Naturally, a show that takes place in a prison is going to deal with issues of power. Prisons are a perfect petri dish in which to examine power as a culture, both in a biological and societal sense: those who enter are first stripped of it completely, and once inside, typically grow in more bizarre, concentrated, and dangerous forms of power than exist in the outside world.
Incredible writing, plenty of unknown-yet-talented (and not white male!) actors, and the Netflix model of releasing whole seasons at a time all combine for a rare show that makes you actually care about a lot of complex characters, and these things make Orange is the New Black an excellent lens for viewing power dynamics.
The very first scene of OITNB appropriately sets the stage. Piper (the ostensible protagonist, and I say ostensible because while the show is “about” her, almost every other character quickly becomes more likable and interesting) quickly has her shower interrupted and is shown to be vulnerable, naked, and distressed.
The terrain of prison power structures is initially invisible to Piper. Early on she foolishly insults the food while in the presence of “Red,” the inmate in charge of the kitchen; she accepts a gift from “Crazy Eyes” without understanding the strings that are attached; she continually makes selfish requests and comments that illuminate her self-absorption and ignorance. As if she had been outside on a sunny day and ran indoors, Piper’s vision gradually adjusts to the darkness around her.
The darkness around her is the zero-sum power dynamics of prison. What power one inmate gains is necessarily ceded from another. Healy and Pornstache feel powerless in their personal lives, so they over-correct by abusing their positions of power in Litchfield. Red can get an item for someone, but only if she can do something for Red. Favors must be reciprocated, for to give freely to someone is to give away your power. And power is in short supply by the rules of prison-worldly economics. It can be depleted.
Vee, the chilling, psychopathic villain of season two, illustrates this. Upon arriving at Litchfield, she promptly began to assume power. At first, she gains followers—and thus power—by creating a system of cigarette distribution. She and her crew begin to get extra food at mealtimes, priority in lines, and the ability to take what they want.
Eventually, however, this power is not enough. Her attempts to expand her empire suck more power than exists in neutral spaces, and she begins to take it from her followers. Like a star that runs out of fuel, Vee becomes unstable and collapses on herself in spectacular fashion, nearly taking out those in her orbit.
But the economy of God’s kingdom is not finite. In Genesis 1 and 2, Biblical power means bearing the image of our creator: being good stewards of the earth, cultivating it toward human flourishing, and creating a many-ness that anticipates the Kingdom of God. This kind of power, because it is gifted from an infinite God, is positive-sum. When you give to me, my own power increases but so does yours.
Andy Crouch, in his book Playing God: Redeeming the Gift of Power, likens it to a cello lesson: At the beginning of the lesson, Dane (the teacher) has a great amount of cello-playing power, and Andy (the student) has a small amount. Throughout the lesson, Andy’s cello-playing power increases, but this increase do not damage Dane’s. If anything, Dane’s power slightly increases through exercising the understanding required to instruct someone else.
Examples of positive-sum, Biblical power are rare in OITNB. Yoga Jones offers a yoga class to other inmates. Similar to Crouch’s cello teacher, Jones’ own yoga expertise increases even as she helps others to increase theirs. Because she is in charge of the class, her power within the prison system (to provide something the inmates want) is also increased, and others’ power does not diminish by attending.
Poussey (pronounced like this) is renowned among Litchfield inmates for her toilet-made hooch. Vee suggests that she start selling it, but Poussey refuses, saying it is just something she makes for her and her friends to occasionally enjoy. Poussey could have increased her own power at the expense of others’, but in giving freely she increases power for all.
The real world abounds with examples of economic power playing, both zero and positive-sum. Unfortunately the former seems more prevalent. Resources that actually are finite and precious—like fossil fuels or human lives—are treated as infinite and disposable through, say, fracking and human trafficking. Some areas are a bit more complex (and startling), like the distribution of wealth in America.
Yet, positive-sum scenarios also exist. The rise of the Church in the Global South (African and South American nations) should not diminish the power and passion of Western churches, but increase and inspire them. Relational dynamics at play in homes and offices give us all a chance, every single day, to use our power in creative, uplifting, positive-sum ways.
For the ladies of Litchfield, their petri dish of prison power dynamics is not the only kind they will face. For those who are fortunate enough to return to the world, they will have to re-adjust to life on the outside. Rent will not be paid in stamps or cigarettes, favors won’t be the greatest form of currency, and bowel movements will be had in privacy. Now they see in a mirror, dimly, but then they will face-to-face. Now they know only in part; then they will know fully, even as they have been fully known. Zero-sum economies of power are not the ultimate reality for the inmates or for us.