<em>Detention</em>

Prisons gather individuals who have violated the laws of the social order—laws intended to guarantee the stability of that order. Yet, the social order is also founded upon accepted injustice. Consequently, some lawbreakers cannot be unfairly characterised as representatives of a more universal justice.

One encounters a wide spectrum of vastly different inmates in prisons: ranging from individuals driven by uncontrolled aggressive impulses and those whose behaviour is determined by psychological disorders, to those who knowingly committed unlawful acts, not merely to satisfy personal needs, but as a corrective measure in the interest of the general public. Let us leave aside, for the moment, the question of the underlying causes of these uncontrolled aggressive impulses.

Prison guards must ensure compliance with the law at their workplace. Guillaume Massart’s documentary Detencion (French: Détension), presented in the L’ACID section at Cannes, follows trainee guards over a period of six months. In doing so, it offers perhaps the most detailed behind-the-scenes look at the current prison system—specifically, the French one.

Training

The training begins with a test of discipline strongly reminiscent of the 1962 Stanley Milgram experiment. Trainees are instructed to stand beside their chairs for three hours—for no apparent reason. This tests their frustration tolerance as well as their hypocritical acceptance of authority. When asked for their opinion, they affirm the authority of their instructor and the person issuing the orders. Orders must be obeyed; the instructor reminds them that failure to comply results in point deductions or disciplinary penalties. It turns out that the students never even acknowledged their own rights. From this point on, their frustrations—like those of prisoners—will remain a part of their lives.

Their training consists of the meticulous, continuous drilling of rules governing specific gestures, forms of physical contact, procedures, and word choice. Yet during these months of training, the recruits are confronted with realities that—as captured in close-up shots—leave them not only astonished but, at times, visibly shocked. In their regular exchanges, they report not only verbal abuse from prisoners—which provokes counter-aggression in some of them—but also death threats (!) from their own professional colleagues on the job. The instructor moderating the session merely comments: «Let’s discuss that later.»

A student recounts the inappropriate harshness shown toward a 72-year-old woman—admitted for the first time in her life—who was not permitted to sit down at any point during the entire admission process, even though a chair was right there. A telephone number jotted down on a piece of paper—her last chance to get help from the outside world—was thrown away behind her back. She was lied to and told that nothing had been found. The instructor commented once again: «I cannot initiate proceedings against my colleagues.»

The training begins with a test of discipline strongly reminiscent of the 1962 Stanley Milgram experiment.

The rules of conduct

It soon becomes clear that instilling rules of conduct is an absurdly bizarre procedure when confronted with reality. In practice, there is largely an alliance between guards and prisoners, resulting in the toleration of at least minor rule infractions. At times, prisoners even mistreat others for having attacked—or defied—precisely those guards who were more tolerant. The students also witness the gratuitous humiliation of arbitrarily selected prisoners.

The trainees do not dare to point out rule violations to their «experienced» colleagues unless those colleagues reprimand them. In fact, guards even steal from prisoners, confiscating cigarettes and hashish—which is smoked everywhere—without reporting the incidents or handing over the contraband.

Faced with frequent fights and rapes among the inmates, the newcomers gradually realise that they will spend the better part of their lives in a psychiatric facility in a state of permanent crisis—a place where the work itself is only made possible by tolerating rule violations.

In a separate section of the prison known as the disciplinary unit, inmates are housed in cells equipped only with a small skylight. They no longer have access to vocational training facilities, sports activities, or communal promenade periods in the court. They are also cut off from personal devices such as radios, televisions, and the internet. Aside from letters, their communication with the outside world is limited to a single telephone call every seven days. Suicides by hanging or self-immolation occur even more frequently here than in the other wings. Yet the unwritten rule prevails: a 10% loss of inmates is acceptable.

The effectiveness of the few reports filed regarding rule violations is undermined by lengthy processing times. And even when these cases are handled, the resulting disciplinary decisions take on absurd forms. Guards who systematically beat up a prisoner are suspended for a month, while others who celebrated with alcohol alongside prisoners—to thank them for their practical assistance with work—are dismissed.

Frustration as norm

With elegant consistency, Guillaume Massart brings his purist work—which relies solely on observation—to a close with a scene as absurd as the one that opened it. The swearing-in ceremony for the trainees takes place amid heavy rain; they are not even permitted to wear rain gear. The military brass band playing here is the only musical element Massart employs.

Frustration becomes the norm. Its impact goes far deeper than merely enduring temporary physical hardship. At the very least, the ethically minded young guards now realise that the values ​​they sought to uphold by choosing this profession are incompatible with reality. They are being paid to help establish yet another system of injustice. Unlike the prisoners, they are lawbreakers paid by the state.