Okay, this is it right down here. Yeah, it's right down the hallway here. This is where it all happened in the summer of 1971. Right down this corridor in the basement of the Psychology Department is where we converted these offices and storage rooms to prison cells, and we had students like yourself, college students from all over the country, play the roles of either prisoners or guards. This was the yard—the prison yard. Here in this closet was solitary confinement— the infamous hole where the guards put prisoners for punishment. That part was screened off, and there was a hidden camera that we recorded everything that happened exactly where the video crew is now. Here's one of the rooms that was a cell. In fact, I have a box of old stuff from the experiment I'd like you to see. Here's a box with old memorabilia from our study: the sign, this is one of the prisoners' uniform, Prisoner 819. You can see it's really a dress. Here are the chains that the guards gave—made the prisoners wear to remind them of their status, military uniform—the kind of uniforms the guards wore, their billy club—symbols of power and authority. And you can see over on the wall, one of the prisoners etched the days of the week to mark the passage of time, starting on Sunday, Monday, through the rest of the week. >> How long did the study last? >> Well, we were going to run it for two weeks, but we had to end it after only six days. >> Why was that? >> Prisoner 819 did a bad thing. Prisoner 819 did a bad thing. Prisoner 819 did a bad thing. Prisoner 819 did a bad thing. Prisoner 819 did a bad thing. >> Our goal, back in 1971, was to study the behavioral and psychological consequences of becoming a prisoner or prison guard. To do this, we decided to simulate a prison environment, both physically and mentally, and then observe the effects of this institution on all those within its walls. We used the basement of the psychology building to stage our little drama, scheduled to run for two weeks. A corridor of small offices was converted into a functional prison environment. It was complete with three cells; there was a guards' room, the warden's office, my superintendent's office, and a closet used if necessary for solitary confinement. We recruited the help of some prison experts to assist us with our prison design and construction. Foremost among them was Carlo Prescott, an ex-convict recently released from serving 17 years behind bars in San Quentin and Soledad Prisons. We placed an ad in the city newspaper asking for participants for an experiment studying the psychological effects of prison life. They would be paid $15 a day. Over 70 people applied. They were given diagnostic interviews and psychological tests to weed out all those with any signs of psychological abnormality, medical disabilities, or history of crime or drug use. Twenty-four were selected. They were all healthy, normal, intelligent, middle-class males from colleges throughout the United States, and with the flip of a coin, each was randomly assigned to play the role of prisoner or guard. It was only by chance that someone was chosen as prisoner or guard. Now, it is important to remember that at the start of this experiment, there were no psychological differences between those students assigned the prisoner role and those assigned to be guards. An undergraduate student, David Jaffe, took on the role of prison warden. I acted as the prison superintendent, while psychology graduate students Craig Haney and Curt Banks handled a variety of prison staff responsibilities. I met with the students selected to be guards on the day before the experiment was to begin. I had to explain to the guards that they could not in any way hit the prisoners, but they could create in the prisoners feelings of boredom, a sense of frustration, can create a sense of fear in them, to some degree, can create a notion of arbitrariness, that their life is totally controlled by us, by the system—you, me, Jaffe— that they'll have no privacy at all. There's their cells—they'll be sleeping in rooms with bars on them— that there will be constant surveillance. Nothing they do will go unobserved. They have no freedom of action; they can do nothing or say, say nothing that we don't permit. We're going to take away their individuality in various ways. In general, what all of this leads to is a sense of powerlessness— that is, we have total power of the situation, and they have none. So, what's going to happen tomorrow is we tell the students to wait in their houses or rooms or wherever they're living. A squad car's going to pull up [LAUGHTER]. Somebody, two policemen are going to come out and ask the guy's name and tell him that he's been suspected of a crime—I don't know, they'll just leave it vague and say drugs or something [LAUGHTER]— come with us, handcuff him, put him in the car, take him down to the police station, take him to security underground entrance, detain him, fingerprint him, book him, blindfold him, and then Curt and Craig are going to pick him up. Ah, so they'll be blindfolded, they won't know, and say come on, moving out, and then bring them down here, take the blindfolds off, then they'll be in prison. Then we're going to take their clothes off, ah, delouse them with a powder spray, put on the uniform— we have some people making uniforms for them today, which are just going to be like long smocks with numbers on—and they'll have rubber, you know, rubber shower