Dependency

Whilst the wider world continues with its fixation on our televisions and PlayStations, the substantive weight of imprisonment as experienced on this side of the wall is completely overlooked.

One such is the dependency that prisoners are forced to experience. Such is the level of control and regulation over the smallest details of our lives, that we are engaged in a perpetual struggle to carve out areas of autonomy or choice.

This is a child-like existence, inherently demeaning to grown men. We must ask staff for everything. Soap, socks, loo paper, to unlock the door, to allow us physical movement... Everything is designed to make us dependent. Such a deliberate effort to regulate our lives may increase the systems faith in their control, but it runs a terrible risk of eroding the abilities of their charges. I've made the point before - a good prisoner is not the same as a good citizen.

Of course, there are opportunities to exercise autonomy, in many areas of our lives. And yet, these actually shift our dependency from the prison system onto others' outside.

To give myself choices in what I wear, what I eat, drink, and when; how often I can write letters, with what class of postage and on what paper; what clothing I can wear... All of these depend on money. Not being parted with too readily by the prison system, this means being in a state of perpetual dependency on others.

The depths of this schema can be illustrated by a simple haircut. How do we get this done? Some prisons employ a prisoner-barber, which is free. Even then, his capabilities and frequency of service limit the choices that we can exercise. More often, private barbers are used. These are prisoners who can wield clippers with some skill, who we pay with tobacco. Assuming you can afford it. If you have the money, the most liberty in choice you can buy is via purchasing your own hair clippers.

This is such a small example, yet it encapsulates all of the difficulties that are involved when attempting to find some autonomy from dependency on the prison. Whether the prison barber is cutting your hair, to his skill and timescale; or whether a mate is doing it; both seem near-identical and yet are fundamentally different in their meaning and importance to the individual prisoner. I have managed to buy my own clippers now, freeing me from depending on others for haircuts(thank you!).

This dependency extends, intrudes, into every area of our lives. I write on an old word-processor that could die at any moment, killing my ability to write. The ink is scrounged off a mate, who could shut up shop. The paper is nicked from official stocks as we cannot buy A4 plain paper. The envelopes and stamps used to post it to the blog Editor are bought with donations.

The Editor spends time and effort scanning, spellchecking and posting a piece each and every day. Something more interesting may come along, you never know, and this service may cease. End of Blog.

I'm wearing clothes bought by generous others, wearing a watch which was a birthday present, smoking cigarettes and drinking cheap coffee from money given to me.

My studies, such a large part of my current life and future hopes, rest completely in the hands of other people to support and facilitate.

Every aspect of life depends on others. Be it money, time, effort or simply an ear to listen to me, it rests in the hands of others.

Without the efforts and kindness of other people, I would have nothing. And this isn't a mere materialistic point, it extends to such aspects of life as friendship and sexual expression. Remember, we can't just go out and find a new partner or friend!

And yet, through this dependency on others, within prison this gives us the ability to carve out a sphere of freedom, gives us opportunities for exercising choice in an environment designed to reduce us to automatons.

This is deeply contradictory. Perhaps, importantly, it is that our dependence on other people outside helps to reduce our dependency on the prison system. If we have to be beholden and dependent, it is far better to be so to those whose motives are kind.

It is in these deep, emotional and psychological ways that prison bears its sharpest weight. Having a TV doesn't really make up for being forced to live like a child.

First Haircut

It was obligatory, three decades ago, to keep our hair fairly short and to shave daily. We could only change our appearance with the governor's permission.

Shortly after my incarceration I was lined up for a haircut. Surprisingly, this was done by a screw rather than a con.

He took me to a small room which had a real barber’s chair, sink and mirror and began hacking away at one side of my head. Half way through, the alarm bell sounded. He dropped his scissors and ran out the door.

He didn't return for a fortnight, leaving me to look quite insane until he completed the job.