The Rehabilitation Joke

I have just formally applied to have my word processor in my possession in order to continue my Ph.D. research.  The Governor responded with a lifeless, bureaucratic "not approved".

With that reasoned explanation, he has rung the death knell on my research and my rehabilitation. Just a couple of words to trash my future employment choices, 3 years of work, and the money that you donated towards my fees.

Such is he nature of the rehabilitation ideal in the modern prisoner service.  It has led to a plague of very nice notices, but the reality is a sick joke.

Tired

Somehow, I am very tired of all of this.  I'm tired of fighting my depression, I'm tired of waking up each day to another string of meaningless and empty hours, days, maybe years.  Tired of being frustrated, of having to battle for every little thing, trying to find something positive. And tired of being scared of my cancer.

I'm just...tired of it all.

Everything good that was happening has gone; my studies and career, writing, health - all gone.  And maybe the Cat D too.

I'm tired.

PhD progress.

My brain is still sweating bullets of blood from my recent supervisory session, but it seems that your donations have not been a wasted effort!

Between me and my university supervisors, we have found a way forward that somehow doesn't bring me into conflict with the prison and yet allows me to deliver the goods at the end.

My first order of business is to refine my research questions and produce my literature review. All obvious, run of the mill stuff...except I was tying myself in knots.

Every book, every paper, I read set me off on a tangent, a new line of exploration - a fatal, and common, mistake in the early stages of research. We spent a lot of time discussing this, and guiding me to retain my precise focus. Hence, tightening up my research questions.

My main problem has been to select a schema for Human Needs from amongst the several available, providing my conceptual lens. Maslow, Toch, Burton, Galtung, Azar..I didn't want to just pick one at random! So we decided that the best course would be to use two schema of Needs, one originating from Conflict and Peace studies - Burton - and one that is rooted within the sociology of prisons - Sykes.

This is just a brief note to keep you up to date with what’s happening - after all, you did have the kindness to fund me to continue with my research.

The Unusual Offer, Again

Perhaps I ought to confess to succumbing to what I call "Lifer's paranoia". This involves looking for, and suspecting, a Grand Plan being formed behind the scenes by staff. It's not an affliction that I'm often afflicted with; any urge to see non-existent patterns in managerial behaviours is offset by my unfailing belief that the people who run my life couldn't organise a shag in a brothel.

And so, having had a second meeting with the relevant manager, I am actually persuaded that some small amount of goodwill may be emanating from the necessary quarters. It's been so long since that's happened that I didn't recognise it.

In principle, then, I have agreed to take the offer of doing my research "in-cell". Now the hard negotiating begins to try to minimize the part of the deal that involves me being banged-up all day. I do rather fancy seeing the sun at some point over the next few months. Gaining a PhD would have the edge taken off it if it's accompanied with rickets!

The Unusual Offer

It was a meeting described to me as looking like a conversation between a Mafia don and his mistress... that's my panama hat again!

Last Friday afternoon, sunny, warm, and sitting out around the pond in the yard. Sorry, "community garden". Why aren't we working? As a cost cutting measure last year, the "core regime" across the prison estate abandoned Friday afternoons, leaving us banged up or on association.

Leaving the Admin block, the manager took a diagonal path across the yard and approached my gaggle of mates. "Can I have a word?" We adjourned to a picnic table. I was conscious of a yard full of eyes watching us.

She made me an offer. That I do "in cell" education and get paid a tenner a week. But, unlike everyone else on in-cell ed, I have to be locked up all day. The No.l governor had already signed off on this deal.

We bantered over some details, such as access to the library, before we decided to resume in a few days time. I went back to my mates and we watched her walk away. "Definitely a thong", one groaned wistfully, "no VPL".

I bounced the offer off them and they were divided. A tenner was better than being unemployed, yet agreeing to being banged-up was a downer. None of us could unravel what was behind this turn of events.

And it is a strange and unexpected development. For two years I've been neglected, left behind my door, and any suggestion that I be employed on in-cell education flatly refused. Why, then, was this offer made? What prompted it? And why now?

Three weeks ago I applied to attend education on a very part-time basis. The application has sat in their office since then, being treated like Kryptonite. That education management don't want me in the department could be an impetus to make this new offer, essentially a bribe to keep me away. But do they dislike me that much? Possibly... Or it could be some external impetus that has freed up management thinking, maybe my university, maybe the visitor with powerful friends I've received of late. Or did I sting them with something I've written here?

This mystery will probably never be solved. Management are like the iceberg, most of their activity occurs beneath the surface and indiscernible. But without knowing the reasons for this offer, I cannot judge my bargaining power.

It is a baffling offer. Paying me to study in my cell does have the advantage of seeing me get a few shekels, and its a deal only those too infirm to attend the education department are normally permitted. So this is movement indeed. And yet; everyone else on in-cell education is left unlocked all day. Why, then, the insistence that I be firmly sealed behind my door? And given the time of year, this would see me deprived of daylight until next spring.

Should I take this deal? And if I don't, will it be spun against me?

