Prison to Prison,
An Intimate Story between two Architectures

 

Which montage between two images/elements could be imagined that would result in something different between and outside these two, which would not represent a compromise but would instead belong to a different order – roughly the way someone might tenaciously pound two dull stones together to create a spark in the dark?

Whether this spark, which one could also call the spark of the political, can be created at all is a question of this articulation
”.

Hito Steyerl, The Articulation of Protest.[1]

01 Technique for setting fire by percussion. Taken from Google Images.

 

1. The urgent, the ironic, pounding stones together, and the political.

a. 2017, Grenfell Tower and the urgent


On June 14, 2017 a huge fire took hold of Grenfell Tower in North Kensington, London, killing at least 70 people and leaving about 100 injured. The tower comprising 120 flats over 24 stories was almost entirely destroyed by the fire, which spread so fast that the building turned into a deadly trap for the residents who could not escape.

The social housing tower of brutalist architecture designed in 1967 and built in 1974, was located within spitting distance of one of the most expensive boroughs of the English capital. In 2015, the tower, run by England’s largest tenant management organization, received a refurbishing both in the inside and outside, which included, among other actions, a “restyling” in line with current times, in order to leave behind its embarrassing look of the 1970s and to adapt to the transformations undergone by the area.

02 The Grenfell Tower on fire. Taken from Google Images.

However, in the end, this change of skin would not bring good news. Quite the contrary, it would be the death sentence for many of the tower’s residents. According to studies conducted after the disaster, the explanation for the fire spreading so quickly across the structure would be the new cladding that ended up being flammable. 

In 2018, the Italian art and architecture site Artribune, has chosen the Grenfell Tower fire as the major event of global architecture in “2017, un anno di architettura”, which is an interesting wake-up call. Quoting the site: “No captivating render. No ribbon cutting ceremony. Not even the portrait of a successful designer. Six months after the fire, there is only one image through which last year’s architectural scenario can be reviewed: this ruthless and upsetting event”.[2]

We can see how in a single event , to a great extent connected with architectural and urban issues, simultaneously converge a huge number of phenomena and tensions characteristic of our times: not only the urgency for decent social housing policies but deregulation and involvement of public urban policies in relation to private interests as well; the predominant importance of the image in the architecture market (and design!), the imperative of the value of the square meter over the value of experience, the need for constant renovation and also multiculturalism, the tenacious urban segregation of the excluded, change accelerationism, subjectivity or negligence of authorities.

But there are facts that, a priori, seem alien to architecture, but that however, after a second and fresher look are found amazingly filled with a complex intensity characteristic of our times, which mark, or should mark, the agenda of what is urgent[3] in our practice in respect of the Other.

In this disturbing context, it seems that nothing is more urgent -than finding them- to downplay the consumerism of the Other—political exoticism—and to develop new strategies of critical perception, understanding, and evaluation of reality, which can be interpreted in diverse ways and are open to multiple understandings of “the truth”.[4]
 

b. 2017, Punta de Rieles prisons and the ironic


Though it’s hard to believe, the biggest building constructed in Uruguay in 2017 was a prison. In one of the most consolidated and recognized democracies of Latin America, such a symbolic fact almost unnoticedsurprises and at the same time makes us think of our collective fears and desires, and also of the scopes and limitations of architecture. This new prison is Unit °No. 1 Punta de Rieles, which built over an area of 18 hectares, with an accommodation capacity for 1960 inmates and a budget of almost 100 million dollars, has become Uruguay’s second prison in terms of capacity. It is also the first Uruguayan public-private partnership (PPP) financing experience as far as prisons are concerned.

But it’s not all bad news from the South. Ironically, the new prison has been built adjoining (and sharing the dividing wall) the existing Unit No.°6 Punta de Rieles Prison, known as “cárcel pueblo* (the “village-like prison”). This is a unique experience in Uruguay and in our continent. The prison, accommodating 600 inmates, has been devised as a village imitating the urban logic of the outside in the inside, thus creating an unprecedented Freespace in the least expected context: the Uruguayan prison system.

*Translator's Note: In English, the Spanish word "pueblo"means both "village" and "people" in all its senses. The English language cannot convey both meaning with only one word.

