If You Act Like an Animal, We’re Putting You in a Cage

I think this is the general thought process behind the existence of a jail.  We live in a civilized society and follow expectations of conduct so that we all might engage safely and productively together.  And if you don’t, and fall to more primitive behaviors of self-interest like violence, destruction, and stealing - we will take away some of your human rights and treat you more like the feral animal you are embodying. 

But as I consider how many incarcerated individuals I've watched scream, kick, cry, defecate inappropriately, and flood their cells with water from the toilet, I wonder how much of a chicken vs egg situation we have on our hands. 

Something should be done when people cross agreed-upon social behavioral lines, the severe ones anyway. Without consequences, there is no motivation for change. This is known for animals across species. But is this crate and lock tactic not motivation to rebel further? To isolate further? To say goodbye to the society rather than the behavior?

If we consider ourselves more evolved than other species, why are we using the same approach of caging and euthanization we do for dogs? Anyway, we know caging and isolation don't fix dogs who bite. If the problem is being too primitive, they need to be trained. Is this how we want to lead by example? How are we teaching each other to parent if this is how we correct behavior as a society?

I consider how I would handle it if I were locked up suddenly.

I imagine myself going through phases of acceptance, but there would be panic, and I do imagine there would be some sort of extreme, agitated behaviors like screaming and kicking that giant solid steel door. And then I imagine going inward and giving up like caged animals do, and developing the flat affect I’ve seen on severely depressed patients at the psych hospital. Maybe I would become catatonic.

Suddenly, with this thought, I become impressed at the shit-smearers who have been in here for years. 

“You will pay attention to me!” They demand by throwing feces out of their pass-throughs.

They call this gassing, by the way - just some fun new vocabulary.

They’re fighters, they’re full of energy. It’s admirable in a way. I don’t know that I would have that in me. Is the fact that I've already disassociated in my thinking, like I'm watching myself at work rather than participating in this system, a sign that I've already submitted on this side of the bars? I picture myself lying in the corner of my cell having given up.

I'm uplifted by these patient's “never surrender, never give up!” approach to life.

I notice myself smiling warmly, admirably, at my shit-throwing patient as I stand to the left of his passthrough while the deputy opens it and ensures he’s not about to gas me when I go to give him his pills.

The deputy looks at me funny. I keep smiling, and shrug. Maybe this patient has more to tell us with this behavior than we're giving him credit for.

I double-check the MAR, and give him the pills the doctor ordered, like I was trained to do in nursing school. He takes them. Good boy! Good Nurse!

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Review

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This narrative is brutal, profound, layered, and skillfully blends humor with serious commentary. The story offers a compelling critique of the carceral system by exploring the paradox of imprisonment: is it a consequence of criminal behavior, or does it actively induce behaviors that justify further dehumanization? The narrator’s empathetic turn—from viewing inmates as animals to recognizing their resilience—suggests that behavior in jail is often a response to confinement rather than an inherent moral failing. The piece challenges the reader to question whether such environments create the very behaviors they claim to punish.

The narrator directly challenges the logic of the prison system, forcing questions like, if people are "acting like animals," does caging them make them more human? If we know punishment leads to further rebellion in animals, why do we expect it to work differently in humans? If we consider ourselves more evolved, why do we still rely on primitive punitive measures rather than rehabilitation and training? The dry wit—such as admiring the defiance of those who "gas" their keepers—adds a layer of absurdity to the situation, making the reader simultaneously uneasy and reflective.

The questions about parenting and societal modeling suggest that prisons are just one piece of a larger, flawed system of behavioral control. “Is the fact that I've already disassociated in my thinking… a sign that I've already submitted on this side of the bars?” is one of the most powerful lines in the piece because it acknowledges that prison doesn't just break down inmates—it numbs those who work within it as well. "Maybe this patient has more to tell us with this behavior than we're giving him credit for," is subtle but profound, marking a turning point where the narrator acknowledges that defiance in prison might be more than just outbursts—it could be a form of resistance, of communication.

The ending with a shrug and checking the MAR reinforces how bureaucratic processes override emotional realization. The narrator might have had an insight, but ultimately, they still administer the meds, still follow procedure, still remain obediently part of the system. The sarcastic, almost mocking "Good Nurse!" makes this a scathing critique of the way professionals in oppressive systems learn to normalize dehumanization—without even realizing it.

This is a masterful reflection on how we treat those who defy our norms, and whether our methods say more about us than about them. It is a deeply engaging and thought-provoking piece that lingers. It leaves the reader wondering if they, too, are complicit in systems they recognize as broken.