A Novel Resettlement Scheme

The willingness of Britain's Upper legislative chamber, the House of Lords, to continue to employ members on their release from prison warms my heart.

If only other enterprises were so open minded...

What a washout

Senior management have removed the washing machine and drier from the Reception department. And why should you give a hoot?

Reception is where we are - surprise - received into the prison and it is our last stop before release. Reception also deals with our property, clothing, incoming parcels, and so on. Their dealings with our clothing are a significant part of their work in that they monitor the amount we have, what we can buy, and what we are all¬owed to have. At the end of our sentence they are also obliged, by law, to ensure that we are suitably equipped with clothing as we hit the street. Society is worried enough by ex-cons; releasing us naked would only increase that social angst.

Reception has a small mountain of clothing which has been donated by prisoners, for various reasons. Much of this is high quality merchandise. When a man reaches the end of his time he is offered a selection of these clothes to wear. Obviously these clothes need to be clean, hence their need for a washing machine.

In taking the machines away, Reception will now have to stop accepting donated clothing and instead will have to go out and buy new clothing to equip those being discharged. This will cost tens of thousands of quid.

This is why you should give a damn about the bizarre shenanigans of prison managers. The results of their decisions will shortly appear on your tax bill.

A Question

Does anybody know of any research that focuses on the functioning and culture of  Segregation Units in the UK?

Or does my present job as an orderly give me a chance to add something new to the literature?

No blog today

Been to a funeral, normal service tomorrow!

The Disappeared

Putting my feet up mid-morning I heard voices just outside my door, "...and look into the empty cells to see that staff aren't hiding anyone..." There was a small chuckle of disbelief.

Sticking my head out I discovered a gaggle of the Independent Monitoring Board.  The experienced member was explaining to two new members how he inspected the Block.

The IMB - an independent watchdog body - is often subjected to criticism but in this case the advice of the experienced member was sound.  I've been in blocks where prisoners have been so badly beaten that staff have tried to hide them in an "empty" cell, safe from the eyes of  visiting governors, chaplains and the IMB.

I explained this to the new member.  Strange things can happen in prison, after all.  It was also worth my pointing out that my presence was an indication that this Block was free of such abuses.  Only a fool would employ a cynical blogger as Block orderly if they weren't pretty sure I'd be bereft of negative material!

Third Time Lucky?

From the Ed:

Ben was told yesterday that he is to be transferred to an open prison this coming Wednesday.

Let's hope he actually makes it this time...

Kidnapped

The dull sound of a polycarbonate riot shield outside of your cell door is never a welcome one.  It’s invariably a portent of Bad Things.

All the more so when you have just refused to be transferred. The rattling shield is the signal that the refusal is not being taken as the final word. Such was the situation with one of the guys in this Block recently.

Watching as best I could through the gap around my door, I witnessed the initial charge into the cell. Known to us as a "planned cell extraction", it involves a 3 man team (in this case, led by a woman) that charge into the cell, the shield-bearer leading the way. Having wedged the prisoner with the shield the two flanking staff attempt to secure the con’s arms in Aikido joint-locks in what is tastefully known as "pain compliance". Once "compliant" the con is moved from A to B, in this instance B being another prison.

As with all plans, this one didn't go quite as predicted. Matey squirmed and wriggled his way around his cell floor for a good 40 minutes before being firmly grasped, a period of time so long that staff involved had to be relieved half way through. This "use of force" is always a messy affair and it is a welcome development that such events are attended by a screw with a video camera. We can only hope that this reduces the scope of staff getting carried away and crossing that fine line between a legitimate use of force and assault.

Matey was, finally, “bent up" and carted away. To his credit, he was cogently and calmly complaining all through the process, rather than screaming bloody murder. Interestingly, it is not the staff who regularly man the Block who conduct these operations; staff are brought from elsewhere in the prison. I assume that someone realised that occupants of the Block can hardly have any type of working relationship with staff who may have previously been twisting them up. A rare glimpse into the prison service's single neuron in action?

I myself prefer to walk onto the sweatbox for a transfer. If I’m not happy about it, it's the receiving prison which finds out...

Hotel Catering

A wily con waved around a regulation stating that we should be provided with either 2 slices of bread or toast at breakfast.

Much staff debate followed. Now my first job of the day is to make toast for all. This didn't pass unnoticed by staff, the comment "are we running a hotel?" being most frequent.

As ever, this raises the question - what is the nature of punishment? And what should its details comprise?

Toast, or plain bread at breakfast?

Compulsory Pampers?

Walking out of my door first thing in the morning, my only thought being the logistics of toast making, my brain was slightly confused when confronted by men dressed as aliens. Paper suits, gloves, goggles...Just what had happened to the world whilst I was asleep??

Then the rolls of Biohazard tape began to be deployed, sealing off a cell and its occupant. Ah, a dirty protest. For the uninitiated, a dirty protest is rather more than the avoidance of soap and water. A dirty protest is to smear one’s cell with excrement - and to keep living in it.

