Inside BC provincial jails, cells are the only places with privacy on regular ranges, such as general population or protective custody units. No cameras are inside or point inside. Because of that, a cell or “house” is where hidden activity takes place, everything from assaults, fights, gambling, tattooing, making hooch and using drugs to resolving disputes. 

Officially, under the Correction Act Regulation, prisoners are forbidden from entering another person’s cell without staff permission. Enforcing that rule was my job when prisoners appeared before me for disciplinary hearings.

Prisoners got caught in several ways: officers might hear a physical altercation, an argument might spill over into a common area, or the strong stench of fermented fruit might give them away. In other instances, visible injuries on a prisoner, such as a bloody face or puncture wounds from a shank (a homemade prison knife) prompted prison staff to review video footage of common areas and observe who went in and out of houses not assigned to them. 

Yet, without video footage inside the cell or corroborating evidence, like a statement from the victim, a correctional supervisor could not successfully proceed with an institutional assault charge. In most cases, prisoners refused to testify for fear of being labelled a “snitch” — a reputation that made them a target. 

Instead, the facility proceeded with a charge for a cell visitation rule breach. While an assault charge might fail, the prisoner could still be found guilty of entering an unassigned cell. During the penalty phase of that hearing, evidence of violence was considered an aggravating factor, increasing the severity of the disposition imposed. For instance, while a cell visitation breach might warrant a warning, one that resulted in violence would justify restricted time out on the range or segregation. 

To prove that the cell visitation involved violence, the facility would present evidence at the hearing, including photographic evidence of sustained injuries taken during a healthcare visit or proof of an off-site hospital escort. Video footage would also be presented to fill in any gaps. In one video clip, a prisoner was transported out of his cell on a spineboard by four paramedics, with the camera angle revealing that he had blood all over his face and appeared unresponsive. 

While proving that an assault took place in cells could be difficult, enforcement was further complicated by inconsistent application of the rule. Confusion often arose when a prisoner didn’t understand why they were being charged. Inconsistent practices by officers, often due to shift changes or differing enforcement styles, and inconsistent facility practices following transfers left prisoners uncertain as to which circumstances allowed them to visit other houses. 

In one case, a prisoner whose job entailed going into cells to serve food and clean entered a cell not assigned to him to help during a power outage. In his hearing, he explained that while he wasn’t performing his job duties at that moment, he was trying to help. He pointed out the inconsistency with the cell visitation rule, noting that some staff required permission while others did not or turned a blind eye.

In another case, a prisoner who was a first-timer and new to custody entered an unassigned cell to settle a dispute for a “heavy” — a high-level gang member. The correctional officer testified that, unfortunately, this was commonplace if a few heavies resided on a unit. Although the prisoner felt he had no choice out of fear for his safety, he recognized that his lifestyle, like partying and using drugs, resulted in street debt and having to do someone’s dirty work. 

For many prisoners, a cell visitation charge wasn’t reckless rule-breaking, but a calculated decision. I knew that when I handed down a penalty, the real story wasn’t always being captured. Behind that closed cell door was the jail’s blind spot, where the unwritten rules of the range took over.

Author's note: The cases are drawn from my experience as an external independent decision-maker presiding over disciplinary hearings for BC Corrections (2021-2023). Identifying details have been changed to respect confidentiality and protect privacy.

Explore the Terms: To better understand the institutional terms used in this story, you can explore my Beyond the Bars Prison Glossary.

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Meet Harpreet: Harpreet Ahuja is a lawyer, human rights consultant, and social justice advocate driven by the conviction that systems need reimagining. Her work explores the intersection of law, policy, and lived experience—and tells the human stories behind injustice. Harpreet is based in Vancouver on the traditional, ancestral and unceded territories of the xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam), Sḵwx̱wú7mesh (Squamish), and səlilwətaɬ (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations, and publishes on her website.