shoes. And that's all—no underclothes or anything— and they're going to wear a chain on one leg, which is just a symbolic thing of their loss of freedom. So the police have agreed to do this. I just have to go down and double check, and give them the names and so forth. >> Will this be done by campus security or by real police? >> The real police [LAUGHTER]. >> A police car pulls up in front, and a cop comes to the front door and knocks, and says he's looking for me. So they, right there, they took me out the door. They put my hands against the, um, car. It was a real cop car. It was a real policeman. And there were real neighbors in the street who didn't know that I was, this was an experiment. And there was cameras all around, and neighbors all around. They put me in the car, then they drove me around Palo Alto. They took me to the, to the police station, the basement of the police station. Then they put me in a cell. I was the first one to be picked up, so they put me in a cell, which was just like a room with a door with bars on it. You could tell it wasn't a real jail. They locked me in there in this degrading little outfit. They were taking this experiment too seriously. >> Well, when I first got here, even though there was, ah, like I had to strip and go through the process, and they would call me names, and ah, made me look in the mirror and see how ridiculous I was and stuff, I still didn't feel at all like I was in a prison. I was just looking at it as a job, and I was told not to talk, say anything. I was placed in the cell, and there was another prisoner there, but still I looked at it as a job the whole first day. >> Everybody up! Alright. Come on. Up, up! >> Well, gentlemen, here it is: time for count. >> What's going on? >> At 2:30 am, the prisoners were rudely awakened from their sleep by the night guard shift for their count. The guards were told to routinely perform counts to familiarize the prisoners with their numbers and determine that they were all present and accounted for. But more important, it provided a regular occasion for the guards to interact with and exercise control over the prisoners. There were several counts every day and night. As you can see in this first count, the prisoners were not yet into their roles. They weren't taking it too seriously. They were still trying to assert their independence. >> Let's see if we can count faster here. >> The guards were also having some trouble with feeling out their new roles, trying to assert some authority over their prisoners. >> Hey! I don't want anybody laughing. >> No, let's have no laughing now. >> This is no laughing matter, guys. >> Well, the, uh, first, the first day I was on the job, I um, I knew it was going to be tough because I, um, what we were supposed to do is supposed to try to make prisoners lose all sense of identity, and I really didn't think I was going to be able to do it, so the first day I was, I just sort of, oh, watched the others on my shift, really. >> Because the first day passed without incident, we were surprised and totally unprepared for the rebellion which broke out on the morning of the second day. When waking the prisoners for the 10 o'clock count, the morning guard shift found that the prisoners in Cell 1 had removed their stocking caps, ripped off their numbers, and barricaded themselves inside the cells by putting their beds against the door. The prisoners began to taunt and curse the guards to their face. This, of course, embarrassed and upset the guards. The morning shift immediately called in reinforcements. They asked the night shift to stay on, and they called up three other standby guards to help put down the rebellion. In retaliation for the prisoners' insubordination, the guards stripped naked the prisoners in Cells 2 and 3 and removed their beds, and they demanded that the barricade be removed from Cell 1. One of the ringleaders of the rebellion, Prisoner 8612, protested loudly. >> Fuck this experiment and fuck Dr. Zimbardo! Fucking simulation! >> Violation of the rules! >> Fucking simulation! It's a fucking simulated experiment—it's not prison! They don't take your bed and your clothes in prison! >> They do. >> They’re taking our beds! >> Face the wall. >> The guards threw him into the hole. >> Going to be alright? >> The other leader of the rebellion, Prisoner 5704, had his feet chained together by the guards. The rebellion was temporarily crushed, but a new problem faced the guards. They realized that nine guards could, of course, control nine prisoners, but how could a regular shift of only three of them maintain control over the prisoners without using physical force? One of the guards came up with the idea of using psychological tactics instead of physical ones. The guards set up a privilege cell, and prisoners who were least involved with the rebellion were put in there and given special privileges. They got their uniforms back. They were allowed to wash themselves and brush their teeth. The others were not. Beds were returned to the privileged cell. Prisoners in the privileged cell were offered a special meal, while the others were only allowed to watch. Yet, the privileged prisoners refused to eat the special meal, showing their solidarity with the punished prisoners. Prisoner 1037 refused to come out of the hole until all the beds had been returned. The prisoners seemed to be winning. The guards took measures to increase their control over the prisoners, making