BISMARCK, N.D.—Classrooms are complete with fish tanks bubbling with underwater life. Poetry slams and barbeques are a regular occurrence. Students take field trips to better understand history and groups volunteer once a month, serving food to the homeless. Some spend their spare time working at gigs like training service dogs by teaching them necessary skills.

What sound like fancy suburban boarding schools are actually North Dakota prisons.

These programs at the prisons are based on findings from a far-away source: Norway. In 2015, a cohort of North Dakota legislators, judicial branch members and prison officials were among those who took a trip to Norway to learn about the country's incarceration system. Organized by California's Prison Law Office, these trips are part of the nonprofit's efforts to reform prisons in the U.S. by exposing officials to the methods of European prisons.

The gymnasium at Halden maximum-security prison in Halden, Norway, features a climbing wall. (Trond Isaksen/Statsbygg)

Creating good neighbors is the goal of the Norwegian prison system, with no mention of punishment or retribution. The concept stands in stark contrast to the discipline and punishment system deployed across the United States, evidenced by mandatory minimum sentences – policies that require a certain number of years in prison for specific crimes, regardless of individual situations – as well as solitary confinement and other policies that resulted from the "tough on crime" approach that gained popularity in the 1970s.

Leann Bertsch, director of the North Dakota Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (DOCR), and Karianne Jackson, then the director of correctional practices at the DOCR, were among those on the Norway trip. Upon their return, the DOCR revamped its training to focus on dynamic security, a philosophy based on the idea that allowing people to make choices and giving them the opportunity to do better will lead to a safer prison because a person who is treated humanely is less likely to be violent.

At the state's minimum security prison – the Missouri River Correctional Center, often referred to as "the Farm" – in Bismarck, it's easy to see dynamic security at work within the building's taupe-colored walls.

On a February afternoon, two residents (which is how the DOCR now refers to their inmates) who participate in a program that allows them to train service dogs as employment let the dogs under their charge take a break from their studies to frolic in a staff member's window-filled office. The trio chatted casually about their days and laughed at the dogs' antics in a way that was reminiscent more of co-workers at a watercooler than inmates in a prison.

What's more, not all Missouri River residents live within the prison walls.

Some now live in accommodations originally used by oil workers during the nearly decadelong Bakken Oil Boom. What were known as "man camps" – temporary housing units resembling trailer homes that contain several smaller one-room dorms – began to pop up during that time. When the oil dwindled, Bertsch was able to get one. Today, a dozen or so men who are nearing the end of their time at the Farm live in the trailer now called the Transitional Housing Unit, and have their own rooms with locking doors.

The North Dakota State Penitentiary maximum security facility, also in Bismarck, has seen its own slew of changes. Life at "the Pen," as it's known, now includes softball tournaments that staff and residents create and participate in together.

Once called the Segregation Unit, those in solitary confinement at the Pen were on lockdown for 23 hours a day during the week and 24/7 on the weekends. Most stayed for eight to nine months on average and the return rate was roughly 42 percent.

It's now called the Behavior Intervention Unit and it's been redesigned to do exactly that.

The infractions that can land an inmate in the BIU have been restricted to 10 of the most serious (like murder or possession of weapons) instead of the essentially limitless number of possible offenses when staffs' subjective opinions defined the criteria. Time there now includes four and a half hours of programming, such as behavioral treatment sessions or classes toward a GED diploma, each day. Every BIU resident is issued a report card and an improvement plan that consists of specific skills to be gained in order to move out. Most are released within the first 24 hours thanks to a new review system. Those who do stay are often out within a few months, and BIU recidivism hovers at 21 percent.

The on-the-ground changes that have been taking place since 2015 have since become state law.

Republican Gov. Doug Burgum signed Senate Bill 2015 and House Bill 1041 into law in April 2017 to lower the number of offenders in the state's system.

The latter bill expanded sentence reductions, reduced mandatory minimums and established presumptive probation guidelines for the majority of class C felonies, such as most possession of controlled substances other than marijuana, and class A misdemeanors, like a second offense of assault against a family or household member.

The former mandated all correctional facilities to create a prison population plan and required each county to explicitly offer alternatives to physical custody, including everything from drug and alcohol treatment to employment and home detention. It also gave correctional facilities the ability to prioritize and decide which prisoners need to come into their system once their operational maximum capacity is reached. So far, the result has been a 6.5 percent drop in the state's penitentiary prison population according to a 2018 report presented to the state's legislators.

However, not all staff members were on board with the Nordic-style prison reforms rolled out over the last few years. Many correctional officers didn't agree with the transformation of their roles as authoritarian administers of discipline and order to something more closely resembling a social worker. As the Pen's Warden Colby Braun explains, the philosophy is so far outside what most officers learn and know that the transition can be a difficult one to make. Many officers who didn't jive with the reforms quit early on.

The same year that the reforms went into law, Jackson left the DOCR, frustrated that she wasn't seeing the progress she hoped for. Prisons have a history of being risk averse and focusing on public safety above all else, limiting the true Norway-esque change that can be achieved, she explains.

Halden prison has a living room where prisoners are encouraged to cook their own meals. (Trond Isaksen/Statsbygg)

While she has since founded JustUs LLC to advance prison reform, those who stayed at DOCR through the introductions of the reforms seem willing to enact change, evidenced by staff members coming in on their days off to participate in prison-wide events like the Great American Bike Race – and residents have taken notice.

"They really pay attention and they watch to see if there's any way they can help," says MRCC resident Theodore Hedke. "It seems to be working for me. I mean, I'm doing a whole lot better than what I was. I plan on turning my life around and doing the same thing when I get out on the street."

Fellow resident Charles Butcher has also benefited from the change-based methods he's encountered at MRCC. Discussing the conflict resolution methods he's gained, "it took a lot of time for me to learn to just walk away. I picked it up here," he says.

However, the women in the state's sole female institution in tiny New England, North Dakota, who comprise 12 percent of the state's prison population, have yet to enjoy the same experience. The Dakota Women's Correctional and Rehabilitation Center is the only privately owned facility in the state and, so far, its administrators have yet to implement the same changes, citing a lack of staff necessary to do so. The women's facility warden, Rachelle Juntunen, disagrees with the DOCR's assertion, noting that that staff and residents participate in activities together, the women volunteer off-site, and special visitation events occur around Christmas. "Staff are responsive to the women and interact with them on the floors, at times, playing games with those that can use some extra guidance," Juntunen said in an email.

To address the disparity of services, Gov. Burgum, with Bertsch's support, proposed a plan to bring the female population to the Missouri River Correctional Center in Bismarck and transfer the facility's current male population to the State Hospital's campus in Jamestown. Designed to address the disparity in services that women receive, Burgum's plan was voted down by the House Appropriations Committee on Feb. 19 in favor of a two-year study. Now the plan's fate lies in the hands of the Senate.

While North Dakota is still figuring out inclusivity in its prison reforms, the results so far have inspired Wyoming to look north for solutions to its prison woes. States from Oregon and Alaska to Idaho have all toured European prison systems.