Since the inauguration of the new prison in 2018, on the same plot in the outskirts of Montevideo, two prisons coexist, almost in a schizoid fashion, which were amazingly planned during the same government but totally opposed as far as their views on punishment, confinement, surveillance, technology, movements, space, and above all, humanity, are concerned. The result: a real and gigantic architectural oxymoron extending over more than 30 hectares. 

Even more interesting -when we, as architects, try to understand the meaning of oxymoron- is the peculiar fact that neither of the two prisons has been designed by Uruguayan architects. The new prison replicates an abstract model brought from abroad which has been implemented under the guidelines of a private construction company, while the village-like prisonhas built itself on the basis of previously existing constructions and other structures built by inmates themselves, disregarding any architectural and academic involvement.

The irony of the situation makes it attractive, and it is interesting to look at things from this ironic perspective. As the Italian philosopher Franco Bifo Berardi crudely says: “we live in hell, but in hell we have the capacity, an ironic capacity, to create sensitive lifespaces; a life which does not rule out joy as a possible dimension. Don’t forget the possibility for joy. That is the motto for today.[5]


03 Two prisons in Punta de Rieles. Image taken by Fabián Sarubbi for Prison to Prison.


c. Freespace, pounding stones together, and the political


Within the context of the present edition of the International Architecture Exhibition of the Venice Biennale, it’s important to ask ourselves whether we can find a program more architectural than the prison, where daily life of inmates is defined around the clock by the building itself; where sleeping, eating, walking, talking, sharing, thinking, looking, are actions inexorably defined by the architectural framework of the prison in which they occur.

Could we intend to inquire into the architectural concept of Freespace[6]in a place which is perhaps the most opposed? The answer should be yes, and this is the origin of Prison to Prison, an Intimate Story between two Architectures.
 
Like prehistoric men forced to analyze with care all that was around them to take a thorough decision on how to act, because survival depended on those decisions, we’ll be able to hold strongly these two huge concrete/and brick stones in each hand to pound them violently together. And from that instant, that forced collision of the opposed, create, as Hito Steyerl says in the opening quote of this text, the spark of the political. 

Sparks that will no longer be a general, extreme, full white light illuminating everything, but timidly brilliant[7] signs, singularities, transient brightness breaking into the night with new glitters of hope.

04 Berna Reale taking the olympic torch through a Brazilian Prison. Americano, image courtesy of the artist.

Finally, the time has come to throw into the dustbin of history the souvenir art of  the hammer and sickle. If we consider the architecture-politics relationship as something that happens elsewhere, applicable to deprived communities for which nobody speaks, we will end forgetting what makes today architecture intrinsically political: its role as a place of work, conflict, and… joy[8].

Fortunately, architecture is not alien to politics. Politics is intrinsically involved in the production, distribution and reception of architecture. So, if we approach this issue optimistically, we would be able to get beyond representation politics and embark ourselves on a political sphere that is just in front of us, ready to be embraced.[9]


2. Small town, big hell



05 / 06 The limit between both prisons. Image by Prison to Prison.

A soldier walks through a novel and newly-born border, the division wall between two prisons in Punta de Rieles: two buildings that are adjacent but very distant in their conception. The soldier seems to traverse the dialoguing space of two architectures coexisting in the same territory but speaking a different language, which, making reference to Ángel Rama’s lettered city, we could recognize as a materialized architectural diglossia.
 

a. The “village-like prison”, Unit No. 6 Punta de Rieles


The so called “village-like prison”, which has become relevant both at the national and international level, is a unique and emerging experience among prison models that remain unchanged over time. This is especially interesting as the management and spatial organization of the prison incorporates strategies originated in a contemporary urban logic.

The prison’s warden, Luis Parodi, the first civilian with a bachelor's degree in education to run a Uruguayan prison (instead of a police officer) says that the idea is very simple but this does not mean that it is less strong and upsetting in current discussions: “if we create a system that resembles the outside, the experience with this system will probably be useful when inmates leave the prison. (…) In fact, the paradox and the innovative feature of this system is that a prison can be a decent and working place.”[10]

Since 2010, a unique experience of collective transformation with the participation of 600 inmates has been developed in that prison. Over an area of 13 hectares a sort of heterotopic neighborhood was deployed, with characteristics very similar to those of any other neighborhood in the outskirts of Montevideo, such as that surrounding the prison.