them do push-ups, sit-ups, and jumping jacks to punish them. The guards began to implement more strip searches. Every aspect of a prisoner's behavior fell under the total arbitrary control of the guards who were on any given shift. Prisoners who had been rewarded were now punished by the guards for no reason. Going to the toilet became a privilege that a guard could grant or deny. And after the 10:00 pm lockup, the prisoners had to urinate and defecate in a bucket, which was left in their cells. And on occasion, the guard would refuse to let the prisoners empty that bucket until morning, and the cells began to smell. The harassment by the guards and the worsening of prison conditions got to Prisoner 8612, the rebellion leader. He decided he had enough. He wanted out, so he started complaining of headaches and stomach pains. 8612 was interviewed by the staff. The warden was unsympathetic. Our ex-convict prison consultant, Carlo Prescott, ridiculed him as a White boy unable to cope with minimal prison hardships, and I, as the superintendent, offered him a deal: no more guard harassment of him in return for some information from time to time. In short, I asked him to be a snitch. I told him, "Think it over, and let me know your decision later that night." Confused, 8612 returned to the yard during the evening count and told the other prisoners that no one could get out. >> 8612, against the wall. >> Fuck you! >> Against the wall, 8612. >> Fuck you! >> Somebody help him. >> You got the key to the handcuffs, first? >> Oh, I just gave them to his correctional officer. >> Look, if I've gotta be in here, I'm not going to put up with any of your shit. I mean, you know, really, I mean, I couldn't get out. You know, I tried talking to doctors and lawyers. >> Help him against the wall there. >> They wouldn't let me out. You can't get out of here. >> Bust out. >> That's what I thought. >> Obviously, this news coming from one of their respected leaders had a dramatic impact on the other prisoners. >> He said you can't get out, and then you really felt like you were a prisoner. Even though it may be Zimbardo's experiment, and maybe you were getting paid for it, but damn it, you were a prisoner. You were really a prisoner in there. >> I was told that I couldn't quit, and at that point I felt that, well, it was really a prison, and at that point, um, I don't know, I just— there's no way I can describe how I felt. I just felt totally hopeless—more hopeless than I'd ever felt before. >> There were no more signs of rebellion in the prison, but Prisoner 8612 couldn't believe that he had lost all control over his situation. His confusion amplified the frustration and feelings of helplessness that he was experiencing. 8612 decided that the only way to get out was to show everyone he had gone crazy— then they would have to release him. He began to play the role of the crazy person, but soon the role became too real as he went into an uncontrollable rage. >> I'm so fucked up inside! I feel really fucked up inside. You don't know. I gotta go, I—to a doctor, anything. I can't stay in here. I'm fucked up! I don't know how to explain it. I'm fucked up inside! And I want out! And I want out now! Goddammit! I'm fucked up! You don't know, you don't know. I mean, God. I mean, Jesus Christ, I'm burning up inside, don't you know? I just fucking can't take it! >> Less than 36 hours into the experiment, we had no choice but to release Prisoner 8612. Tuesday was visiting day. We were worried that once the parents saw the condition of our jail, they would want to take their sons home. We decided to manipulate both the prisoners and the visitors to preserve our institution. First, we cleaned the prison and groomed the prisoners. The guards took down the sign over the hole, fed the prisoners a hot meal, and warned them not to complain or the visiting hour would be cut short. When the visitors arrived, they were first greeted by an attractive receptionist, Susie Phillips. Music was piped in over the intercom system. The visitors were made to register and then to wait half an hour while their sons were finishing a late dinner with some extra dessert. We wanted to undercut any complaints the prisoners would make by having the situation be so obviously pleasant and benign. Also, we wanted the parents to attribute some unexpected inconveniences to their sons' neglect in writing to them about a number of visiting rules and regulations. Visits were monitored by a guard, limited to only two visitors per prisoner, and to only ten minutes total. Of course, these adults complained about such arbitrary rules, but since they obeyed despite their dissent, the institution had retained its authority in this situation. The visitors left their distressed sons in our jail, content that we were doing a good job in running the simulated prison experiment. Visiting hour went off without a hitch. The hitch came after the visit, when the parents had left. The guards had picked up a rumor that the prisoners were planning an escape. According to the rumor, Prisoner 8612, whom we had released the day before, was going to return with a bunch of his friends and force the release of the other prisoners. Next, we decided to dismantle the prison, and move all the prisoners up to a remote storage room on the top floor. Extra guards were called in to help clean it out and transport the inmates, and bolster security. The plan was for me to be waiting in