women’s ‘rehabilitation’ was often symbolised by their outward

appearance and this, in turn, was seen as evidence of a developed self-confidence, self-

reliance and a potential to successfully re-integrate into society. Undoubtedly there are

particular personal and social rewards for institutionalised women who conform to notions

of feminine normalcy (Bosworth, 1999). However, from a critical perspective, it is

problematic to assume that a sense of self-belief derived from such superficial and fragile

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foundations (ie. ‘looking good’) will have enduring personal, social or political benefits for

women who are structurally and politically marginalised.

One of the most formalised mechanisms through which women’s ‘empowerment’ and

rehabilitation are achieved in semi-penal institutions is the use of various forms of

‘groupwork’. In the last decade, crime and control studies have highlighted that ‘new

modes of governing crime and criminality are emerging’ (Hannah-Moffat 2000: 511).

Rather than acting upon deviant and socially excluded populations in society, there is an

increasing reliance upon discursive practices that get individuals to act within their own

subjection, ostensibly to construct responsible and empowered agents. Carlen and Worrall

argue that the empowerment model has been adopted by prison managers to help women

prisoners make real life choices about ‘how they live their lives in prison and in preparation

for their release’ (2004: 75). Practices of ‘empowerment’, ‘participation’, ‘citizenship’ and

‘life-skills’ are prominent discourses that correspond with a political ideology that aims to

construct responsible agents (Cruikshank 1999; Lemke 2002; McKee and Cooper 2008).

Moreover, the ‘women centred-empowerment model … has feminised the discourses and

practices of punishment’ (Hannah-Moffat 2002:209).

Empowerment is a slippery concept to capture in action. It is heavily embedded in the

routines of semi-penal institutions and sinks into the everyday code of conduct. Although

many activities are not explicitly labeled as about ‘empowerment’, they nonetheless

encourage women to work upon their self-esteem and/or critically reflect on their offending

patterns in relation to their self-esteem. In all three hostels in Cooper’s study daily group

work activity formed the main space wherein empowerment training was facilitated.

Female residents claimed that most of their daily institutional activities took place around

group work:

When you sign up to come to here you do groups every day and it’s like stress

awareness, anger management, drug awareness and we are actually doing one

today and it’s about women empowerment, you know about domestic violence and

stuff (Nicola, probation hostel)

There is no doubt that group work activity mobilized feelings of individual confidence,

expressed through a stronger sense of self-regard. While no female participant used

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‘empowerment’ language per se (‘I am/feel empowered’), many did express feeling safer,

more stable and secure, than before arriving at the hostel and they described

actions/events such as ceasing their substance misuse, being rehoused, making friends

and building strong relationships with their children (and their children’s legal guardians) as

positive steps in their own sense of self and direction.

I had to do a drink detox [before arriving here] because I was a bad alcoholic and I

was taking Crack and Smack all the time but I’m off all that now. Since I’ve been

here it’s sorted my head right out (Shirelle, homeless at probation hostel).

Yeah, since I’ve been here … how can I put it, I’ve never felt so stable in the whole

of the drug life that I’ve had, than I’ve had being in here. I could honestly say that it

has got its good points about it in the end (Vivienne, probation hostel).

[T]hey’ve been great with me [at the hostel].. They’ve helped me sort all my benefits

out [and] I know I’m safe and no one can touch me here. It’s just nice to feel safe

and have somewhere to live for a change (Belinda, female homeless hostel).

There are clearly positive benefits that women derive from groupwork and from feeling

‘empowered’ and it is not our intention to reject or deride such experiences. However,

belying this happy ideology of empowerment are concerns that such methods of

‘emotional training’ can become instruments of control rather than liberation, wherein the

‘deviant’ and/or ‘vulnerable’ woman must critically reflect on how her lack of self-esteem

impacts upon her ‘pathological pleasures’ and ‘dangerous desires’ (Haney 2010). As

Hannah-Moffatt argues, empowerment training ‘stresses responsibility and accountability,

not structural relations of power or inequality’ (2002: 207). It devolves responsibility from

the institutional level to the individual (Ibid). Through groupwork sessions, hostel residents

are encouraged to decontextualize their socio-economic problems and pressures and

focus instead on their own individual personal failures, demonstrating how their life choices

have led to offending and ‘criminogenic’ behaviours (Hannah Moffatt 2002; Kendall 2002).

Semi-penal institutions facilitate spaces for what Kendal refers to as ‘psycho-social’

practices for governing and disciplining deviant women (Kendall 2002:186).4

You see it’s down to you, you’re the individual person, if you want to make a go of

4 However, the term psycho-social must be applied with trepidation because such activities were not generally carried out by trained or qualified psychotherapists but rather they were carried out by hostel staff and outreach workers.

