‍Part 4 of "Reimagining Youth Justice: A Journey Beyond Walls"

The light filters through curtains – actual curtains, not metal grates – casting gentle patterns across wooden floors. A teddy bear rests atop a neatly made bed with blue linens. A desk holds photographs of family and friends, carefully arranged. A pillow embroidered with "A Mi Hija" ("To My Daughter") speaks of connection beyond these walls.

This room in Diagrama's La Zarza facility would be unremarkable in most contexts – a typical teenager's space, perhaps a bit tidier than most. But within the context of youth detention, it represents something revolutionary: the understanding that physical environments are not merely backdrops but active participants in the work of transformation.

The Language of Space

As we move through Diagrama's facilities, I'm struck not by sophisticated architecture or expensive materials, but by the fundamental message embodied in these spaces: these are places for living, not merely for containing. The buildings speak before the staff do, communicating expectations and possibilities that shape how young people understand themselves and their potential.

"The environment is not separate from our therapeutic approach – it is integral to it," explains Teresa, a facility director. "What does a concrete cell with steel furniture communicate? That the young person is dangerous, untrustworthy, unworthy of beauty or comfort. We choose to communicate something different."

This philosophy manifests in countless details: bedrooms with real furniture that can be personalized with photographs and mementos; common areas with comfortable seating arranged to facilitate conversation; classrooms filled with natural light; kitchens where young people learn to prepare meals together; gardens tended by residents who watch their efforts literally bear fruit.

These spaces aren't luxurious, but they are intentional – designed to foster both physical and psychological safety, to create environments where growth becomes not just possible but probable.

The Dignity of Personhood

One of the most striking features of Diagrama's approach is how young people are invited to personalize their spaces and take responsibility for them. Rather than being assigned to institutional cells, they inhabit rooms that reflect their identities and relationships.

As two young women proudly show me their rooms, pointing out photographs of friends and family, explaining art projects they've completed, I witness a profound connection between space and selfhood. They speak not of "the room" but of "my room" – a subtle linguistic shift that reflects a deeper reality of belonging and ownership.

"When young people first arrive, some are surprised they can have personal items," Teresa notes. "They have often come from environments – both at home and in previous institutional settings – where their personhood was diminished. Having a space that is recognizably their own is part of restoring a sense of identity and dignity."

This approach extends beyond bedrooms to all areas of the facility. Young people participate in maintaining and improving common spaces – planting gardens, creating murals, arranging furniture. These activities do more than beautify the environment; they cultivate responsibility, pride, and investment in the community.

The Invisible Architecture of Security

Perhaps what most distinguishes Diagrama's facilities is not what is present but what is absent: the overt trappings of security and control that dominate most detention environments. While security measures exist, they are designed to be unobtrusive rather than dominating the physical and psychological landscape.

"Security comes primarily from relationships and engagement, not from physical barriers," explains Jesús Teruel. "When young people feel connected and valued, when they have meaningful activities and relationships to maintain, they are less likely to attempt escape or violence."

This philosophy creates a virtuous cycle: less oppressive security measures create spaces where positive relationships can flourish, which in turn reduces the need for oppressive security measures. The result is environments that feel more like boarding schools than prisons – places of learning and growth rather than punishment and containment.

This is not to say boundaries don't exist – they most certainly do. During my visit, I witness a conversation between a center manager and a young person who had absconded the previous day. But even this interaction reflects the environmental philosophy: the manager approaches with a warm embrace rather than punitive authority, speaking closely: "Why did you do that? Don't do that again." Their conversation holds both accountability and affection, boundaries wrapped in belonging.

The Aesthetics of Hope

Walking through one of Diagrama's facilities, I notice something unexpected: beauty. Not extravagance or luxury, but intentional aesthetic choices – colourful walls, natural materials, carefully tended plants, student artwork prominently displayed.

When I comment on this, Teresa smiles. "Beauty is not a luxury – it is essential to our work. How can we ask young people to aspire toward something better if we surround them with ugliness? How can we help them imagine beautiful futures if their present environment communicates only deprivation and despair?"

This perspective challenges the often unconscious belief that those who have committed offenses somehow deserve unattractive or uncomfortable surroundings – that aesthetic deprivation is part of punishment. Instead, Diagrama recognizes that environments of beauty and dignity are prerequisites for the work of transformation, not rewards for its completion.

The Emotional Environment

Beyond the physical architecture lies what might be called the emotional architecture of Diagrama's spaces – the intangible but palpable atmosphere created by how people relate to each other within these walls.

As we move through common areas, I notice young people and staff engaged in ordinary activities together – preparing food, playing board games, tending plants, discussing weekend plans. There is laughter, casual conversation, the natural rhythm of shared life. The emotional environment feels neither artificially cheerful nor oppressively controlled – simply human.

"One of our goals – and some may criticise this – is for the young person to be happy here," Jesús had told me earlier. "Because being happy, feeling good, allows them to change and absorb new concepts and ways of expressing their emotions."

This philosophy creates what might be called an "emotional safety zone" – an environment where young people can experience not just physical security but psychological safety. Within this zone, they can practice vulnerability, process difficult emotions, attempt new behaviors, and even fail without catastrophic consequences.

The Journey Ahead

As I prepare to leave La Zarza, I reflect on the mountain before us in Australia. Reimagining the environments of youth detention requires more than new buildings or softer furnishings – it demands a fundamental philosophical shift in how we understand the relationship between space and transformation.

This shift begins with a radical premise: that environments of dignity and beauty are not luxuries or rewards but essential elements of rehabilitation. It requires us to examine our often unconscious belief that punitive environments somehow contribute to behavioral change, when evidence consistently shows the opposite.

The journey ahead will challenge deeply held beliefs about security, risk, and the very purpose of detention. It will demand that we reimagine not just our facilities but our fundamental approach to creating spaces for transformation.

But I've witnessed the destination, and it calls us forward. I've seen young people flourishing in environments designed for growth rather than mere containment. I've observed the profound impact of spaces that communicate worth rather than worthlessness, potential rather than danger.

The mountain before us is steep, but the view from the summit – a youth justice system where environments nurture rather than merely confine – is worth every step of the climb.

Together, we journey toward this vision – not as an idealistic dream but as a practical pathway toward more effective rehabilitation and safer communities.

Together, we climb.