In the fight to dismantle the prison industrial complex (PIC), those of us who have lived the reality of incarceration hold a unique and indispensable perspective. Yet, the systems we seek to abolish are masters of division, ensuring that we remain fractured, mistrustful, and distant from one another. For those of us who have been inside, the PIC’s greatest tool isn’t the bars or the locks—it’s the way it pits us against one another, exploiting our pain, anger, and survival instincts.
This post is a call to arms, not against each other but against the system that profits from our separation. It’s a reflection on how to build a movement that cannot be fractured by power plays and petty divisions.
How They Divide Us
The prison industrial complex thrives on creating hierarchies among us. Inside, it starts with privileges and punishments—who gets called up to medical first, who gets the cushier job, who gets access to the phone first. These crumbs are dangled to foster resentment and competition, ensuring that we see each other as rivals rather than allies.
Outside, the divisions often deepen. Those who’ve never been to prison but claim to support abolition sometimes play into the same power dynamics, positioning themselves as gatekeepers or saviours. They write policies that extend or widen the carceral net, lead organisations that inadvertently harm those left inside, and speak on our behalf while keeping us out of the room. Worse, they exploit our struggles to bolster their own status, build their platform, creating a false narrative that pits formerly incarcerated people against one another for visibility or scraps of funding.
The result is a cycle of mistrust, and a very deep divide between what we regard as the staunch and the sell outs. We start to see each other through the lens the state has provided: as enemies, as competition, as unworthy of solidarity. And over time, we forget why we stopped talking to one another in the first place. We just don’t. And in the middle of all of that, agents of the state, are standing back rubbing their grubby little hands together at a job well done.
Other People in Prison Are Not Our Enemy
One of the hardest lessons to unlearn is the one the PIC drills into us: that other incarcerated people are the enemy. This is a lie. Fighting our fellow prisoners, whether physically or emotionally, is to do the work of the PIC. It is to become the judge, jury and the punisher. To take on the role of the executioner or jailer, the one who jangles the keys and decides who gets locked out of community – our community, the one we have dominion over, only makes sense if we want to be like them.
We are not in the business of punishment. Nor should we be because we are in the business of liberation. Real liberation, the kind that frees us all. To build a movement that cannot be fractured, we must start by rejecting the divisions imposed on us. The people who stood beside you in the yard, who slept on the bunk next to you, who shared their commissary with you when you had nothing—those are not your rivals. They are your community.
Building a Movement That Resists Fracture
An abolitionist movement must be grounded in principles of collective care, mutual respect, and accountability. Here’s how we can build a movement that cannot be divided:
- Centre Those Who’ve Been Inside
Abolition must be led by people who have experienced incarceration – those who have served a prison sentence. No one else can speak to the realities of the system with the same authority. But centring doesn’t mean tokenising or elevating a few individuals—it means creating spaces where the collective wisdom of formerly incarcerated people is valued and prioritised. - Reject Hierarchies
The PIC is built on hierarchies, so our movement must dismantle them at every turn. Leadership should be shared, not concentrated in a few hands. Decisions should be made collectively, not unilaterally. And power should flow from the community, not from external organisations or funders. - Practice Radical Solidarity
Radical solidarity means showing up for one another, even when it’s uncomfortable. It means recognising that the PIC works to isolate us and committing to reconnecting, rebuilding trust, and standing together. Solidarity doesn’t mean we’ll never disagree—it means we commit to resolving our differences in ways that strengthen our bonds rather than breaking them. - Refuse to Be Co-Opted
The PIC is adept at co-opting abolitionist language and movements. To resist this, we must stay vigilant. Abolition is not a slogan, a grant opportunity, or a branding exercise—it is a practice rooted in liberation. We must guard against those who would use our struggle for personal gain or institutional clout. - Hold Ourselves and Each Other Accountable
Accountability is not punishment. It’s a commitment to growth, healing, and repair. When we harm one another, we must address it openly and honestly, without resorting to the punitive tactics we seek to abolish. This is how we build a culture of care that resists division.
A Movement Rooted in Love and Liberation
The PIC thrives on isolation, mistrust, and fear. Abolition thrives on connection, solidarity, and love. Building a movement that cannot be fractured means refusing to adopt the tactics of our oppressors. It means rejecting the role of punisher and embracing the role of healer, builder, and liberator.
Other people in prison are not our enemy. Other formerly incarcerated people are not our competition. Together, we are a force powerful enough to dismantle the systems that seek to destroy us.
In the words of Assata Shakur: “We have nothing to lose but our chains.” Let’s refuse to let those chains wrap around our relationships and our movements. Instead, let’s build a future where no one is left behind—and no one fights alone.
By Tabitha Lean & Debbie Kilroy
