About five years ago I became aware that there are many people in our prison system who never receive visitors. I had attended a symposium on law and order in today's society and one of the guest speakers gave a talk which moved me greatly. So greatly that I stayed back when the session was over in order to speak with him.
He was an elderly fellow but still spry and obviously still capable of feeling passionate about injustice and prejudice.
From this small beginning, I have now reached a stage where it is part of my life to visit two particular prisoners at least once every month or so. Previously, I'd never been prone to do much in the way of volunteering. Like most people, I had considered myself far too busy with my own affairs to have time and energy left over for much else.
Anyway, the day came when I made my first visit to see a man named Alf. He was not in maximum security. Alf had been in prison for over fifteen years by then and had been transitioned to what we call a "prison farm", where there are no bars and locks and where offenders are supposedly prepared for re-entry to society.
Obviously, one wonders what Alf had done to deserve incarceration. The answer is that he was found guilty of the unlawful carnal knowledge of his fifteen-year-old niece. At first blush, I know this sounds horrendous and inexcusable, and I have no desire to justify his actions. But I do want to tell you something of this man's life history.
From birth, Alf was what we sometimes call "simple". He was the last in a large family and his arrival was an unwelcome surprise to a menopausal mother and a middle-aged father. He was a nervous child and was teased unmercifully at school. Eventually he simply stopped going to school at all. His drunken father was prone to beat his youngest son and his wife on a regular basis. Fortunately, this brutal man died around the time of Alf's fifteenth Birthday.
A brief stint in the workforce was a disaster for Alf. He was not cut out to be a tyre-fitter and he was mocked and derided by workmates for being so slow and simple. So, for many years, Alf stayed home with his mother and they came to be highly dependent upon each other in many ways.
Alf never had a sex life. He didn't expect to have one either. His preference was to avoid the big, wide world with all its cruelty. Over time, I suspect he came to think of himself in much the same way that Quasimodo did.
When he was in his early forties, Alf was "seduced" by his niece. I'm not suggesting that this is true, but that's how he saw it. Certainly there was no rape in the general sense of the word. It became a regular occurrence that she would visit her grandmother and spend a bit of time fooling around with Alf in return for a few dollars out of his disability pension. Eventually, his niece told others in the family what was going on and Alf found himself in court.
By the time his case came up for trial, Alf's mother had died and he had suffered a stroke. His speech - never good anyway - was now severely impaired. His intellect - also never great to begin with - was impaired to the extent that he could give no coherent testimony in court. He had also incurred a significant loss of mobility in his left arm and leg.
His life within the prison sentence was a nightmare. He was automatically classified as a paedophile and thus became the lowest of the low in prison society. His physical impairments made work difficult but he managed to scrape by as a cleaner, albeit a very slow one. His speech impediments made it difficult for others to understand him, assuming they even wanted to. Over the years he was regularly bashed and singled out for humiliation. Many prisoners delight in being able to find someone weak and vulnerable, especially someone who is a "rock spider", a paedophile.
When I first met Alf, I had difficulty understanding a word he said. His usual speech problems were exacerbated by the emotion my visit engendered. This man had not received even one visitor throughout his incarceration. His family wanted nothing to do with him. He never received any mail either. Probably just as well as he could neither read nor write.
Eventually, Alf and I were able to converse reasonably fluently - I came to understand his speech and I discovered that he loved to laugh at silly, simple jokes. I suspect he had very few reasons to laugh for many, many years.
He became sort of eligible for parole but had no family or friends to whom he could be released. In any case, so institutionalised was he that I doubt he really wanted to join the outside world any more.
Alf's only vice was to smoke, but his prison wage didn't enable him to buy tobacco very often. My own smoking history covers about six months during my university days when it was the cool thing to do. Nonetheless, I always turned up to visit Alf with a packet of tobacco in my pocket and some cigarette papers.
It is forbidden to give things to prisoners. One can put money into their account so they can buy from the prison shop, but you can't bring them food, toiletries, tobacco, etc from the outside. It's a prison farm though, so security is not tight. There are no sniffer dogs. No pat-downs or searches for visitors and, since there is a substantial outdoor area, people are allowed to smoke outside.
