Prison labour is enshrined in law, because it is a cornerstone of the rehabilitation of individuals. But, partly due to bureaucracy, it remains a rare commodity.
The first of May is International Workers' Day. A day that commemorates the labour struggles which, from the mid-nineteenth century onwards, led to fundamental achievements such as the eight-hour working day. But also a day that, at the same time, forces us to reflect on the many shadows and unresolved questions surrounding the great theme of work — a theme so foundational to our society that it is cited in Article 1 of the Constitution. Among these, prison labour is without doubt a key issue. Because on paper it is an obligation; in practice it turns out to be a sporadic exception.
In the popular imagination, prison labour is a departure from a norm made up of endless days. In reality, Article 15 of the prison regulations (Law no. 354 of 26 July 1975) identifies it as a fundamental element of rehabilitative treatment. Except in cases where this proves impossible, Article 20 continues, the prison administration is obliged to organise work activities and training courses. The organisation and methods of work, according to the law, must mirror those of free society: this means that work is remunerated (the pay must not fall below two-thirds of that provided for by national collective agreements) and is not intended to make the sentence more severe.
According to data from the Ministry of Justice, updated to 28 February 2018, Italy has 190 prisons, with a regulated capacity of 50,589 people. The number of prisoners is far higher, at 58,163: 2,402 women and 19,765 foreign nationals.
It is striking that no official data on recidivism exist — that is, on the number of people who, once released from prison, reoffend. According to estimates by the Giotto cooperative in Padua, this applies to around seven prisoners in ten. Every percentage point reduction in recidivism would save the state around 40 million euros a year, the cooperative's president Nicola Boscoletto continued in an interview given to La Stampa. And there is a method that could contribute to this fundamental social goal: work. Among those who collaborate with the Padua-based cooperative, Boscoletto concludes, the recidivism rate is limited to 2–3 per cent.
But how many prisoners have this opportunity? An answer is provided by the fourteenth report on conditions of detention, published by the association Antigone, which cites data from the Ministry of Grace and Justice. In 1991, working prisoners accounted for just over 30 per cent of the total, namely 10,902. In 2017 there were as many as 18,404; in parallel, the total has also risen, since the percentage still does not reach 32 per cent. It is a positive sign that no major disparities are recorded between north, centre and south.
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When, however, one looks more closely at the substance of the matter and asks what is meant by prison labour, various critical issues emerge. 86.52 per cent of working prisoners are in fact employed by the prison administration, which since 2010 has almost doubled its budget for wages (in 2017 it exceeded 100 million euros, 1,830 per prisoner). Almost all of them (82.15 per cent) are engaged in cleaning, distributing meals, secretarial duties, and writing complaints and documents on behalf of other inmates. Where the tasks require no specific skills, prisoners are selected on the basis of the length of their sentence, their financial circumstances and the number of dependent children. Shifts are usually organised to give employment to as many people as possible: the flip side, however, is that in doing so, many of them end up being employed only for short periods or for a few hours a week.
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Far more formative, the association Antigone continues, are placements with companies, which "create a bridge between the prison and society and enable prisoners to carry out work activities demanded by the market". The latter, however, still represent a residual share. In 1991, just under 12 per cent of Italian prisoners worked for parties other than the prison administration; we have now reached 13.48 per cent, meaning 2,480 people. In this case, the differences between north (7.35 per cent), centre (3.7 per cent) and south and islands (just over 2 per cent) are plain to see.
Precisely because the relationships between prisons and local communities are the most fruitful, in recent years efforts have been made from several quarters to encourage them. The Smuraglia Law of 2000, for example, provides for certain financial incentives for cooperatives and companies that employ prisoners (in 2017 their total value exceeded 5.6 million euros). In parallel, protocols have been drawn up at local level to relocate certain productive activities inside prisons. The association Antigone cites the prison in Perugia, inside which the company Brunello Cucinelli produces jumpers for the prison police, and that of Carinola (in the province of Caserta) where Mutti tomatoes are grown and tinned. But the number of people actually in employment remains lower than demand. The reason? According to the association Antigone, it is primarily down to bureaucratic obstacles and the resulting delays.
Read also: In Turin, the shop selling prison products: beautiful, good and fair
Let us discover them, then — these virtuous examples of prison labour. From the north to the south of our country, there are dozens upon dozens of cooperatives and associations that fight every day to guarantee this right, passing on to inmates valuable skills for their future reintegration into the social fabric.
You can even buy bread, focaccia, biscuits and breadsticks from the Brutti ma buoni bakery on the SkyWay Monte Bianco, at the top of Europe — a bakery based in the Brissogne remand prison in Aosta. In Verbania, meanwhile, one of the "historic" projects of the Italian prison economy was born, with a name that is hard to forget: Banda Biscotti. The raw materials used in this confectionery workshop? Stone-ground flour from Piedmontese wheat, alpine butter, cane sugar and fair-trade cocoa.
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On the opposite side of the Peninsula, the young people at the "Malaspina" juvenile detention centre in Palermo bake a steady stream of shortbread biscuits for Cotti in Fragranza, also having a say in marketing strategies and product names (from the Sicilian "Parrapicca" to the Romanian "Iubi"). Fans of taralli and focaccia can turn to the Campo dei Miracoli cooperative, inside the prison in Trani.
Among them all, perhaps one of the names that most often ends up in the spotlight is that of the Pasticceria Giotto at the Due Palazzi prison in Padua: its panettoni were presented at Expo, gifted to heads of state at the G8, and every Christmas they land on Pope Francis's desk.
In Neapolitan dialect, "lazzarelle" are girls who are a little lively and carefree. And this is the name chosen, with a healthy dose of self-deprecating humour, for this entirely female project, which produces artisanal coffee inside the Pozzuoli prison in Naples. Over the years, 56 women have taken turns working within the cooperative; and there is now also a bistrot, right opposite the Museo Archeologico Nazionale. At the "Lorusso e Cutugno" remand prison in Turin, on the other hand, inmates wood-roast coffees from Slow Food's international Presidia, guided by the Pausa Cafè cooperative — which also runs a craft brewery at the prison in Saluzzo and a bakery in Alessandria.
Read also: Socially made in Italy, quando l'alta moda italiana è fatta a mano dalle detenute
Sartoria San Vittore, whose workshops are located in the eponymous Milan prison and in the nearby Bollate prison, produces clothes, knitwear and bags, as well as robes for lawyers and magistrates. The "mother" of the project is the Alice cooperative, which has also given life to the Gatti Galeotti brand, focused on t-shirts, pencil cases and household products (aprons, placemats, etc.).
T-shirts are the hallmark of Made in Jail, which has been working in the Rebibbia prison since the 1980s and now sells its garments online as well. O'Press is the name of a line of t-shirts — sourced from a fair-trade project in Bangladesh — screen-printed with phrases by celebrated Italian singer-songwriters by five inmates from the High Security wing of the remand prison in Genoa Marassi.
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At the remand prison in Forlì, inmates try their hand at cards, envelopes, boxes, wedding invitations and embossed decorated sheets, all handmade from the transformation of white bookbinding offcuts (Carta Manolibera). At the prison in Latina, the Associazione Solidarte has launched an artistic and craft workshop: the group "Le donne di via Aspromonte" produces ceramic objects, while the group "P.I.G. Pellacce in gioco" makes handmade bags, notebooks and notepads from reclaimed materials.