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something then you’ll make a go of it…if you’re determined to get off the drugs.  

You see, people don’t realise, they just don’t, it’s you. You have got to want the

help. [There’s] no point in people helping you if you’re not going to help yourself and

you’re not prepared to help. Because at the end of the day if you make a go of it this

place can help you… (Vivienne, probation hostel. Emphasis added).

Up until now I haven’t been drinking, I’ve had the opportunity to drink but I’m not

[drinking]. I just don’t want to go back to prison because that’s what it will lead to…

Maybe if this had happened to me a few years ago I wouldn’t be in the mess that

I’m in now because it is a shock with me being old as well. I’m 52 now, it’s not right

is it? (Suzanne, probation hostel).

Empowerment training mobilizes critical reflection and introspection. Experiences such as

sexual violence, childhood neglect, separation from children and mental health problems

were ‘talked into’ the institutional setting and were explored via a discourse around

women’s ‘pathological pleasures’ and ‘criminogenic needs’, such as substance misuse,

alcoholism and crime (Hannah-Moffat, 2002; Haney, 2010). Relying upon the power of

care women are encouraged to critically reflect upon their individual paths to crime (or, for

non-offenders, homelessness or domestic violence) (Hannah-Moffat, 2001; Haney, 2010).

Cooper’s study highlighted how hostel residents were encouraged to confess to and

empathize with each other and with staff, sharing their intimate and traumatic experiences

in group settings. Following one such session, a staff member was emotionally distressed

as female residents’ personal accounts of homelessness and domestic violence reminded

her of her own previous history. This method of ‘collective’ empowerment’ clearly fostered

a mutual respect between the residents and staff and is reportedly favoured by hostel

managers as it helps develop a positive ‘hostel culture’ (Ministry of Justice, 2011: 34).

However, semi-penal institutions rely upon individuals opening up discourses of ‘the self’

and engaging with institutions on a private level. Arguably, this creates a sense of

‘institutional intimacy’ whereby residents develop an emotional attachment, not just to the

staff, but to the hostel itself.

I know it sounds weird, because I have just wanted to get out of [this] place, but you

get loads of support here and I’ve got no family. And the friends I’ve got, they are all

in this house. I didn’t know anybody when I came, at all. (Nicola, probation hostel).

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Conclusion: The Semi-Penal Paradox

Despite the concerns we have raised in this chapter, it is not our intention to wholly

denounce or dismiss the use of hostels for women. It is clear that the experiences of

women in prison undermine any concepts of rights and justice for women offenders and

therefore we must seek viable and apposite alternatives. The crux of our argument

however is that, as the situation currently stands, whilst hostels are often presented as a

means of challenging injustice for women they may actually constitute environments that

intensify, rather than resolve, discriminatory and unjust treatment of women. This is the

semi-penal paradox and it is manifest in a number of (interconnected) ways.

First, despite considerable academic and official support for the development of ‘women-

only’ institutions, with ‘women-centred’ regimes (Corston, 2007), the continued absence of

women-only hostels is clearly discriminatory and seemingly indicative of an official

disinterest in women’s ‘needs’. Second, the lack of hostels, and women’s subsequent

dispersal to remote communities, simply replicates many of the problems caused by

incarceration: it dislocates women from existing support networks and leads to further

marginalisation. Notwithstanding the benefits of those single sex hostels that do exist,

sending women to a new community exacerbates feelings of social exclusion and isolation

and can trigger the onset of emotional distress. Third, this process of disempowering

women, in turn, creates an attachment of necessity between the individual and the hostel

whereby women foster their own community from within the institution. This is

unequivocally co-produced through female-centred models of rehabilitation and

approaches to building self-esteem such as (ironically) the empowerment model. These

methods are underpinned by powerful gendered ideologies. They are predicated on

women’s assumed irrationality and incapacity for self-governance and, it can be argued,

serve to reproduce normative and disempowering discourses of femininity. Further, such

practices absolve political regimes of punishment from accountability for women’s

offending related problems. Instead, substance misuse and alcoholism are de-

contextualised as women’s ‘pathological pleasures’, whilst mental health issues and social

exclusion are treated as outcomes of having a low sense of self-worth.

Thus in conclusion we contend that female-centred models of punishment and

rehabilitation in semi-penal institutions have not essentially redressed the practical or

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ethical problems associated with women’s incarceration, nor have they fundamentally

challenged the hegemonic and ideological construction of ‘normal’ femininity that has

traditionally underpinned penal regimes. Rather, in their current form, they have arguably

extended the scope of women’s subjugation.

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