Prisoners live fantasy lives

Press, 13 June 1979, Page 19

Prisoners live fantasy lives

Most people in Paparua Prison try to live in a fantasy world, says “Peter” who is serving a life sentence for murder.

They suffer from a lack of education and understanding and do not try and face up to problems. “They make mountains of things which are not there at all,” he says.

For many, prison is a nice safe home where all the decisions are made for them. “They should make it more like the outside,” says “Peter.” Small villas, built for up to 50 people, would make prisoners mix and organise their own routine. It would force them to face up to reality. This thoughtful, gentlelooking man has served five years of his sentence. He will not be eligible for Parole Board consideration for another tw.o years. At the moment he is confined to the prison buildings, but later he will be allowed to work outside.

Prison has taught him a better understanding of himself and other people, he says. He attributes his new-found tolerance to his counselling group, run by Harry Cohen. “You can’t be in a group for long without getting something out of it,” he says. However, people have to be ready to accept that form of treatment for it to be beneficial.

It is important, he adds, that inmates learn how to relate to others, because they have to mix with people in society sooner or later.

“Peter” appears content, or perhaps resigned to his present lot. Yet he admits that he is looking forward to being outside again and is confident that he will be able to cope — with the support of those who visit him each week.

Dave Hall and his friend “Big Dave” are less placid about prison conditions. Both have done time in Paparua and “Big Dave” has also been in Rolleston. “I hate it — every part of it,” says Dave Hall. Being in a cell by 8.30 p.m., administrative red tape, poor hygiene, and the attitudes of some prison officers — all rankled.

Both agree that there have to be prisons. Society needs to be protected from some people — but only extreme cases should be shut away. Dave Hall admitts that drugs rather than crime were the main problem for him. When he lost his drug need, there was no urge to offend. Addicts sent to prison generally have no easy let-

Whereas those imprisoned 10 years ago were often at the university level, the whole cross-section of society is now involved.

Mr Dick Allen, former acting superintendent of the women’s prison at Paparua, says the most that prisons can expect to do is to return people out to the community without too much damage having been done. “If people leave better off, that is a bit of added icing,” he says.

Prisons do give societ; a rest. But they should tr; and help people to ini prove themselves so that they can succeed on the outside. Because of the numbers in institutions, rehabilitation is lagging. But he says the women’s prison, designed for small numbers, generate a feeling of unity, which helps.

Mr Allen has no doubt that people can be changed. “But how do you decide what you are going to change a person to?” he asks. “You can never be sure what you are going to unlock.”

down. “Cold Turkey” (sudden withdrawal) is still the method used to make most inmates kick their craving for drugs. Dirty plates, badly cooked food causing food poisoning and diahorrea, toilet walls covered with slime, and a fly-ridden lunch hut are etched in Dave Hall’s memory. “You could expect a reasonable bout of food poisoning every fortnight,” he says. He adds that the surroundings affect behaviour. “If you put a person in a pig-sty he’s going to act like a pig,” he says. But the newest east wing is well looked after compared with the 50-year-old west wing, which had “potties” and no running water when he was there.

The reaction of prison officers (known as “screws”) varied. Many treated inmates like children. After one talked to some prisoners like dogs, says “Big Dave,” the men got down on their hands and knees and barked at him.” Sixty per cent of the “screws” did not care, 25 per cent cared to the degree that they did not hassle them, and 15 per cent really cared on and off, the pair estimate.

Both slate the amount of red tape to be dealt with to “get through the grills to administration.” It took him five months to get a therapy group started, says Dave Hall. Those in charge never wanted to go against head office.

More medical treatment is needed, they say, especially in the psychological and psychiatric fields. “There are emotional problems out there that you would not believe,” Dave Hall says. “Big Dave” asked for psychological help during his six months sentence but says he was refused on the grounds that he was not there long

enough. (A trained prison visitor agrees that more help should be available. He likens the present services to giving a laxative pill to a constipated elephant. “There are people who need specialised treatment. But very few who need it, get it,” he adds.) Outside, the Probation Service has given the two Daves a lot of help. “It is a must,” they say.

There are facilities to learn in prison, but even though there is a need for education, it is not learning in the formal sense that is lacking, says Dave

Hall. “If it is not inside him to learn, nothing can be done. Rehabilitation starts in the head. How can that happen in that environment,” he asks?

Inmates, he adds, are still being sent to the “pound,” where they are not allowed to associate with other prisoners, and are fed the number one diet: bread, potatoes, milk and dripping, for up to three days at a time. Many of the real problems start on the day of release. “I was put on the street on the bones of my bum. No work parole, no nothing,” says “Big Dave.” He had just completed a short stint at Rolleston, where there was a comparatively relaxed atmosphere.

What he needed most was a place to stay, and a job. He found neither and soon after he was back in prison, this time Paparua. “If there was something going like a half-way house, I wouldn’t have gone back,” he says. “Andy,” who was sent to Rolleston Prison for three weeks, also found the environment fairly relaxed. But the confinement would have worried him if he had stayed longer, he says.

Lack of privacy was one of the hardest aspects to get used to. “I realise there’s got to be a certain amount of surveillance, but very few are going to cut their throats,” says “Andy.” Three former inmates of Paparua Prison also commented on the lack of privacy. “I couldn’t get used to toilets with no bloody doors,” says one. Officers could peep into his cell, which was searched, and the visiting hall offered no privacy either. Visiting hours and conditions should be changed, these former prisoners say. So many people are crammed into a small area that it is difficult to talk to visitors. One says he asked to see his wife after the birth of their child, but was refused.

However, they have no complaints about their food, or conditions generally, and tend to be philosophical about their terms inside. One appreciated the help given by a rugby league coach “who tried everything to fix us.” Adjustment to prison life could be tough. Some of the younger inmates, they say, get “heavy” at first, but usually calm down later. “You can either like it or lump it.”