The prison was built on the site of the former women’s prison during the last military dictatorship in Uruguay, uses preexisting structures accumulated for decades, incorporates new ones to respond to the needs, all managed and organized by inmates themselves. 

The space has been structured around three winding main streets in the place known as the prison's “downtown”, or main square. These streets give access to the commercial zone, the industrial pole, vegetable gardens and also the sports area, the educational centre and dozens of scattered cell blocks. 

Operating schedules and guidelines are precise and strict, but do not prevent the free circulation of inmates throughout the space, their participation in different activities and the possibility of creating their own daily routines. This space has favored the materialization of about 60 productive enterprises conducted by the inmates. 

For instance, they have knocked into shape several enterprises: reinforcement of concrete blocks, carpentry and ironwork shop work, repair of fiberglass boats, sewing workshops, groceries, houseware stores, bakery and pizza shop, recycling and other activities. A remarkable characteristic of these enterprises is that inmates finance their own projects. To that end they have organized a sort of “bank” that contributes “seed capital” to each new development[11]. The profits accrued by their work may be used at the prison’s shops or delivered to their families.

An emblematic example of this process is Gigor, a bakery run by two inmates who have been released but every day return to work at the prison. At least 100 people are employed to cover the bakery’s three shifts. The products, delivered by truck from Punta de Rieles, reach the entire metropolitan area of Montevideo.

Last year, Cooperativa de Vivienda Resiliencia was established with the support of the historic FUCVAM[12]. Its members are inmates struggling to build their own houses in the city to live in after they are released.

This connection with the outside is also reinforced in the educational field through teachers for different educational levels who give classes in the prison, and also through student-inmates who attend courses at different schools of the University of the Republic.

Several activities are developed at the main square, the soccer field and the open areas: musical shows, troupe parades, yoga, political meetings and last but not least, meetings with family and friends who come to visit. These visits no longer take place under humiliating conditions. Now, inmates can have a talk with their families and friends under the shadow of a tree. 
 

b. The new prison, Unit N o. 1 Punta de Rieles


On the other side of the wall, the new Punta de Rieles prison, with an area of 18 hectares, is also an unprecedented experience in the context of Uruguay’s prison system, not only for its modality of financing, but also for its construction, organization and applied technology. It has been progressively commissioned since February 2018, and will provide accommodation for 1860 low and medium dangerous male inmates, and 100 places at its admission centre.

The justification of the authorities for this highly criticized construction is always the same: “poor confinement conditions make “rehabilitation” impossible, and with 2000 more places available, overcrowding will no longer be an issue[13].

To that end, the prison has been structured in four large areas devoted to clearly segmented functions, and conceived to be occupied by different types of users, that in turn are differentiated too. 

The first is the access area, which includes parking lot, management and a check spot to examine anyone who wants to enter the prison, thus operating as a security gate. The second area is called the mixed area, which, according to its constructors, “hosts the activities which connect inmates with the outside, either for their admission or release, or for personal and family encounters. It is also the place for their daily activities and follow-up of their in-prison treatment.[14]

The third area includes buildings and free spaces devoted to health care, education and sports.

The fourth and largest area is the housing area, where inmates will spend most of their time. Blocks are divided as per three prison classification levels, and, according to the Ministry of the Interior, are spatially organized in “18 entirely independent modules; this allows to define a large number of inmate profiles in line with prison treatment programs”.

Cell blocks are separated from each other to provide space for narrow yards and “green areas” for "recreational" purposes. They are connected by a grotesque external technical gallery that allows the access of maintenance technicians without them running into the users of the spaces they serve. 

Beyond, a fifth area exists which was never described by the authorities in the presentation: a huge void that leaves an unsolved question: is it designated for future extensions?

