Among the remarkable things Bolivia has to offer, San Pedro Prison in La Paz undoubtedly stands out. It is a self-managed prison where the police do not enter, and women and children live with their imprisoned husbands… a unique experience in the world that challenges many assumptions about punitive policies.

The first striking impression, for anyone passing through the gates of San Pedro Prison, is the feeling of entering a real village, full of life, far removed from the usual idea of imprisonment. Inside, one finds restaurants, shops selling everything and anything (CDs and DVDs, candles, religious artifacts…), gyms – and most astonishingly – hundreds of children playing among the prisoners as if they were outside.

In the courtyards designated for walking around the different sections, most prisoners sit on benches, talking quietly and watching the children. Others sleep in their cells, smoking marijuana on the balconies, or playing a type of Basque pelota against the prison walls. Further inside, the prison also has a billiards hall, a music rehearsal room, a hotel for visitors, a hospital, and multiple churches. The first impression is overwhelming: these walls are teeming with life. The same life that exists outside.

One immediately thinks of Balzac and his novel about Brimont, the Brazilian serial killer, in “The Dangerous Life” (1939). The text begins with a striking description of a visit, accompanied by Albert Londres, to a Brazilian prison that resembles anything but a prison: prisoners are free to move around the place around the clock, and a real social life develops within it.

But here, in San Pedro, it is even more impressive. Who has ever heard of a prison where women and children live with their husbands and fathers inside the walls? A prison where wealthy inmates can buy multi-story real mansions, complete with home cinemas and giant refrigerators? Finally, a prison where there was once a secret lab producing the “best cocaine in Bolivia,” and thus in the world?

Aside from the cramped spaces and the general feeling of overcrowding, not much seems – at first glance – to suggest that this is a prison. One might think they are being deceived…

Determined to understand how this extraordinary place works, we had a chance to speak briefly with Luis Filipe Costa, a Portuguese prisoner awaiting trial for drug trafficking. An unreal conversation about a Coca-Cola bottle (the prison’s official sponsor), amidst the prisoners…

The internal system of the prison is unique. For the 1,600 prisoners (plus 300 or 400 women and children accompanying them), the essential element is money. After paying the “entrance fee,” most must buy or rent their cells, with those who have nothing at all crowded into the same room, with prices ranging from $15,000 to some Bolivianos per month, a minimum price determined when prisoners share cells (often four or five in a few square meters).

The state provides coffee or tea in the morning and one meal a day, which Luis Filipe describes as “terrible.” “They can eat almost anything, but I find it very difficult. Eating that every day is not possible.”

Everything is bought and sold in San Pedro. Thus, prisoners without sufficient resources need to find a source of income inside the prison. Jobs vary from “taxistas,” messengers who wait at the doors to inform prisoners about visits or deliver messages here and there (the lowest job in the prison’s social hierarchy), to those who make money selling handicrafts to tourists, barbers, restaurant owners, beverage sellers, drug dealers – and most surprisingly – tour guides. If reproducing a ruthless capitalist system inside the prison is troubling, “San Pedro must be the only prison in the world where a prisoner enters with only his shirt, but leaves with enough to fill a house,” notes Rusty Young in his book “Marching Powder,” a fascinating book about Thomas McFadden, the English prisoner who first developed “tourist” tours in the prison.

Finally, money is also necessary for those who want a chance to get out quickly, as well as to benefit from some privileges from the police at the prison’s entrance. Because, at all levels, corruption is essential for those who want to improve their situation, specifically to speed up their trial stages and guide the judge’s decision in the right direction.

“With money, you can do everything here. Get a better life, of course, but more importantly, get out faster. It’s not surprising, in a country that is 1000% corrupt…” Luis notes.

Today – and for about ten years – tourism has become a real business in the prison. It is still secretive, but guides bring “from five to a hundred people a day.” Mainly Anglo-Saxons fascinated by Rusty Young’s book, but also visitors who come to get some grams of cocaine within the prison walls or others attracted by what the “Lonely Planet” guide describes as “the strangest tourist attraction in the world.”

Highly controversial tourism, with an intrusive and often inappropriate character for the place. However, these activities also represent a very important source of income for the prisoners: all the money that enters the prison from tourism is divided between the different sections – the prison is divided into seven sections, each with its own atmosphere and level of living – and is then used to improve daily life within these sections. It is the only way to make it work: “Of course, tourism brings a lot of money. But we divide everything fairly, otherwise there would be more problems, attacks or theft of cameras, for example. Even I would take more risks if we weren’t honest about this,” explains Luis, who became a tour guide because he speaks English, and “to avoid depending on others.” “Nevertheless, people here see it, they don’t care. It brings money to the prison, and that is very good. Everyone gets a little, whether it’s those who organize the visits from outside, or the police at the gates, or us. And so, everyone survives.”

