Spycraft - Melton [149]
Loosely based on the concepts of eighteenth-century British philosopher Jeremy Bentham, Cuba’s new prison would be a panopticon, a circular structure in which cells faced inward toward a central guard tower from which the guards look outward toward prisoners in their cells. The design of the panopticon was based on the idea that the guards could see the prisoners but the prisoners could not see the guards because of the shuttered windows of the central guard tower. The theory behind the design held that prisoners would “behave” if there was the chance they were under surveillance. Once they behaved, they could be rehabilitated.27
Between 1926 and 1931, the Cuban government built four such circular structures, each connected by underground tunnels, arranged around a massive center structure, also round, that served as dining hall and something of a community center. Ninety-three cells circled each of the four buildings’ five tiers, with a sixth floor remaining largely open and filled with support beams. Each cell measured approximately six feet wide by twelve feet deep.
What made the prison unique was that, in accordance to Bentham’s concept, none of the cells had doors. Prisoners were free to roam within the building and prepare themselves to reenter society as productive citizens. “There is great care taken to fit each man into his own line of work, and there are workshops in which the prisoner may learn tailoring or boot making or any other trade his chooses, as well as classes for the backward or illiterate,” enthused the Illustrated London News in 1932, just after the prison was opened. “At the end of the day, chess, dominoes, and cards are allowed, as well as more active games—the floor space of each round-house giving ample room for exercise . . . Moving pictures and wireless programs are given in a large hall.”28
However, what the three CIA officers found on the Isle of Pines bore no resemblance to the “perfect prison” cheerfully described in the British magazine with its pictures of pristine cells. Whatever scientific notions of rehabilitation may have inspired the original design had long been abandoned and the prison itself had fallen into a state of abject disrepair.
The cells were still doorless, but the prison was packed far beyond its 4,500-inmate capacity with 6,000 men crowded into the four structures known as the “circulars.” Every level of every circular was filled with trash and vermin of every variety, from rats and lice to bedbugs and roaches. Prisoners were on their own to cope with the lack of sanitation that held the potential for disease and infection.
Each cell had a sink and a toilet, but no running water. A tap on the ground floor provided water that, as the three American soon discovered, was undrinkable. Smelling of fish, it could be used for bathing, washing clothing, and flushing the toilets, but not much else. Prisoners hauled this water to their cells in five-gallon buckets. Drinking water was trucked into the facility, and emptied into a cistern from which prisoners carried a gallon or two at a time up to their cells. Conserving water became a fact of life, and prisoners acquired new skills, such as using a single cup of the precious liquid to shave.
Since the toilets did not function properly, the prisoners designated two cells on each tier as communal bathrooms. These toilets frequently clogged, spilling sewage over their rims that eventually worked its way down to the ground floor, creating a half-inch of slimy scum