All movements, deliberate, calculated and video surveilled, are also categorized as per users and functions: “access of visitors”, “access of INR[15]”, “admission”, “convicts”, “medium individual security”, “medium security”, “low security”, “supplies”, “food distribution and commissary”, and “firefighters”.

Inmates are young men who have been transferred from other prisons of the country in groups of 60. Upon arrival, they are deprived of their belongings that are kept in lockers until their release. Their clothes are replaced by a new uniform, a novelty for the Uruguayan prison system. 

They spend their lives in prefabricated concrete cells equipped with anti-vandalism metal furniture adhered to walls and floors, electronically controlled doors, aisles under video camera surveillance, and concrete common areas equipped with concrete equipment as well. 

The prison is entirely surrounded by a high concrete wall that blocks any attempt to look through it. The green roofs of the prefab concrete cell blocks painted in pastel colors can be seen from the outside. This image, alien to our country and more typical of the common imaginary of generic prisons we watch in TV series, seems to refute the spot of the Ministry of the Interior describing the prison: “the Unit, with two or three-story buildings and the appropriate color treatment, blends perfectly into the environment and offers to the city a modern image that is very far from the traditional concept of a prison”[16].

From the inside, the horizon disappears; it is difficult to look beyond the walls.


07 An Intimate Story between two Architectures. Image by Prison to Prison.


3. Aiming at the production of dialectic sparkles


From this confrontation, or let us say, from these collisions of architectural models, sparkles, inevitably dialectic sparkles, will be created that with their light will allow us to see through the prisons themselves and plunge into a universal transparency that let us see that in this[17]. Through this exercise, we will be able to interpret other dialectic phenomena that exceed the subjects of study themselves in order to enrich ourselves and then look at (us) again.
 
Then, the point will be to make the visible dialectic: to create other images, look at them in a different light, incorporate division associated with movement, emotion blended with thought. Rub the eyes. In brief: rub the representation with affection, the ideal with the repressed, the sublimated with the symptomatic[18].


a. Chhhhck! people and People

 
What people live in the spaces of these prisons? Of what peopleare we speaking when we speak of "village-like prison"? Is it the same people that live in the new adjacent prison?

Is it still possible to speak of people in a single sense? But isn't there also "the people" in the sense that, even without ever activating an assembled detachment, is nevertheless not truly included in the contingent of "the sovereign people" as constituted by the State? We will answer "yes". It makes sense to speak of "the people's people" as they are what the official people, in the guise of the State, regard as nonexistent.[19]

In this respect, Giorgio Agamben reminds us that “any interpretation of the political meaning of the term people ought to start from the peculiar fact that in modern European languages this term always indicates also the poor, the underprivileged and the excluded (the Italian popolo, the French peuple, the Spanish pueblo, the Portuguese povo). The same term names the constitutive political subject as well as the class that, de factum or even de jure, is excluded from politics.[20]

In this way, this first collision enlightens us about what Agamben sees as the fundamental biopolitical fracture present in the very heart of the notion of people.A term that, as many of the fundamental political concepts is an extreme concept with an underlying double movement and a complex relationship between its two ends, between bare life (people) and political existence (People), exclusion and inclusion, zoé and bios[21].

Going back to Punta de Rieles, anyone can observe that in both prisons live individuals of the samepeople, that that is always written in small letters, which is also the people that overcrowd the other prisons of Uruguay and the continent: materially and intangibly distant from the People by a rapidly growing fracture that is fundamental to society.

However, if we look closer at these big colliding stones, a significant difference that cannot be ignored becomes evident to an attentive eye: the way in which both prisons become a people.

It's no news that the role of the new prison is to confine and make its people invisible. Like its architecture, this prison is not questioned, nor allowed to question itself: the way blocks are arranged has been already devised by somebody else. It perpetuates, reproduces and keeps the states of things –or makes them worse–, follows guidelines that have been established for the long term, that will be those in line with the outcomes expected by thePeople that has built it.

But on the other side, the unique experience developed at the ”village-like prison” is a disruption in what is expected, a certain liberating performative fracture which questions the very fate of that people,and why not, of the integrated People.

From this space where opportunity and uncertainty are possible, it would seem that a linguistic form of autogenesis is at work in the expression “we, the people”; it seems a rather magical or at least one that compels us to believe in the magical nature of the performative[22].

