Crucible

An adaptation of The Stanford Prison Test

They say that the human brain is complex. It carries out multiple functions, it works even when you sleep and most importantly, it keeps you alive. However, many a times, the complex organ simplifies, passing a simple impulse to its more primitive areas that initiate quicker than you could give them credit for. One such area is the amygdala. It lights up like a Christmas tree during times of fear and forces your adrenal glands to work overtime, your heartbeat tries for a record speed, pumping blood to a overstuffed brain, and soon the fear morphs into anger. That is exactly what John’s brain was doing right now as he stood tall over a whimpering man, baton in hand, ready to beat the man to death. His vision was narrowed and he was focused on the physical altercation that was about to take place. The baton was swung and smashed into the subordinate as he dropped on the floor with blood spilling out of his mouth.

The interviews were held in separate sessions with the same question repeated to all of them. John peeked into the room. It was rather plain; white walls, a wooden desk and two chair on either side of it. One was occupied by the interviewer, a well dressed man in a three piece suit, and the other by another interviewee, a man much like him. “Because I want to be in control,” is what the interviewee said before his session was over. John was soon asked to replace the man,  Peter, and seat himself at the desk. He looked into the cold, brown eyes before him and mentally rehearsed his answer. “Why do you want to be a prison guard?”

With one last look at the battered body before him, John left the cell and walked towards the courtyard. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? We’re not supposed to hit them, remember?” asked Peter. His eyebrows were pinched and his eyes shifted between John and the baton. He was worried. He should not have been. This was not what he had agreed to. The guards were beginning to become violent and the inmates were barely surviving. There were screams erupting from the cell nearby where one of the more rebellious ones had been isolated and starved for the past two days. Physical violence was becoming a regular affair and medication was not a luxury the inmates were provided with. Most of them lay bruised or on the verge of a mental breakdown. Peter stared into a surveillance camera, as if to ask the person watching to put a stop to the madness. A hand on his shoulder shook him from his stupor, “Come on. The guards are having a meeting. John has something to say.”

John was cleaning the blood off of his baton when Peter walked into the dimly lit room. Five other guards were scattered around, probably wondering what the meeting was about. “We need to put a stop to this,” John could see Peter's eyes widen. He didn’t expect anything else after the event that transpired before. “We were asked not to be physically violent and we have. They asked us to maintain decorum, but I think we’re the only ones disrupting it.” He would have continued to explain why starving someone or stripping them the cold nights counted as abuse, but the four pairs of eyes glaring at him urged him to stop. “We are in control here and those idiots need to be discipline,.” One said, towering over John. “Did you hear me? I said, we are the one in control here.” A scream from the cells cut the tension arising between the guards, with one last menacing glare the brute and his friends left to deal with whatever had happened.

Peter left after the men. The screaming was slowly turning into wailing. The sight before him caught him off guard. An inmate had been stripped naked and and tied down to a block of ice while the guards circled him. “Hit me again, will you?” said the smirking brute, “This is what you deserve.”

“Sir, we should stop them.” The room was lit from the lights emanating from the screens on the wall. Three men sat in front of a screen each, observing the activities taking place in the cells. Another man walked across the back there was a certain mirth in his eyes as he observed the guard throwing clothes at an inmate. “No, not yet. Let’s see how far they can go.”

The next day Peter came into work worried about the incident that took place. He couldn’t get the image of the prisoner pleading for help as they left him atop of the melting ice. The others had said that they would increase the heat so that the ice melts faster, but that wasn’t good enough. They had left a shivering man on top of an ice bar overnight. He was pretty sure that was unforgivable. His mind shifted to the man in isolation. He had been left in a two by two metal box with increased heat. He picked up his pace towards the isolation cell, wandering what both men have been through.

John wrapped a second blanket around the inmate, who had actually survived the night. He had come in early, worried about the man, to find him turning from purple to blue. The job of prison guard and the jail had changed the guards. They were unnecessarily violent and were now beginning to push all limits. Peter met him in the guards chamber before the roll calls began and informed him that the prisoner that had been left in isolation refused to speak to anyone.

The well dressed man in front of the screen look terrified, “Sir, we need to stop him, the guard might kill him.” another voice followed his, “If you don’t put a stop to this, you may as well leave your position here.” Begrudging, the man agreed, “Go ahead, stop them.” His eyes never left the screen in front of him.

Peter had found the flyer at a bus station, ‘Prison Guards and Prisoners Required’ it said. The experiment was going to provide him with a good income and the job basically entitled him doing nothing all day. After his interview, he crossed over to the other side of the building where his friend was applying for the position of a prisoner. “It’s going to be easy,” he had said, “we basically don’t have to do anything. Plus, no one wants to be a guard.” The others that were applying for ‘prisoner’ had laughed at the statement at the time. Now, as the paramedics carried them out of the basement, the malnourished and tortured men seemed to have lost their connection with reality. The experiment had failed horribly and needed to be shut down. The guards had become violent and prisoners’ mental health was questionable. The psychologists observing them were placed under scrutiny and the head of the operation had been sentenced. The actors who played the role of prison guards weren’t the same either. They discovered a side of themselves that they knows of before. Some of them just sat at the steps crying to themselves.

The men chosen to be prison guards had no past history with violence, it was imply the situation and the abundance of power that changed them. Not only did they forget that it was all just an experiment, they forgot who they were.

Author's Note

I tried to write a story that adopts the events of The Stanford Prison Test conducted by Rosenhan in the '70s, so it shares similarities but not all of it is the same. Please comment on anything and everything. Thank-you.