Indeed, it is clear that reactions to tourists are astounding. Wherever you would expect a minimum of resentment from strangers visiting the prison zoo, you instead find laughter, sarcasm, and smiles. It is probably a habit…

Since the police rarely enter the prison (except during “surprise” searches of the cells, in the morning at roll call or in the case of major problems such as escapes or fights), the prisoners organize themselves.

The “political” and economic system of the different sections is also astonishing. After buying the cell, prisoners pay a tax dedicated to the section’s fund, used to improve daily life, repaint the courtyard, or buy shirts for the section’s soccer team. A representative elected annually manages the section’s expenses and resolves some disputes between prisoners. The rules of the sections are sometimes quite strict, especially for those where wealthy prisoners reside.

Although there are no “guards” inside the prison, the place remains a prison, of course. The only ones who can come and go as they please are the children, to go to school, and the prisoners’ women, to shop or work.

In the time of Rusty Young’s book (2000), “Marching Powder,” 80% of prisoners were detained for drug trafficking, and 75% were awaiting trial. This last percentage reveals one of the main characteristics of the place: for those who do not have the money to buy the judges, judgment can be indefinitely postponed, regardless of the crime.

If the most violent prisoners and murderers are sent to another prison in La Paz, more akin to high-security neighborhoods in French prisons, some violence still exists in San Pedro: murders or assaults occur relatively frequently. “But things have changed a lot in recent years, since the end of the gangs. Now, the prison is safer. For example, there used to be only five people responsible for security. Today, each section has a group of ‘internal security,’ armed with sticks and semi-formal clothing. They are here to ensure internal safety, although they are prisoners themselves.” These are chosen because they are more responsible and calm than others.

For Luis Filipe, the biggest problem today stems from alcohol. “People make their own alcohol from sugarcane with 96-degree concentration. Of course, aggression increases when they are drunk. This is one of the real problems inside the prison.” On the other hand, marijuana, which tends to calm the nerves, is less problematic.

However, Luis avoids or remains vague in answering questions about crack or cocaine, simply saying that “not many people use it.” It seems that reality was quite different a few years ago, according to Rusty Young’s book. Crack used to seep into the poorer sections of the prison, while those with a minimum of means preferred cocaine. The latter was produced directly in secret laboratories inside the prison (and mostly sold abroad, making significant profits).

This unique system gives remarkable results. For example, some prisoners sometimes prefer to stay here rather than leave: “Most people here are happy, they don’t want to move,” says Luis. When their sentence ends, they commit a minor crime to stay. “It’s understandable, some earn more here than they would outside. They can access positions inside the prison that they could not get before… But all I want is to get out of here, go back to Europe. Find a job, a wife, and have children. It was a great experience to get arrested this time.” This is understandable: he had 12 kilograms of cocaine when he was arrested at La Paz airport…

But sometimes “some people leave in a better state, so to speak, than when they entered. They come in as petty thieves, and leave different, but in the right direction.” Which seems incredible compared to the human-crushing machine that our Western prisons represent.

The issue of women and children living in prison is one of the most astonishing – and the most controversial – features of this system. While it is clear that it is not an ideal environment for raising children – with some considering that they “pay the price for their parents’ mistakes” – when the question was raised about removing them from this bad environment, the authorities found themselves in a dilemma: what do we do with the children? Prison is better than the street, the only alternative for children if they are separated from their parents. The government lacks the funds and the will to care for them.

Here, family ties are preserved, and the presence of women and children in prison plays a crucial role as a social organizer. It is also the most important thing for prisoners, giving them a chance (probably more than in Western countries) to restore a “normal” life upon release: the social link is not broken, and the family environment remains somewhat intact, which makes a huge difference. Moreover, this is the only point that no one can touch. Luis often returns to this matter: “If we take the women and children, things will fall apart. They will burn the prison, it will be chaos. This is impossible.” Another Bolivian agrees, convicted of theft.

Without delving into idealistic details (as this is Bolivia, one of the most corrupt countries in the world, and it should be noted that other prisons in the country are far from this model), the system at San Pedro offers interesting signals: instead of destroying the human being, he is allowed a relatively rich and independent social life. The capitalist system existing outside is present here, but more clearly. Except for this last point, the experience seems relatively positive, with the lifestyle close to the external community compensating for the only gloom of the punitive system. We should try that in our country. But we are too far away…