In April 2018 an event to raise funds for the mutual aid housing cooperatives that inmates are organizing to build their own houses when they are released, took place at the public space of ”the village-like prison”. Isn’t it a performative act a public and collective “chorizada” inside a prison that imitates a village? Isn’t it a celebration of life that perhaps we could call an heterotopic commemoration of the “people”,a political event that reclaims access by inmates to their own houses and takes place in the public space of a prison, incorporates musical shows and a troupe parade?


b. Trraaack! police and politics.


Pounding these stones together once more, and continuing this dialectic relationship of fundamental inequality of the notion of people, it is inevitable to get into the field of the political.

In this regard, Jacques Rancière says: “the ’people’ is the name, the form of subjectification, of the immemorial and perennial wrong through which the social order is symbolized by dooming the majority of speaking beings to the night of silence (…). A symbolic distribution of bodies that divides them into two categories; those that one sees and those that one does not see, those who have a logos –memorial speech, an account to be kept up- and those who have no logo, those who really speak and those whose voice merely mimics the articulate voice to express pleasure and pain”.[23]

On this matter, it is interesting to focus briefly on the voices emitted by each prison, who are the speakers and who are the recipients, under what conditions their contents are produced and received, and which is the function that each speaker is looking for with its messages.

Since the inauguration of the new prison, a sound continuously pierces the daily routine of its inhabitants. It is a scary voice coming from the loudspeakers and bouncing off the wall of the prison to spread all over the place. It is a neutral, impersonal, abstract female voice that gives orders and informs the bodies occupying those spaces of their possibilities and impossibilities. Its recipients are invisible, nobody can see them[24] and, obviously, they can only reply to the voice in their own minds.

At a scant distance of one hundred meters, crossing the wall, a group of young people are recording and sharing through the internet a radio show produced by them and called Somos lo que somos. Every week they discuss topics they propose: from political issues to reflections on their day-to-day life.

Some musical projects framed in Matices Culturales, an independent group born in the prison and composed of some of the inmates, have managed to go beyond the prison's walls and be heard throughout the city. For example, the show at Sala Zitarrosa[25] performed by the whole group or the solo performance by hip hopper Kung Fu Ombijam at Teatro Solís, Montevideo's most historical theatre.

The same disparity occurs with the voices incoming and outgoing through mobile phones. At one side of the dividing wall, waves are disrupted by signal blockers, while on the other side, free access to both mobile phones and the Internet is allowed. 

These human sounds that are emitted –and are not emitted– from these prisons to satellites and then back to us, are essentially political sounds. In their origin they propose another fundamental dialectic issue recognized by Rancière as structuring the political, that is the outcome of the conflictive encounter of two opposed heterogeneous processes.

According to the author, the first is the government, which he names police. A process that consists in the unification of a society around a reassuring distribution of places and roles.[26]

Rancière says: “the police is, essentially, the law, generally implicit, that defines a party’s share, or lack of it. But to define this, you first must define the configuration of the perceptible in which one or the other is inscribed. In this sense, police encompasses an order of bodies that defines the allocation of ways of doing, ways of being, and ways of saying, and sees that a particular activity is visible and another is not, that the speech is understood as discourse and another as noise

In the formulation of this opposition, the second process, in conflict with the other, is that of equality, which the author calls politics: the set of practices driven by the assumption of equality between any and every speaking being and by the concern to test this equality[27].

Thus, “politics exists because those who have no right to be counted as speaking beings make themselves of some account, setting up a community by the fact of placing in common a wrong that is nothing more than this very confrontation; the contradiction of two worlds in a single world: the world where they are and the world where they are not, the world where there is 'something' between them and those who do not recognize them as speaking beings of some account and the world where there is nothing.”[28]

Blockers of communication and access to the global network, speaking beings giving orders and debating in self-run radio shows: they are sound synecdoches of this confrontation between two architectures of which these two prisons are a contemporaneous living image: a police architecture in juxtaposition with a political architecture.

 

c. Pppaaam! power and empowerment.



