A slight young woman was put into a cell with a disturbed prisoner who was prone to violence, particularly on those who were sleeping
MEMORIES OF my five weeks on remand in Limerick Prison in February 2003 were brought back when reading Judge Michael Reilly’s report last week. I was part of a peace group that undertook a planned action – physically damaging a military aircraft – at Shannon airport during the build-up to the Iraq invasion. The action was accountable – ie we didn’t run away or try to escape – and we were eventually unanimously acquitted by a jury.
We must have been a curiosity to the inmates and staff of Limerick Prison. As prisoners of conscience, with a public profile, we received almost daily, morale-boosting visits from other peace activists, so in that sense our experience differed from the lonely reality many prisoners face.
The rules on remand are slightly more relaxed in terms of contact with the outside world. Three of us were female prisoners, which meant we had toilets in our cell, so we were spared the indignity of slopping out. It’s not clear to me why this was so: it is unsanitary and undignified, regardless of gender.
I shared a cell with a very resourceful co-defendant. I would awake at the crack of dawn to the sound of her cleaning the floor with a mop, and I would do the rest of the cleaning when I woke up. It was vital to keep up some sort of discipline in a prison setting.
The Simpsons and coverage of the build-up to war were our main evening TV fixes. During the day, we responded to letters, read, talked and went to the gym or to some of the classes.
The activist philosophy and sense of political purpose helped me adapt to conditions in prison. The food was institutional and unappetising, but edible. My main worries while there were related to how my family were adjusting to my sense of vocation to war resistance at that time in my life. As prison stays go, mine could have been a lot worse.
But the concentration of human suffering in the women’s prison was evident. One woman was volatile and drew pictures all over her cell, on the sheets, pillowcases and walls. Compassionate medical and psychological attention was what this woman needed, rather than prison. Another woman had stolen a baby and didn’t understand why she had done it. She was distressed and sorry for her actions.
One night, a slight young woman was put into a cell with a disturbed prisoner who was prone to violence, particularly towards those who were sleeping. Usually, nobody shared with this prisoner. The young woman was frightened, so we all staged a protest on our corridor by banging en masse on the doors.
A woman in her 20s from Eastern Europe told me she had married at 15 and had five children. Her youngest had not been weaned when she was arrested, and she cried day and night because of the separation. In her country, education was not encouraged for girls of her ethnicity, so she signed her name with an X. She passionately wanted to read and write.
Some of the women at Limerick were still in their late teens and early 20s, but it didn’t seem to me that educational opportunities were being properly seized by the prison system. There were classes, taught by good people, but they occurred irregularly.
Often, it seemed people were being kept placid to ensure the smooth running of the institution. Frequently, I would walk along the corridor when cell doors were open, and find myself navigating clouds of marijuana smoke floating out of doors, as the women watched Coronation Street on multi-channel TVs.
For prisoners who have had troubled and disadvantaged lives, it seemed to me that a stay in Limerick Prison merely papered over the cracks. The criminal justice system is full of decent professionals who want to help, but having gone through three trials and countless hearings, I know how easy it is to feel like a pawn in the system.
Some prisoners have done terrible things and not all come from disadvantaged backgrounds. However, deep social deprivation is a factor in many cases. As long as we live in a society with an underclass of have-nots, we are doomed to repeat patterns of prison sentences and recidivism.
Prison authorities are often working with limited resources in an outmoded system. Change needs to occur at the level of public policy in order for prison to become an opportunity for rehabilitation. Let’s hope Judge Reilly’s report gives our policy makers food for thought.
Deirdre Clancy is currently studying for a masters in Ethics at Dublin City University/Mater Dei Institute of Education
The report: Intimidation and overcrowding
LOW-LEVEL intimidation of prisoners by some prison officers, overcrowding, filthy cells and broken windows are among the most serious problems in Limerick Prison, according to the inspector of prisons, Judge Michael Reilly, whose report was published last week by the Department of Justice.
"In some cells there were no individual slop-out pots and prisoners had to share pots . . . The continued incarceration of prisoners in these divisions is inhuman and degrading," he said.
Among the actions he recommended were escorting prisoners in cells with no sanitation to the toilet, the repair and cleaning of toilets, the cleaning and repair of equipment in certain areas and the painting of cells. The re-opening of workshops should be reviewed and the regimes and services should be generally improved. The Irish Prison Service should alleviate over-crowding.
Michael Donnellan, director general of the Prison Service, said an action plan had been put in place to rectify the issues raised.