I don't know how to roll a cigarette, but Alf, despite his crippled hand, managed quite well. I placed "my" tobacco on the table, Alf rolled us a cigarette each, I pretended to puff my way though mine and then, when I left, I always managed to forget the tobacco and it ended up in Alf's pocket instead. So I guess, in a small way, I was committing a crime too.
Last year Alf died in his sleep. No one stepped forward to claim his body. Rather than have him consigned to a paupers grave I contributed a few extra dollars so he might at least attain normality in death . I was the only mourner and mine were the only flowers. I wept for this unloved and - perhaps - unloveable man because I knew I would miss him and because I wished so fervently that his life and its ending could have had more love and more dignity in it.
I still remember how he would cry when discussing his mother - her death was a huge blow to him. I think hers was the only love he ever received. And I recall how thrilled he was to receive a Birthday and a Christmas card from me each year. True, someone had to read them out to him, but I think he felt humanised by receiving mail.
I now visit a young man who is in maximum security prison for murdering his de-facto wife by strangling and stabbing her. They had a two-year-old son who now lives with his maternal grandparents. I can think of nothing to mitigate John's crime, but I also feel that he is entitled to a visit from someone every now and then.
There is no way he will be released for around another ten to fifteen years, by which time he will be almost forty years of age and his son will be grown up. I feel tremendous sorrow about the young mother and her terrible fate, but I also feel sorrow that John will probably never play any part in the life of a little boy he once cuddled and loved. I also worry that this young guy - quite handsome and with a good physique - has embraced jail sex to a degree that will inhibit him when and if he eventually re-enters the outside world.
My children are very interested in what I tell them about life in prison. They probably already have friends who will end up in prison one day - young guys who feel it's cool to speed, do drugs and have gang-bangs with intoxicated girls. Some will probably see it as a badge of honour to do time.
I am determined that my children appreciate what a huge shadow old sins can cast. I am equally determined that they develop a strong sense of compassion. Yes, there are some bad people out there, and yes, many of them need to be locked up and the key thrown away, but there are also a great many who may yet turn their life around if we help in some small way, showing that they do still matter and that self-worth and some degree of redemption is attainable.
He was an elderly fellow but still spry and obviously still capable of feeling passionate about injustice and prejudice.
From this small beginning, I have now reached a stage where it is part of my life to visit two particular prisoners at least once every month or so. Previously, I'd never been prone to do much in the way of volunteering. Like most people, I had considered myself far too busy with my own affairs to have time and energy left over for much else.
Anyway, the day came when I made my first visit to see a man named Alf. He was not in maximum security. Alf had been in prison for over fifteen years by then and had been transitioned to what we call a "prison farm", where there are no bars and locks and where offenders are supposedly prepared for re-entry to society.
Obviously, one wonders what Alf had done to deserve incarceration. The answer is that he was found guilty of the unlawful carnal knowledge of his fifteen-year-old niece. At first blush, I know this sounds horrendous and inexcusable, and I have no desire to justify his actions. But I do want to tell you something of this man's life history.
From birth, Alf was what we sometimes call "simple". He was the last in a large family and his arrival was an unwelcome surprise to a menopausal mother and a middle-aged father. He was a nervous child and was teased unmercifully at school. Eventually he simply stopped going to school at all. His drunken father was prone to beat his youngest son and his wife on a regular basis. Fortunately, this brutal man died around the time of Alf's fifteenth Birthday.
A brief stint in the workforce was a disaster for Alf. He was not cut out to be a tyre-fitter and he was mocked and derided by workmates for being so slow and simple. So, for many years, Alf stayed home with his mother and they came to be highly dependent upon each other in many ways.
Alf never had a sex life. He didn't expect to have one either. His preference was to avoid the big, wide world with all its cruelty. Over time, I suspect he came to think of himself in much the same way that Quasimodo did.
When he was in his early forties, Alf was "seduced" by his niece. I'm not suggesting that this is true, but that's how he saw it. Certainly there was no rape in the general sense of the word. It became a regular occurrence that she would visit her grandmother and spend a bit of time fooling around with Alf in return for a few dollars out of his disability pension. Eventually, his niece told others in the family what was going on and Alf found himself in court.