Research

I could just put up my original research proposal for those interested in my PhD but, in fairness, it is the dullest thing on Earth. Excuse me, then, for giving you the very short version:

There is a constituency in the field of conflict/peace studies that argues that all individuals have innate needs. Many of you will recall Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, I think? This is not the only model of needs but it should give you some familiarity with the concept.

It is argued that individuals will struggle to fulfil those needs and, if no other avenues are available, this struggle may include violence.

I am attempting to examine conflict and violence within prisons through the conceptual lense of Human Needs. Prisons, by definition and as a matter of policy, deny fundamental needs. Prisoners, being human(!), will attempt to fulfil those needs.

If avenues of legitimate struggle are not available, then this conflict could lead to violence, both against the institution and between prisoners.

So I'm having a shufti to see if this reasoning is correct and if there are avenues of struggle which are not violent and yet effective in fulfilling human needs.

And that, guys, is the very short version of my research!

What can I say??

Your response to my plea for help with funding my studies was overwhelming, the target reached in just a few days! That I caught your attention, and received your generosity, in a world full of insanity and need is very touching. It also puts me on notice that there are a lot of people who have expectations of me and I'd better damn deliver!

As always happens when my name breaks free of the confines of this blog into the wild, deep passions are stirred. One blogger, while plugging my plea and making a donation, also made the point that I should perhaps just be grateful not to have been executed! Cheers, Old H.

I do seem to be a sporadic, minor, lightening rod for the debate between rehabilitation and punishment. Some think I should spend forever in a dank dungeon living off rats, whilst others take a view that change is to be encouraged and assisted. Divining the mindset beneath these views I discern a definite pattern. Those who want me to rot are those who dehumanize prisoners, we are animals, the perpetual Other. Those who support rehabilitation see us as flawed people and "there but for the grace of God..." Neither, I suspect, will ever change their views and so I will never attempt to do so. All I will ever do is present myself as I have, as a three dimensional human being, and if some wish to refuse to see that then it reflects more on them than I.

Another interesting strand is the naivety of some people! In an age when a police can brutalise, even kill, a civilian in the full gaze of the public how can anyone believe that what goes on in my enclosed world is always above board and proper? Such faith in Authority is quite worrying to witness.

This seemed to be most often raised in relation to questioning why I have served 30 years. Surely, some say, I must be a lot more wicked than I claim? These people demand a simple, straightforward explanation when the truth is, there isn't one. The progress of a Lifer results from a thousand decisions, large and small, and to demand An Answer is futile. It's complicated.

There are those suspicious minds who refuse to believe a word I say, they want independent proof. Well, everyone was quite happy to accept my confession and plea of guilty in court; so when did I become a monstrous liar? And parading myself in the public eye should be some guarantee. The Ministry of Justice and the screws are long practiced in spreading poison and if there was serious dirt to be dished, one of these malign forces would have done so by now, don't you think?

There were a dozen reasons why some people took offence at my existence, let alone felt willing to donate, and all held in good faith. Of course, some were barking mad but sincere nonetheless. Such was the visceral hatred from some quarters that they provoked larger donations in from other people, so thanks!

And in some comments I detected an interesting authoritarian strand of frustration - insisting that I should just comply, comply, comply. It is sad, and baffling, that there are those who believe that just because some person, or institution, has a lawful authority then all they do should be immune from criticism or challenge. These people are infuriated that I argue the toss. Ho hum!

But despite these confused, genuine and malevolent constituencies there were sufficient numbers of you interested enough to donate so that my studies can continue. Seems I bring out the worst in some people but the very best in others. Thank you.

PhD

Saw Ben yesterday and told him of the support being generously given by people. He was quite speechless and overwhelmed and promises to write a post about this as soon as we have reached the target. Thank you for your continued support.
We are even in the Guardian!

message from the Editor:

It is heart warming to see such an overwhelming show of support for Ben's PhD. There is over £500 in the pot already! I look forward to giving Ben the good news when I visit him later today.

Can you spare a bit of change, guv?

This was never intended to be a personal campaign blog, nor any sort of money spinner. The donate button exists at the insistence of the Editor, who had to twist my arm! I still refuse to install a traffic meter. I have been aspiring to a purity in blogging which probably never did exist.

But now I find myself in a hole and - improbably! - a Tory activist suggests that I make the plea for help here. As uncomfortable as this makes me - and this will be reflected in the poor quality of this post’s writing - I think I'm so bereft of options that I have no other choice. So...

My PhD is about to die on its arse, unless I find £1650 in the next thirty days. Funding for my education has rested in the hands of private individuals and charities for over a decade, the prison service washing their hands of me at about the time it became really influential.

Why did I even begin a Doctorate? For many reasons, both personal and professional. Looking to my future, and the frosty arms of the society I will return to, then the broader the number of options I have to explore and the greater the chance of my being able to have some semblance of a career.

One of my options is to continue with my prison campaigning work, to be a media tart perpetually beating the drum for change. Blogging, but louder and with pictures! And, cynical but I think true, I'm more likely to be afforded this voice as "Dr Ben Gunn, Criminologist and Ex-Prisoner", rather than merely "ex-prisoner". But finding a way to make a living in the future is the smallest of reasons for my research. The most important impetus is a deeply personal one.