08 The Nation Builders, by Conor McGrady. Image courtesy of the artist. Photo by Kevin Noble.
  09 Aerial image of an event held inside the village-prison in support of the Housing Cooperative ‘Resiliencia’. Image by Fabián Sarubbi for Prison to Prison.

Then, how these colliding spaces establish a dialect relationship? How is this encounter between the police and politics inhabited? How do they organize, what kind of uses prevents and enables the people? Could we speak of a freespacein a prison confinement scenario?

Undoubtedly, the new prison is the space of power, of that police and of the People we were talking about. So, necessarily, its space has been quantified, transformed in the product of the dissection of movement, geometry and mathematics. Space barely exists as such: it is understood as Descartes' res extensa in which visibility is deployed. Its air becomes medical, hygienic, a disinfected space that results from transparency, sunlight and cleaning[29].

We can detect then, a frigid space that has been subjected to the sublime frigidity of abstraction[30] at the service of the power to which its responds, and with its complicity.

The history of Western Civilization can be regarded as the slow and irreversible distancing from Nature in the name of abstraction[31]. Enlightenment had already allowed the man carrying the light of reason to manipulate life scenes as in a toy theatre through this fundamental instrument to find out the Truth at the service of Power over the world.[32]

On this topic, Adorno and Horkheimer sustain that "abstraction stands in the same relationship to its objects as fate, whose concept it eradicates as liquidation so the liberated themselves finally became the herd which Hegel identified as the outcome of the Enlightenment[33].

This eagerness for abstraction finds its more beautiful expression in the inorganic and in what rejects life, in the crystalline, or, in general, in all subjection to the law and the abstract need[34]. In this sense, the prison as a whole institution is, from its inception, a favorite specimen for such imperative.

So, the prison space has been stripped, losing its architectural substance, and has turned into a neutral accumulation of boxes under video surveillance. An abstract frame where the human drama takes place, and that certainly produces an abstract existence as well as the Fordist factories produced abstract work[35].

However, just crossing the dividing wall, the spatial relationship with power seems different at the Punta de Rieles village-like prison. On the knowledge that we cannot speak of liberty inside a prison, the hypothesis we propose is that the exceptional circumstances under which its inmates relate with the urban space that they themselves have been modifying, can give rise to new and unexpected forms of (micro) powers that question what has been established; and this is fascinating.

Let us imagine the unique public space of this prison, its streets, its tree-covered areas, the intervention of its spaces with buildings and equipment built by inmates themselves, that enable meetings with pairs and with those coming from the outside. The street needs to be differentiated from the classic European notion of public space as a ritualized site for public activity, such as the piazza and boulevard. The street, which also includes unmarked squares and any available open space, is a raw, unpredictable space. The street can thus also be conceived as a space where new forms of the social and the political can be made, rather than a space for enacting routines as might be the case with a grand traditional park.[36]

In these unspoiled and unusual streets, the always excluded can gain presence, perhaps for the first time in their lives, vis-à-vis each Other. This mix of conditions signals the possibility of a new type of politics, centered around new types of political actors and spaces. As Saskia Sassen says: “It is no longer simply a matter of having power or not. There are new hybrid bases from which to act; spaces where the powerless can make history, even without becoming empowered.[37]

Finally, we can ask ourselves, also with a dialectic approach: why and how architecture production can take part in the destruction of human beings?[38] And, nevertheless, at the same time, why and how architecture can make life possible, potentiate and celebrate life, even in the least expected place?






[1] Hito STEYERL.  Beyond Representation. Essays 1999-2009. Berlin, n.b.k. Diskurs, 2016.

[2] See full list and article at http://www.artribune.com/progettazione/architettura/2017/12/2017-anno-architettura-bilancio-artribune/

[3] Swiss curator Hans Ulrich Obrist says about this: “I always ask myself: ‘is it urgent?’, urgent is my favorite word”.

[4] Hou Hanru, Correspondence between curators Hou Hanru and Hans Ulrich Obrist, in www.artpractical.com/feature/ urgent_is_to_take_a_distance

[5] Franco Bifo Berardi, On the “Possibility of Joy”, An interview, Clinamen, http://www.publicseminar.org/2018/01/franco-bifo-berardi-on-the-possibility-of-joy

[6] Freespace is the theme proposed by the curators of the 2018 Biennale, Yvonne Farrell and Shelley McNamara of Grafton Architects.