By the time his case came up for trial, Alf's mother had died and he had suffered a stroke. His speech - never good anyway - was now severely impaired. His intellect - also never great to begin with - was impaired to the extent that he could give no coherent testimony in court. He had also incurred a significant loss of mobility in his left arm and leg.
His life within the prison sentence was a nightmare. He was automatically classified as a paedophile and thus became the lowest of the low in prison society. His physical impairments made work difficult but he managed to scrape by as a cleaner, albeit a very slow one. His speech impediments made it difficult for others to understand him, assuming they even wanted to. Over the years he was regularly bashed and singled out for humiliation. Many prisoners delight in being able to find someone weak and vulnerable, especially someone who is a "rock spider", a paedophile.
When I first met Alf, I had difficulty understanding a word he said. His usual speech problems were exacerbated by the emotion my visit engendered. This man had not received even one visitor throughout his incarceration. His family wanted nothing to do with him. He never received any mail either. Probably just as well as he could neither read nor write.
Eventually, Alf and I were able to converse reasonably fluently - I came to understand his speech and I discovered that he loved to laugh at silly, simple jokes. I suspect he had very few reasons to laugh for many, many years.
He became sort of eligible for parole but had no family or friends to whom he could be released. In any case, so institutionalised was he that I doubt he really wanted to join the outside world any more.
Alf's only vice was to smoke, but his prison wage didn't enable him to buy tobacco very often. My own smoking history covers about six months during my university days when it was the cool thing to do. Nonetheless, I always turned up to visit Alf with a packet of tobacco in my pocket and some cigarette papers.
It is forbidden to give things to prisoners. One can put money into their account so they can buy from the prison shop, but you can't bring them food, toiletries, tobacco, etc from the outside. It's a prison farm though, so security is not tight. There are no sniffer dogs. No pat-downs or searches for visitors and, since there is a substantial outdoor area, people are allowed to smoke outside.
I don't know how to roll a cigarette, but Alf, despite his crippled hand, managed quite well. I placed "my" tobacco on the table, Alf rolled us a cigarette each, I pretended to puff my way though mine and then, when I left, I always managed to forget the tobacco and it ended up in Alf's pocket instead. So I guess, in a small way, I was committing a crime too.
Last year Alf died in his sleep. No one stepped forward to claim his body. Rather than have him consigned to a paupers grave I contributed a few extra dollars so he might at least attain normality in death . I was the only mourner and mine were the only flowers. I wept for this unloved and - perhaps - unloveable man because I knew I would miss him and because I wished so fervently that his life and its ending could have had more love and more dignity in it.
I still remember how he would cry when discussing his mother - her death was a huge blow to him. I think hers was the only love he ever received. And I recall how thrilled he was to receive a Birthday and a Christmas card from me each year. True, someone had to read them out to him, but I think he felt humanised by receiving mail.
I now visit a young man who is in maximum security prison for murdering his de-facto wife by strangling and stabbing her. They had a two-year-old son who now lives with his maternal grandparents. I can think of nothing to mitigate John's crime, but I also feel that he is entitled to a visit from someone every now and then.
There is no way he will be released for around another ten to fifteen years, by which time he will be almost forty years of age and his son will be grown up. I feel tremendous sorrow about the young mother and her terrible fate, but I also feel sorrow that John will probably never play any part in the life of a little boy he once cuddled and loved. I also worry that this young guy - quite handsome and with a good physique - has embraced jail sex to a degree that will inhibit him when and if he eventually re-enters the outside world.
My children are very interested in what I tell them about life in prison. They probably already have friends who will end up in prison one day - young guys who feel it's cool to speed, do drugs and have gang-bangs with intoxicated girls. Some will probably see it as a badge of honour to do time.
I am determined that my children appreciate what a huge shadow old sins can cast. I am equally determined that they develop a strong sense of compassion. Yes, there are some bad people out there, and yes, many of them need to be locked up and the key thrown away, but there are also a great many who may yet turn their life around if we help in some small way, showing that they do still matter and that self-worth and some degree of redemption is attainable.