the basement in the empty corridor when 8612 returned with his friends. I would tell him that we decided to end the experiment early, and that everyone had gone home. After they left, we would rebuild the prison. We even discussed luring 8612 back, and then imprisoning him because he had been paroled under false pretenses. The confrontation never came off. No one ever showed. The guards had wasted the whole day tearing down and then rebuilding their prison, and even missed lunch. Someone was going to pay for all this. >> Down, up. >> The guards again escalated very noticeably their level of harassment of the prisoners, and increased the humiliation that they made the prisoners suffer. >> Down. >> Push-ups increased in number and severity. The counts became grueling ordeals lasting for several hours. They made the prisoners clean out toilet bowls with their bare hands and polish the guards' shoes. >> …the prisoners, and I began to lose all sympathy I had for them. And any respect that might have been present, I just shut out, and I began to treat them as coldly as possible, as harshly as possible, and by, by the third day, I had done such a good job convincing myself that I was acting like that, I treated the prisoners like they were of a distinct, inferior order than myself. >> Smoking is a privilege. >> Smoking is a privilege. >> What is smoking? >> A privilege. >> What? >> A privilege. >> Prisoner 819 was our next problem. He refused to take part in the 6:00 am count and to do any exercises. Then he messed up his cell and barricaded himself in. In retaliation, the guards made his cellmates do mindless work of moving boxes back and forth. >> You're not only not getting a cigarette, but for as long as this cell is blockaded, you're going to be in solitary when you get out. >> …like a weapon. >> Now, now. Keep an eye on him. >> 819 was put in the hole. Just then, we were visited by a Catholic priest who had been a real prison chaplain. He had agreed to come down to assess the reality of our situation compared to those he had known. The prisoners were invited to talk with him, and only 819 refused. Some surprising things happened. When introducing themselves, half of the prisoners used their number, not their name. When asked why they were in jail, most answered with the charge told to them by the Palo Alto Police. The priest asked them what action they were taking to get out of jail while they were awaiting trial. The prisoners really got confused. He chided them for not knowing their civil liberties, and for not getting a lawyer to bail them out. He followed through with his role as prison chaplain by calling some parents to get a public defender for their imprisoned sons. Prisoner 819 finally agreed to meet with the priest. As soon as he was taken out of the hole, and he started talking with the priest, 819 broke down crying. I tried to calm him down and took him to a special rest and recreation room down the hall. After a good meal, he could leave if he wanted to. The priest told me that 819 and our other prisoners were acting just like first-timers who were confused, frightened, and emotional before they got hardened by the prison system. Our jail seemed very real to him. Meanwhile, the guards were assembling the prisoners for the 11:30 count. >> Prisoner 819 did a bad thing. Prisoner 819 did a bad thing. Prisoner 819 did a bad thing. Prisoner 819 did a bad thing. >> As soon as I realized that 819 could hear this, I rushed to the room where I had left him, and what I found was a boy crying hysterically, while in the background his fellow prisoners were chanting and yelling that he is a bad prisoner, and that they were being punished because of him. >> Because of what Prisoner 819 did, my cell is a mess. Because of what Prisoner 819 did, my cell is a mess. >> No longer was this a count, disorganized and full of fun, as it was on the first day of the experiment. Now, the count was marked by its conformity, compliance, and absolute unison. It was as if one voice called out that 819 is bad. I tried to console Prisoner 819 by offering to let him go, but he insisted on staying. He told me that he couldn't leave knowing that the other prisoners thought he was a bad prisoner. I managed to get through to him by reminding him who he really was, and what this place really was, and who I really was. As that other reality broke through, he agreed to be released from his imprisonment and quit the experiment. To replace Prisoner 819, we brought in a new prisoner from the standby list: Prisoner 416. Like the others, he was stripped, deloused, and placed in the prison environment. We wondered what effect would this newcomer have on our old-timers who had been through so much, and how would this all look to him. The madness of this place, which had evolved gradually for the other prisoners, was for him full-blown upon arrival. If he rebelled against the guard's authority, would the others follow this new leader, or not? Prisoner 416 began his revolt by refusing to eat; he went on a hunger strike. Amazingly, the prisoners were so divided among themselves that instead of rallying around 416, they refused to join him. To them, he was just a troublemaker. The guards used this lack of solidarity displayed by the other prisoners to try to break and control Prisoner 416. Ironically, they began by making him sing Amazing Grace. >> 416, while they do push-ups, you sing Amazing Grace. Ready? Down. Up. >> Amazing