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This opinion piece has been written by Dr Nicola Mallowan, Senior Lecturer in Forensic Psychology at BNU, in collaboration with Mr Dwaine Patterson, recognised expert and advocate, who spent 7 of a 22-year sentence in solitary confinement in the UK.

The integration of Virtual Reality (VR) into the Criminal Justice System (CJS) has sparked significant debate recently, particularly when it comes to the rehabilitation of individuals subjected to solitary confinement. Proponents argue that VR offers an innovative and impactful tool to reconnect prisoners with society, restore cognitive function, and build empathy. Critics, however, raise serious concerns about the limitations of technology in addressing the deep, human-rooted wounds caused by isolation and incarceration. When working with some of the most psychologically harmed and vulnerable people, can immersive simulations really replace genuine human connection?

Recent years have seen compelling uses of VR in the CJS, suggesting that it can be a powerful tool for fostering empathy, preparing individuals for high-stress situations, and offering immersive educational and therapeutic experiences.

One promising example lies in the use of VR embodiment to address intimate partner violence. In several studies, perpetrators were placed in a virtual body from the perspective of victims, often women or children, allowing them to "experience" abuse from the other side. These immersive experiences led to measurable improvements in emotion recognition and empathy, as evidenced by changes in brain activity within the Default Mode Network, which governs self-awareness and social cognition. This suggests that, under the right conditions, VR can catalyse emotional transformation in ways traditional rehabilitation may not.

Similarly, VR has been used effectively outside of offender rehabilitation. In the UK, a project titled Through the Eyes of Another used VR to help judges and court staff better understand the emotional journey of those who have experienced domestic abuse. Built on real testimonies, the film enabled legal professionals to engage with the subtle and escalating nature of abuse, encouraging greater empathy in court decisions.

Victim support has also benefitted. Scottish courts have rolled out VR technology to help witnesses navigate the courtroom environment before giving testimony. This has reportedly reduced trauma and anxiety, particularly among vulnerable victims, helping them feel more prepared and confident.

These examples show that VR can humanise abstract processes and enhance emotional intelligence, both crucial elements of meaningful rehabilitation. Particularly in solitary confinement, where human contact is nearly non-existent, one might argue that VR could provide a much-needed cognitive and emotional stimulus.

Despite these promising applications, when it comes to the long-term rehabilitation of individuals who have endured solitary confinement, VR is not necessarily a remedy or solution. In fact, it may do more harm than good if not applied with deep ethical consideration. Solitary confinement strips individuals of basic human contact and cognitive stimulation, often leading to profound psychological damage. Common effects include anxiety disorders such as chronophobia (fear of the passage of time), depression, post-incarceration syndrome, and emotional numbing. Extended social deprivation also impairs vital functions like emotional regulation, decision-making, and the ability to form relationships.

In this context, offering a digital simulation of connection may risk reinforcing detachment rather than healing it. As Johann Hari highlighted in his influential 2015 TED Talk, Everything You Think You Know About Addiction is Wrong, the opposite of addiction, and by extension, many forms of psychological distress, is not sobriety or control, but connection. We are inherently social beings, and recovery from trauma or addiction requires genuine relationships, trust, and community.

VR, however advanced, cannot replicate the unpredictable, rich complexity of real-life interaction. It cannot teach someone how to respond to spontaneous human emotion, to build meaningful relationships, or to regain autonomy after institutionalisation. It remains a tool, valuable, but ultimately limited.  Moreover, there are practical concerns. Prolonged use of VR can result in motion sickness, eye strain, and even dissociation. For individuals already psychologically vulnerable, this could exacerbate mental health issues. Ethical dilemmas also arise around privacy, data collection, and consent, particularly in institutional environments where power dynamics are skewed. There’s also the issue of cost and accessibility—high-quality VR systems are expensive, and without proper funding, implementing them across prisons could create inequality or ineffective deployment.

Beyond these risks is the concern of dehumanisation. Solitary confinement already treats individuals as if they are separate from society, unfit for human contact. Introducing headsets instead of meaningful conversation and care might reinforce the perception that these people are not worthy of human interaction, that they are projects to be managed rather than humans to be restored.

Rehabilitation is not just about preparing someone for re-entry into society; it is about healing the harm that led them to incarceration and the additional trauma imposed by the prison system itself. Prisonisation, a process first described by Donald Clemmer in the 1940s, refers to the adaptation of prisoners to the harsh subculture of incarceration. It fundamentally changes people, often making them less able to function in free society.  People who have spent extended time in prison, especially in solitary, often emerge with diminished autonomy, social skills, and emotional resilience. They struggle with basic tasks, feel disconnected from others, and have a far higher risk of suicide, up to 18 times that of the general population, particularly in the first few months post-release.

This is not a problem VR can solve. It may simulate a shopfront or social scenario, but it cannot provide the unpredictable, rich, and deeply emotional experience of actual human contact. Nor can it teach trust, compassion, or vulnerability. These things require safe, supportive environments where people are seen, heard, and cared for.

True rehabilitation must be rooted in community. It requires funding not only for technology, but for social workers, mental health professionals, peer support networks, and restorative justice programmes. It involves restructuring prison systems to reduce harm, not just manage it. VR may be a useful supplement, but it cannot replace the human touch.