Ever since I killed my friend, I have struggled under the moral debt this places upon me. I have lived a non-violent life ever since that day and attempt to encourage others to do so. My research attempts to explore ways in which violence in prison - and other dysfunctional communities - can be reduced, without the powerless being further dis-empowered.

The PhD is a fundamental step, for me, along the moral journey that may mean that I leave life having added to the world and not being a detriment to it. Previously, I have been able to raise funding from supportive individuals and charities. Prisoners are refused access to the university's discretionary funds. This year, though, I have a huge problem because I have nothing to show for the last year’s worth of funding. Nothing. So putting on my Oliver Twist impression for them would be pretty insulting.

I have to quickly say that this is not my indolence or ineptitude. This prison has, to put it as mildly as I possibly can, messed me about and obstructed me to the extent that I just couldn't do my research. The Education Department sank so low as to refuse to even supply me with writing paper. This forced me into taking the year off, waiting for an improvement in circumstances.

This has now hoved into view. Within a month or two I could either be in open prison, or another closed prison, depending on the outcome of my parole hearing (which I still don't have a date for). Either move would vastly improve my research environment.

There is now just the matter of the fees for the coming year... If anyone has any ideas, or an insanely rich benevolent friend, that could enrich my university within the next few weeks then please, please email* the Editor (or hit the donate button).

I've struggled hard with this. My personal life, and its problems, was only ever meant to be a peg upon which to hang a discussion of the broader issues of prison and I hope that this intrusion hasn't sullied this blog.

I have also struggled with what I could offer in return for these monies. Bugger all. Or at least, nothing concrete, if for no other reason that the Ministry of Justice would use any such contract as a legal basis to shut down the blog. All I can say is that it is a leap of faith, a hefty vote of confidence in my abilities and future to the degree that I will be able to repay you.

*Ed’s note: the blog e-mail is bengunn12612@googlemail.com

A Narrow Identity

Perhaps it isn't surprising but the Prison Service has great difficulty in perceiving prisoners as other than the sum of that social construct. We are viewed as incompetent, lazy, undisciplined, devious, manipulative, untrustworthy and unstable. They teach this to new staff during training and the whole of the institutional structure reflects these beliefs.

Our particular crimes apart, our personal qualities vary. Some of us are, or try to be; good husbands and fathers (geographical restrictions permitting...). Some are excellent students. Others are steady, consistent workers. A few are incredibly creative, writing, painting, craft making and so on. We have a range of qualities but these are all disregarded and dismissed as irrelevant. "Prisoner" is the sum of our official parts and no competency is permitted to enter the official consciousness.

That is, of course, until they need something. Then, for a brief moment, they are forced to admit that we can be more than the sum of the official construction.

A couple of years ago the prison service found itself lumbered with an Action Plan supervised by the Commission for Racial Equality. This is what happens when you put a violent racist in a cell with an Asian man and a murder results. Part of this Plan involved conducting impact assessments of all prison policies and practices. As is the way, the staff screwed it up and were left with three weeks in which to re-do the exercise.

All of a sudden, prisoners weren't the detritus of humanity; we were badly needed to help management out of this hole. I was invited to come and play. Hmmm, me help management?

Obviously, I said yes... no, really, I did. It was my reasoning that improved race equality could only be a good thing for minority prisoners; if helping managers fill in a bunch of forms for HQ was the route to that, so be it. It also occurred to me that this was a chance for prisoners to play a direct part in helping to influence policy as it was being made. If we could show that we were competent, then this would challenge their perceptions of us. So helping management was merely a means to these ends, a balance I could live with.

So I formed a team, collated a mountain of policy papers and background reports and together we conducted ten surveys on distinct policy areas. Amazingly, because this was a management imperative then all things suddenly became possible. I was allowed to have a laptop in my cell; I only had to ask for a ream of paper and it was produced; access to printers in Education was unobstructed. The definition of "prisoner" was, out of necessity, expanded to include ideas of competence and trustworthiness.

The exercise was happily completed and our recommendations were largely ignored. This was always the risk but the effort was worth the attempt.

But once the exercise was over, I was firmly returned to the narrow conceptual box of being "a prisoner". Now, even though I have one of the strongest arguments of any prisoner to have a laptop in my cell, it is denied. I have to find sheets of paper where I can, because there isn't even a facility for us to buy it by the ream. Access to printing in Education is impossible, as they have disabled the USB ports on their PC's.

I won't even begin to explain how this perception affects my attempts to undertake my PhD, how the malign construct of "prisoner" is used to constrain me. In the eyes of management, it is impossible to view a prisoner as a "researcher", it is impossible for them to pause from repeating the official mantra of “unworthy, unreliable” and allow us to even try to be responsible human beings.

As someone more perceptive than I once stated, "just because we are not allowed any responsibility, it doesn't mean that we are irresponsible". Such a pity that we must function within an official culture of contempt.
PS. Rehabilitation, anyone...?