Grace… >> Keep going. >> How sweet the sound... >> Keep doing push-ups on your own. >> To save a wretch like me. >> Keep going. Once I was blind, but now I see. >> Once I was blind, but now I see. Since I saw God, I'm free. >> Not bad! Everybody over on your back on the floor. Oh, stay down there. Stay down there. >> By this stage in the experiment, the prisoners had displayed three ways to cope with their feelings of frustration, absolute powerlessness, and their growing sense of helplessness and despair. At first, most prisoners fought and rebelled against the guards. By now, four of them had reacted passively by breaking down emotionally, forcing us to release them, and still others had reacted by becoming model prisoners. One such prisoner, 2093, was nicknamed "Sarge" by the other prisoners because of the way he followed the guards' orders so readily. It was also apparent that there were three types of guards: the good guards who felt sorry and did little favors for the prisoners, tough but fair guards who followed the rules, and the sadistic guards who constantly degraded and humiliated the prisoners. As a group, the guards now had total control of the prison, and except for Prisoner 416, they had the obedience of every prisoner. They could literally dictate whatever behavior they wanted from them. The guards tested their control over the prisoners by making them write a letter home. >> No need to visit; it's seventh heaven. >> No need to visit; it's seventh heaven. >> No need to visit; it's seventh heaven. >> Yours truly. >> Yours truly. >> Again. >> Again? >> Let's hear, "Yours truly." >> Yours truly. >> Your loving son. >> Your loving son. >> And put the name there that your mother gave you. >> At dinner, Prisoner 416 refused to eat his sausages leftover from lunch. >> 416 is, um, is a prisoner who was extremely dazed at first and upset, um, and found that to his surprise, he couldn't respect himself unless he found means to resist and means that were uniquely his own—means that were best adapted to him. And 416 has found those means. And 416—it means something to me now as a num—the number is a source of pride, like a name. It's important to me that I'm 416. >> Get in that closet there. >> He was thrown into the hole and ordered to hold the sausages in his hands. The guards threatened to cancel Thursday's visiting hour for all prisoners if 416 did not eat his sausages. 416 refused again. The guards then channeled the frustration of the other prisoners by having them express their anger directly at 416, who was in the hole. >> Thank you, 416! >> Okay, 2093. >> Thank you, 416! >> Over there. >> Shall I do the same as he did? >> Oh, yeah, you do it just the same way, 2093. >> Thank you, 416! >> Okay, that's enough. >> To the guards, 416 represented disobedience. He was a solitary threat to their total power. He was taken out of the hole for the next count. The count was run almost single-handedly by one guard; the prisoners named him "John Wayne" because of his macho guard performance and tough-guy attitude. He used every tactic he could think of— public humiliation, homophobia, whatever, to dominate the prisoners. >> 416, put your hands in the air. Why don't you play Frankenstein? 2093, you can be the bride of Frankenstein. You stand here. You come over there. >> Should I act it out, Mr. Correctional Officer? >> You should act it out. You be the bride of Frankenstein, and you be Frankenstein. I want you to walk over here like Frankenstein and say that you love 2093. >> That ain't how Frankenstein walks. >> You ain't walkin' like Frankenstein. >> We didn't ask you to walk like you. >> I love you, 2093. >> Get up close! Get up close! >> I love you, 2093. I love you, 2093. >> You're smiling, 2093! You get down here and do ten push-ups! >> Two, three, four, five, six, seven. >> Even Sarge, the obedient prisoner, was abused. >> Why are you such a pansy? >> I don't know, Sir. >> Why is it you try to be obedient so much? >> It's my nature to be obedient, Mr. Correctional Officer. >> You a liar. You a stinking liar! >> If you say so, Mr. Correctional Officer. >> What if I told you to get down on that floor and fuck the floor? What would you do then? >> I would say [inaudible], Mr. Correctional Officer. >> Not one of the prisoners protested the harshness and cruelty of the count. Before lights out, 416 was again put in the hole, because he refused to eat his sausages, now filthy from being thrown all over the floor. John Wayne made a final attempt to get 416 to submit by setting the other prisoners against him. He gave the prisoners a choice. >> Now, there's a couple ways that we can do this, depending upon what you want to do. Now, if 416 does not want to eat his sausages, then you can give me the blankets and sleep on the bare mattress, or you can keep your blankets and 416 will stay in another day. Now, what will it be? >> I'll keep my blankets. >> What will it be over here? >> I’ll keep my blankets, Mr. Correctional Officer. >> How about 5486? >> I'll give you my blankets, Mr. Correctional Officer. >> He don't want his blankets. >> Well, now, you boys got to come to some kind of decision here. >> How about you, 2093? How do you feel about this? >> We got three in favor of keeping the blankets. >> We got three against one. Keep your blankets. 