A deal now before the Riigikogu to place Swedish inmates in unused blocks of Tartu Prison is drawing criticism from social scientists, who warn it could create a two-track system — rehabilitation for locals, basic custody for foreigners.  

Prison Service director Rait Kuuse calls the deal pragmatic. Budget cuts and a changed security climate triggered the discussion, he said, and roughly 600 unused spots at Tartu Prison make the site a logical choice. The agreement would help preserve jobs and infrastructure in the region while also helping Sweden ease its own severe prison overcrowding.

Kuuse framed the arrangement as practical cooperation between European allies. He said Estonia would focus on "universal skills" such as routine, hygiene and work habits, arguing that the drivers of criminal behavior — and what works to address them — don't differ much from country to country.

"Prison can be a place where they get reacquainted with the way ordinary life works," Kuuse said. More specialized pre-release preparation would remain Sweden's job.

Researchers say that's exactly the problem.

Criminologist Anna Markina agreed that routine and discipline can matter, especially for young people who have fallen through the cracks. But she stressed that a regime alone won't cut recidivism, or the tendency to reoffend. If that is the entirety of imprisonment, then it's not enough," she said.

Missing pieces beyond routine

Markina noted that Scandinavian and Estonian policy since the 2000s has centered on the idea that inmates are people who will return and reintegrate into society. Norway's common view, she said, is that prisoners are "our neighbors."

That logic collapses with the rental of prison space to house foreign inmates who will never join Estonian society. She warned that their time behind bars risks becoming little more than formal supervision.

The expert pointed to the crucial missing pieces: one-on-one meetings with staff, social programs, addiction treatment, personalized sentence plans, work and study options, Estonian language lessons and other aspects providing the cultural depth needed for true reintegration.

Replacing all that with nothing more than a "universal routine," she warned, weakens any chances prison time has of stopping the cycle of crime.

Tallinn University (TLÜ) sociologist Timothy Anderson was more blunt. He said Estonia risks embracing "crimmigration logic," in which rehabilitation efforts shrink to merely managing the physical body — hygiene, order, routine — while Sweden handles the harder social work.

The result, he argued, is a prison system where locals undergo rehabilitation while foreign inmates are essentially held in an isolating detention facility.

Language and distance divide

Language barriers risk further deepening this divide.

Estonia is slated to receive mainly English-speaking prisoners from Sweden, and daily communication would rely on translation tools and smart devices. Kuuse says prisons already use those tools.

But Markina doubts such translation tools can support what criminologists call "dynamic security" — the trust and direct communication between prison staff and inmates that help prevent conflict and promote change.

She said translation apps like Google Translate can help people fill out forms or order cookies online, but can't handle nuance in direct communication. And when inmates have little contact with staff, she continued, they'll mainly rely on each other, reinforcing criminal identities and fueling subcultures.

Family contact poses another challenge, as research shows ties with loved ones is a key factor in preventing reoffending.

However, Kuuse said the belief that prison visits are very popular is overstated, noting that fewer than a third of prisoners in Estonia see loved ones in person.

Video calls, already second only to phone calls in popularity, will offer foreign inmates flexibility in keeping in touch, and according to the Prison Service chief, can reduce the need for in-person visits.

Anderson called that mindset technocratic and said physical presence matters far more — especially for kids.

"A video call is an abstraction," he said, arguing that replacing in-person visits — no matter how limited — with screens prioritizes logistics over family bonds.

Markina added that distance and cost already limit family contact for families within Estonia. She cited a mother who could afford to visit her two incarcerated sons only once a month, one at a time.

"Under those circumstances, video calls are clearly a good option — better than using the phone," she acknowledged. But when international distance makes them the only option, this effectively amounts to cutting off meaningful family contact.

Prison space as leverage

The prison rental arrangement also reflects a broader trend.

Anderson sees Estonia's move as part of "penal statecraft," in which prisons function not only as justice institutions but as economic or diplomatic tools. "The Estonian case offers a clear example of how countries are reshaping punishment and prison management in the 21st century," he said.

Kuuse acknowledged the geopolitical angle, saying cooperation between prison services also strengthens Estonia's security architecture and alliances.

Researchers, however, warn the shift could reshape Estonia's entire prison system, as incarceration becomes something traded across borders, and warehousing prisoners becomes a strategic act aimed at bolstering national security.

While the deal may offer short-term financial gains, they say, letting rehabilitation slip to second place ultimately risks undermining the legitimacy of Estonia's prison system — and the result may be a system efficient at managing bodies but failing to reintegrate people into society.

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