Stanford Prison

Stanford University, basement of the psychology building, August 17, 1971. Random assignment has made you a 'guard.' Khaki uniform, mirrored sunglasses, wooden baton. In the adjacent cell, fellow students play 'prisoners' in coarse smocks — students you took finals with last week. Day three, 2 a.m. Your shift partner, Hellmann, has prisoner #5401 standing at attention in the corridor. 'You want to sleep? Fifty more push-ups.' #5401 is already shaking; he hasn't slept in 30 hours. Dr. Zimbardo is nowhere to be seen, only his note from earlier: 'Act like a guard.' Hellmann turns to you and grins — 'Want a turn?' #5401 meets your eyes. There is fear in them. The baton trembles slightly in your hand.