416, you're going to be in there for awhile, so just get used to it. >> I was watching all this on the television monitor in my office with one of my graduate students. I was amazed that the guard would keep that boy in solitary all night as punishment for not eating cold, dirty sausages. I was amazed that the prisoners would keep their blankets instead of letting 416 out of the hole. This was a true prison, where frustrated guards acted sadistically against prisoners like 416, who would not submit to their control, and where demoralized prisoners acted selfishly and shamefully. I told her that I was really impressed with what we had accomplished in less than a week. She looked at me and said, "I think what you are doing to those boys is horrible." And she was right. I had to end the experiment because that's what it was— an experiment, not a prison. These were real boys who were really suffering, and that fact had escaped me. I and everyone else around me, except for that graduate student, had gotten so far into their prison roles— prisoner, guard, superintendent, whatever—that it was hard to separate reality from the simulation. It just didn't occur to me until she spoke out that I, as a psychologist—as a human being—had to do something about that suffering. I had to end the experiment. I guess I should mention that I later married that very special student, Christina Maslach. But it's important that we look back at what happened during the six days of our prison study because there were many people other than psychologists who accepted our prison as a prison instead of as a psychology experiment, and their actions or lack of actions added to the reality of our simulation. First, there were the parents who accepted our arbitrary rules for visiting day. They, too, became drawn into our prison society by working within our prison system to try and better their sons' condition. But even though some of the prisoners told their parents that this was the worst thing that ever happened to them, the parents accepted the perspective the prison authorities had created, and they rejected that of their sons. The power of the situation was stronger than the individual. And what about the priest who came to visit the prison? He didn't question the ethics of the experiment as he should have. He ended up giving the boys legal counsel instead of spiritual counsel, so he made the line between reality and illusion even more obscure. After the priest left, he called some parents who in turn, called a public defender to come to the prison. The public defender watched as one by one the boys were brought in, handcuffed, wearing bags over their heads, to discuss their individual cases. He was only concerned with informing the prisoners of their rights as prisoners, not acknowledging that they were, in fact, college students locked up for a week in the basement of the psychology building. On Day 5, the prisoners were brought in front of the parole board consisting of psychology graduate students, secretaries, and others. The head of the parole board was Carlo Prescott, our prison consultant. What was really interesting was that Carlo was finally sitting on the other side of the parole proceedings, and like all the others who had participated in our study, he took on a role, or rather, the role took over him. He became the same kind of parole officer who had rejected his parole request year after year when he was doing time. >> What I'm trying to say is that you went outside the door, you had a little time to think. Now, you're back in here trying to con us into looking at you in a different view, but what real social consciousness do you have? What do you really think you owe society? I'd like to hear something real from you. >> Well, I got a valid job. >> Working does not make you a good citizen. Everybody works. >> It's a teaching job— it's a good job, I feel. A worthwhile job. >> That may even make you more suspect. I don't think I'd want you to teach any of my youngsters. >> It was only afterwards that he realized that he was using the same rationale against them, the students, that his parole officers had used against him to reject his parole requests. >> I've got nowhere to go while I'm in here, and I don't know what my sentence is, so the only hope I have is to just wait it out and try and live it as pleasantly as I can. >> Well, I'll tell you something. With your attitude, and the way that you, you've expressed yourself in this particular board meeting, if we were going to definitely make recommendations, you know, I would see to it personally that you were here until the last day—personally. >> So we had to stop the experiment after only six days. The prisoners and guards were then debriefed, and they all vented their feelings, and then we got together a few months later to analyze the whole experience. They had some interesting things to say about it. >> I don't know. I just, at first I thought that maybe I could, I could manage prison for a while. Uh, right now, I don't think I could manage it at all. I don't see how anybody really could, without coming out, uh, really hateful. >> What made the experience most depressing for me was the fact that we were continually called upon to act in a way that just is contrary to what I really feel inside. I don't feel like I'm the type of person that would be a guard, just continually giving out shit and forcing people to do things and pushing and lying. It just, it just didn't seem like me—and to continually keep up, put on a face like that, is just really one of the most oppressive things you can