In days of old this form of protest was very disruptive to all involved and within olfactory range. This bureaucratic age, though, has seen the writing of a detailed policy for everything, including dirty protests. Out come the paper suits and striped tape, and life goes on as normal. The protestor is also charged with endangering Health and Safety.

Of all the many forms of protest available to prisoners, the dirty protest is one of the more extreme and one which I refuse to indulge in. Given the procedures developed to deal with dirty protests, their utility as a disruptive force has been much muted.

Living in a box smeared with crap is a desperate ploy but, thankfully, not the method of protect chosen by many.  

More Abuse

A very unhappy con shouted through his block cell door, "You fat cow!" The female screw was outraged, having lost a significant amount of weight.  "I'm not fat".  The con, retreating from an unsustainable accusation, paused for a moment.  "Well, you're not exactly skinny, are ya?!"

The Block

It struck me that what is, to my jaded eyes, mundane and familiar is unknown territory for most people outside. How do you imagine a punishment Block in your mind’s eye? Possibly something dark and damp, populated by unwashed, starving and hirsute desperados?

Whilst not denying the existence of such places -?- -most Blocks are housed at base­ment level - the one whose floor I sweep (in between breaks from writing...) is a more humble yet modern edifice. In a previous incarnation a resettlement unit, the 10 cells line a single short corridor. The 8 punishment cells on one side, the 2 orderlies, shower and storeroom on the other. Around the corner, occupied by the main office, are the 2 holding cells,  a "special cell", the servery,  adjudication room and managers office. The whole comprises a very small building.

On paper, the daily regime is sparse and structured around the mandatory events for all Blocks. During the day a governor, medic and chaplain will visit each cell and conduct a ritualistic exchange with each Prisoner. "Any problems...?"

The captive residents are unlocked, one at a time, to collect breakfast and make appl­ications just after 8am. Cereal, toast, flask of water, tea bags. This is the main exchange with staff during each day, the moment to chase up problems or raise issues. It is also the point at which each man can subscribe to "the regime" - to elect to have exercise, a shower or use the payphone. Often, these exchanges set the tone, the level of tension, for the rest of the day.

Once all have been fed, bang-up reigns. Those who have so chosen will, always singly, take their exercise etc. The statutory visitors - governor, medic, chaplain, will make their rounds. Except for these momentary interruptions, each man is left alone behind his door. By lunchtime this activity has petered out and from lunchtime through to the next breakfast prisoners are rarely disturbed from their lock-up save to collect their tea time meal. It can be appreciated that the Block is not a place of great activity. The locked cell door and absence of visible prisoners is the hallmark of all Blocks.

Any thought that this suggests a quiet, monastic existence should be held very tentatively...

Taking the Temperature

In a quiet moment the member of staff pointed out that it had been a peaceful few days across the prison.  "That means either that there's absolutely no drugs about, or a lot of drugs about..."

Before the advent of heroin as a great force, it was a staff mantra that "a stoned prisoner is a happy prisoner".  The spliff may have been replaced by the needle, but not much ever changes.

Ingenuity

The creation of a non—smoking prison on the Isle of Man has seen prisoners doing what we do best – using time and desperation to circumvent the restric­tions placed upon us. In this care, the desperate locals have resorted to boiling nicotine patches to extract the ingredients to sate their hunger for a decent hit of nicotine.

This enterprise pales into insignificance compared to a recent event here. A man managed to build a computer in his cell with illicit components.

Never underestimate a prisoner with a lot of spare time...

Progress and the Human Spirit

Is it not a central purpose of political society to wrangle the monstrous atavistic emotions that batter our modern minds and to sift them, to channel and retrain them, to re-shape them into social forces that move us forward to a better civilisation?

From the perspective of lifelong resident in the bowels of the State, it appears that every human endeavour has given birth to the greatest heights of aspiration. Literature, art, science, philosophy, politics economics...there is no field, which, while encompassing the basest of our drives, has not moved humanity onwards to new perspectives, joys, opportunities. Society has benefited from every difficult step we have taken as a society from the primordial slime.

Amidst this social and human bounty there stands a rancid edifice. It is replicated in city centres across the nation and as individuals we pass beneath the walls with indifference. The edifice that is prison stands in almost deliberate opposition to all of the advances achieved by our society.

This is not to deny the existence of change. Prison itself as a form of punishment is a rather modern development, a concrete manifestation of a shift in the nature of punishment from inflicting bodily pain to inflicting mental suffering. Does this constitute an advance, progress? Does this change in the locus of pain stand as a beacon of social achievement?

No. Imprisonment is a failure on every level. In practical terms, it persistently fails to change the individuals who are fed through the gates and subjected to the process of mortification. On a social level, imprison­ment perpetuates crime through gross reoffending levels. And on a human level, inflicting suffering upon each other degrades us all.

Why has punishment, this wilfully self-defeating infliction of suffering, remain immune from the progress that is evident in every other field of human endeavour? Why do we cling to the ancient urges to hurt those who hurt us,even when there is no benefit? And why is this debased enterprise seemingly unable to be transformed by social or political processes so that it reflects the best of humanity rather than the worst?