It was a bit like the plot from a sinister absurdist farce: an endless bureaucratic nightmare of paperwork cock-ups, institutionalisation and systemic indifference that has spanned three decades. At the centre of it all, a frail, shy old man with learning difficulties.
When the file landed on my desk, I was aghast and I still am.
The prisoner, let’s call him ‘Tom’, was convicted of arson and given a life sentence with a recommendation that he serve at least four-years, that was back around 1982/3.
28 years later in 2010, Tom is still serving his sentence with no realistic prospect of release in sight in spite of the repeated advocacy and assistance offered on Tom’s behalf by concerned Irish organisations.
I recently made a social visit to Tom; it was the only way I would get access to him.
I had made repeated unsuccessful requests to meet with Tom and other Irish prisoners as an accredited visitor for one of the aforementioned Irish organisations.
On all occasions, I was ignored even though I had observed the appropriate channels and protocols, so in the end, I just asked Tom to send out some VOs (visiting orders) and I would make a personal visit (which I did with a colleague more familiar with Tom’s case).
We reached the Visitor Centre, run by a local charity and for the record, it was by far the most compassionate and empathetic of the visitor centres I’ve seen up and down the UK. Very often, the sneer of staff for visitors (‘punters’) in these places is only barely concealed so this represented a welcome change.
We got processed through security by a friendly, ample and complacent son of the region’s prison’s economy. There is strict security but it’s been widely acknowledged that smuggling is perhaps as much a problem in the officer population as it is among any of the other so-called ‘stakeholders’ in HM Prison Service.
Even though neither myself nor my colleague had ever met Tom, we spotted him immediately on entering the association hall. A fragile slender figure, with a timid smile of intuitive recognition and an uncertain, jerky little wave to us as he sat awkwardly on the ergonomically hostile prison furniture, one hand idly playing with his offender's hi-visibility Sam Browne belt.
Our conversation was largely light-hearted and we talked about sports, what London was like now, and about how day-to-day life was in the gaol. But underlying it all was the great sadness of sitting with a lost soul, someone who society had forgotten about and left to rot for no better reason than sustained bureaucratic inertia.
As a result of this disgraceful situation, the problem now has ironically become what would happen if and when Tom is actually released.
The length of time that Tom has spent behind bars has ensured complete institutionalisation. His rehabilitation into mainstream society after nearly thirty years is by no means certain. There is much anecdotal evidence to suggest that many people simply don’t recover.
When our time was up, we got up to leave having bid Tom a warm goodbye. He was still sitting awkwardly with a brave smile and wave as we rounded the corner.
My heart was breaking (and I make no apologies for saying so) and I know that my colleague was deeply affected by the visit.
Britain is addicted to locking people up, much more so than any other country in Western Europe.
And the system is obviously overburdened; a point amply demonstrated by the preceding account of a catastrophic failure to monitor the welfare of a prisoner with clear health and behavioural issues.
Tom's case is unfortunately not unique and this underlines the importance of an organisation like ICPO.
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