do. >> I, I had really thought that I was incapable of this kind of behavior. I've, I was surprised—no, I was dismayed—to find out that I could, I could really be a, that I could act in a manner so, so absolutely unaccustomed to anything I would even really dream of doing, and I, and while I was doing it, I, ah, I didn't feel any regret. I didn't feel any, ah, guilt. It was only after, afterwards, when I began to reflect on what I had done, that this began to, this behavior began to dawn on me, and I realized that this was, uh, this was a part of me I hadn't really noticed before. >> I began to feel that I was losing my identity, that, that the person that I call Clay—the person who, who put me in this place, the person who volunteered to, to go into this prison (because it was a prison to me—it still is a prison to me, I don't look on it as an experiment or a simulation; it just is a prison that was run by psychologists instead of run by the state), I began to feel that, that that identity—the person that I was, that, that had decided to go to prison— was distant from me, was, was remote, until finally, I wasn't that—I was, I was 416. I was really my number, and 416 was going to have to decide what to do. >> Once you put a uniform on and are given a role—I mean a job (say, your job is to keep these people in line), then you're not, certainly not the same person as if you're in street clothes and in a different role. You really become that person once you put on that khaki uniform, you put on the glasses, you put on, you take the night stick, and, you know, you act the part. That's your, that's your costume, and ah, you have to act accordingly when you put it on. >> It harms me. >> Why? >> I mean harms. I mean in the present tense, it harms me. >> How did it harm you? How does it harm you? Just to think about it, you mean, that people can be like that? >> Yeah. It let me in on some knowledge that, that I've never experienced firsthand. >> Uh-huh. >> I've read about it. I've read a lot about it, but I've never experienced it firsthand. I've never seen someone turn that way, and I know you're a nice guy, you know? >> You don't know that. >> Do you understand? I do. I do know you're a nice guy. >> Then why do you hate me? >> Because I know what you can turn into. I know what you're willing to do if you say, "Oh well, I'm not going to hurt anybody." "Oh well, it's a limited situation." Or, "It's over in two weeks." >> Well, you in the position, what would you have done? >> I don't know. I can't tell you that I know what I'd do. >> Would you— >> I don't think, I don't believe I would've been as inventive as you. >> You mean that— >> I don't believe I would've applied as much imagination to what I was doing. Do you understand? >> Yes, I understand. >> I think I would have been a guard. I don't think it would have been such a masterpiece. >> Uh, I didn't see where it was really harmful. It was degrading, and that was, that was part of my particular little experiment to see how I could, ah— >> Your particular little experiment— why don't you tell me about that? >> I was running little experiments of my own. >> Tell me about your little experiments. >> Okay. >> I'm curious. >> I wanted to see just what kind of verbal abuse that people can take before they start objecting, before they start lashing back… >> Yeah? >> …under the circumstances, and it surprised me that no one said anything to stop me. No one, no one said, “Crimen, you can't say those things to me! Those things are, are, are sick." Nobody said that. They just accepted what I said. I said, you know, "Go tell that man to the face he's the scum of the earth," and they'd do it without question. They'd do push-ups without question, they'd sit in the hole, they'd uh, they'd abuse each other, and here, they're supposed to have a little, they're supposed to be together as a unit in jail, but here they're, they're abusing each other because I requested them to, and no one questioned my authority at all, and it really shocked me. Why didn't people—when I started to get, abuse people so much, I started to get so profane that— and still people didn't say anything. >> Right now, in this, uh, jail, I'm the uh, one of the staff psychologists. This I'm, I've been doing for 14 years, practically, ah, the length of time I've been away from Phil Zimbardo's experiment. >> I feel so fucked up inside! I feel really fucked up inside. You don't know. I gotta go, I—to a doctor, anything. I can't stay in here. I'm fucked up! I don't know how to explain it. I'm all fucked up inside! And I want out! And I want out now! Goddammit! I'm fucked up! You don't know, you don't know. As an experience, it was unique. I've never screamed so loud in my life. Um, I've never been so upset in my life, and it was an experience of being out of control, both of the situation and of my feelings. And maybe I always have had difficulty with the notion of losing control. I wanted to understand myself, so I went into psychology, so that the unconscious wouldn't so control me as it did that, when, that whole experiment, that whole situation, I was confused. I didn't know what my role was, and I figured, well, you know, I'm thinking now, I'll go into psychology, I'll learn how, what makes a person tick. I won't be so afraid of the unconscious. The Stanford Prison was a very benign prison situation, and it still caused guards to become sadistic, prisoners to become hysterical, other prisoners