[7] This concept is related to the idea of the fireflies analyzed in Georges Didi-Huberman’s Sobrevivencia dos vaga-lumes. Brazil, Editora UFMG, 2014.

[8] Hito Steyerl, Los condenados de la pantalla. Argentina, Caja Negra, 2014.

[9] Idem.

[10] Interview to Luis Parodi at Punta de Rieles, La cárcel uruguaya que parece un pueblo, La Nación, March 14, 2017. Argentina.

[11] Annual report of the 2016 Parliamentary Commissioner for the Prison System.

[12] Federación Uruguaya de Cooperativas de Vivienda de Ayuda Mutua.

[13] Angelina de los Santos, Una cárcel, mil incógnitas, El País, www.elpais.com.uy/que-pasa/carcel-mil-incognitas

[14] Video in the youtube account of the Ministry of the Interior, “Unidad Nº 1 de Montevideo: la primera "PPP" del país”, www.youtube.com/watch?v=mzaOoVxjgoE

[15] Instituto Nacional de Rehabilitación (National Rehabilitation Institute).

[16] Video in the youtube account of the Ministry of the Interior, “Unidad Nº 1 de Montevideo: la primera "PPP" del país”, www.youtube.com/watch?v=mzaOoVxjgoE

[17] Idea taken from the book Octavio Paz “El mono gramático”.

[18] Making reference to the Walter Benjamin’s idea of making something dialectic. Georges Didi-Huberman, Volver sensible / hacer sensible, Ciudad Autónoma de Buenos Aires: Eterna Cadencia Editora, 2014.

[19] Alain Badiou, Veinticuatro notas sobre los usos de la palabra “pueblo”, Ciudad Autónoma de Buenos Aires: Eterna Cadencia Editora, 2014.

[20] Giorgio Agamben, “Meios sem fin. Notas sobre a política”, Belo Horizonte, Brasil, Autêntica Editora, 2017.

[21] Idem.

[22] Judith Butler, “Nosotros el Pueblo”, apuntes sobre la libertad de reunión, Ciudad Autónoma de Buenos Aires: Eterna Cadencia Editora, 2014.

[23] Jacques Rancière, El desacuerdo, política y filosofía, Ediciones Nueva Visión, Buenos Aires, 2010.

[24] The authors of this text submitted to the authorities a formal request to enter Unit No. 1 and received no reply. The commissioning of this new prison has been conducted under a veil of secrecy. Few stakeholders are being allowed access to the prison.

[25] Sala Zitarrosa is one of Montevideo's most renowned performance theaters.

[26] Jacques Rancière,Política, policía, democracia, Santiago: LOM Ediciones; 2006.

[27] Ibidem.

[28] Jacques Rancière, El desacuerdo, política y filosofía, Ediciones Nueva Visión, Buenos Aires, 2010.

[29] Iñaki Ábalos, La buena vida, Visita guiada a las casas de la modernidad, GG Editores, Barcelona, 2000.

[30] Taken from Franco Bifo Berardi.

[31] Franco Bifo Berardi, Fenomenología del Fin. Argentina: Caja Negra, 2016.

[32] Vilém Flusser, Luzes, in Flusser Brasil, flusserbrasil.com/art163.pdf

[33] George Didi-Huberman in Desconfiar de las Imágenes, Caja Negra, Buenos Aires, 2015.

[34] Wilhelm Worringer, Abstracción y Naturaleza, in  Franco Bifo Berardi, Fenomenología del Fin. Argentina: Caja Negra, 2016.

[35] George Didi-Huberman in Desconfiar de las Imágenes, Caja Negra, Buenos Aires, 2015.

[36] Saskia Sassen, Deep Inside the Global City, http://www.e-flux.com/architecture/urban-village/169799/deep-inside-the-global-city/

[37] Idem.

[38] George Didi-Huberman in Desconfiar de las Imágenes, Caja Negra, Buenos Aires, 2015.