to break out in hives. I mean, here you had a benign situation—it didn't work. It promoted everything a normal prison promotes. The guard role promotes sadism. The prisoner role promotes a feeling of confusion and shame. Anybody can be a guard. It's harder to be on guard against the impulse to be sadistic, because it's a "quiet rage"—a malevolence that you can dam up, but there's nowhere for it to go—it comes out sideways, sadistically or whatever. Whereas, I think you do have more control— maybe, because this is my experience— um, everybody needn't be a prisoner. I think if I went through the experience now, I wouldn't have been nearly so confused. I would've been able to do a lot of things differently and not have felt so unsure of what to do. I would have known, I would have known much more about my options. And there are real prisoners I have met in jail who were people of exceptional dignity—who did not, um, put down the guards, who are very respectful of the guards, and do not create in the guard a sadistic impulse. And they could rise above the, um, the shame of the role and they knew, knew how to preserve their dignity within that situation. >> Dr. Zimbardo, I'm concerned about the subjects. What happened to them afterwards? >> Yeah, were there any long-term negative effects? >> Happily, no. We did do extensive follow-ups, both bringing all the subjects back individually or in groups, ah, for, over a period of that first year, and then for the next ten years, we've surveyed them by mail and phone, and the consensus is that they did suffer during that week, but they learned a great deal about themselves and about human nature that most of them say was quite valuable. In addition, the effects were really situation-bound—limited to that situation—for several reasons. One, we picked boys who were normal and healthy in every way, and so, they were able to rebound back to that position of mental, physical health after they were out of that situation. And then we were able to explicitly make the point that what we saw, what they experienced, was the power of the situation. So, it told us about the situation they were in, and not anything about themselves, that what they did was not diagnostic of any personal pathology. It was diagnostic of the pathology of prison-like situations. >> Why didn't you stop it sooner? It seems unethical to let it go on for so long. >> It was unethical—there's no question about that. People suffered, ah, in this experiment as subjects. It went on too long because I got trapped in the dual role of principle investigator of the research project and prison superintendent of Stanford County Jail, which I never should have done. The other issue that the, the central issue about the ethics of this study weighs the costs to the subjects—which were real, and tangible, their suffering— against possible benefits to them and benefits to science and society, and we were able to use this study to promote prison reform. Lastly, the study makes a very profound point about the power of situations: that situations affect us much more than we think, that more, more, ah, human behavior is much more under the control of subtle situational forces— in some cases very trivial ones, like rules and roles and symbols and uniforms—and much less under the control of things like character and personality traits that we ordinarily think as determining behavior. >> I'm a college undergraduate. I can't possibly imagine myself ever being a prisoner or a guard. What relevance would this have for the everyday person? >> And is there as much relevance for females as well? >> Yeah, it's important not to think of this as prison, prisoner or guard in a real prison. The important issue is the metaphor "prisoner and guard." What does it mean to be a prisoner? What does it mean to be a guard? And a guard is somebody who limits the freedom of someone else, uses the power in their role to control and dominate someone else. And that's what this study is about. And so, any situation you're in, where there's this power relationship —between husbands and wives, and parents and children, and teachers and students, and doctors and patients, and in the military, and in so many situations— we think this study has relevance for you. In thinking about this kind of research, we began to think, "What are the situations in which people voluntarily give up their freedom?" Well, the one obvious kind of person who internalizes both the prisoner and guard mentality—the part of you that says, "You can't do it," which puts coercive limitations on you, and the part of you which says, "Okay, yeah, I have the ability and motivation, but if you say so, I won't do it," and limits his or her own freedom, is the shy person. And then we began to see shyness as a self-imposed psychological prison. And, right after we finished the prison experiment, we began thinking about shyness and studying it. It turns out nobody had ever studied it seriously. And so, for the next 15 years, we have been doing research on shyness at Stanford, and then set up the first Stanford Shyness Clinic— the first shyness clinic in America, the Stanford Shyness Clinic. And so, we went from imprisoning people in our experiment to doing research, and then therapy, which has exactly the opposite goal—to try to help people free themselves from prisons that they create. So we think it has, ah, very important implications for all of us in our everyday life.
