Paul A. MacNamara - The Criminal Class: Memoir of a Prison Teacher

CHAPTER 1

Up Against the Wall

The only door in the room was now closed and sitting before me were a murderer, a rapist, an armed robber and a guy serving six years for grievous bodily harm. Each had a sharpened pencil in their hand, a potential weapon. I had been forewarned, yet I had handed them out willingly. I looked at these four brutes, trying not to stare but conscious of not looking away in fear. All four of them had their eyes fixed on me too, sussing out the new guy. In silence, I shot back a tight-lipped grin. Slowly but purposefully, I glanced out the window. Then, as inconspicuously as possible, I looked across at the secured metal door and the red duress button on the wall. I guessed the distance to be three metres. I looked back at the prisoners and wondered, if it came to it, would I be able to press that button or exit the doorway before they could get to me? I didnt fancy my chances.

Hello, Tommy. How was your weekend? Govinda said, as he buzzed passed my office door in a blur of green.

Yeah, good, thanks, I replied without looking up from my computer screen. I kept on typing in my journal for the next few minutes until I heard the sound of yelling and tables and chairs being overturned, all coming from the library adjacent to my office. Suddenly, there was movement, and lots of bodies ran past the doorway. People came rushing out of nearby offices to see what the commotion was about. I jumped up from my desk and made my way towards the action. As I entered the library, I saw the library clerks standing over two inmates, Govinda and another guy I had never seen before, who were wrestling on the floor. This guy had Govinda in a bearhug on the carpet and was yelling obscenities and delivering the occasional short jab to the head. They were rolling around on the ground, tipping over a chair here and there, but not much personal damage was being done. The other inmates looked on from behind books and newspapers and magazines, but none of them got up or joined in. Business was being settled, accounts squared, thats all.

People think of prisoners as hard bastards, but these two werent going much harder than two boys laying into each other at school. So, whatever the issue was, it wasnt worth maiming someone for it. It was probably just for show, a prisoners way of saving face.

An officer arrived and radioed for backup. Within a minute, six big, burly guards came rushing into the library. The officers quickly separated the two and the senior officer barked, Ok, thats enough!

Then he glared at the two combatants. He leaned forward.

Whats this all about?

He knows what-the-fuck its about! the prisoner I didnt know said all the while never taking his eyes off Govinda. Then suddenly, he lunged at him. He got within centimetres of Govinda but at the same moment, the prison officers grabbed the aggressor and restrained him. Two of the officers escorted Govinda outside.

The senior officer said to the other prisoner, Ok, its over, alright?

Yeah, he replied, as they lead him out of the library.

When they had got just outside, the combative prisoner saw Govinda being led away and made another lunge at him. That was a bad move. The officers had had it. The senior officer, who was about six-foot five and thickset, grabbed the prisoner, who was about five-foot four, by his throat and pinned him up against the wall, his feet dangling in midair. The officer put his face close to the prisoner and in his most menacing voice, said, Cut that stupid shit out! With that, he was led away and I never saw him again.

I walked into the kitchen, made myself a coffee, strolled back to my office and sat back at my desk. Jake from the adjoining office popped his head in the doorway and said with a large grin, That was a bit of excitement for the morning, hey?

Yeah, dont know what all that was about, I said nonchalantly and went on with my paperwork. Although this kind of physical scuffle was not an uncommon occurrence in the wing, the accommodation area where the inmates sleep, it rarely happened up here in civilisation. Still, I just kept typing.

I was already sensing my numbness to it all, even though it had only been three years since I first started working for Her Majesty in the Department of Corrections. Notice the title, The Department of Corrections.

Corrections thats bureaucracy-speak for jail. Corrections is the preferred term for jail or prison, as it implies taking something that is wrong or broken or not correct and solving the problem or correcting it. We are not in the business of punishment! I was continually reminded.

You see, weve come such a long way as a society that we no longer punish as was once the case, a trainer proudly instructed us once at the Corrective Services Academy.

Yes, we have come a way, I thought to myself. 18th-century England was overflowing with convicted criminals. So much so that when Australia had been discovered by the British and the Americans had refused to take the overflow any longer, someone had come up with the notion of founding a colony on convict labour. What harsher penalty is there than sending a prisoner so far away from home to the bottom of the earth, that it must have been almost inconceivable in that age. And often for the rest of their miserable lives. The colony became known rather unimaginatively as New South Wales. The site for the colony is what is now known as Sydney. An Aboriginal prisoner once said to me that the British sailed into one of the most beautiful harbours in the world, looked around and thought, I know. Lets turn this into a jail! He reckoned that said a lot about civilisation.

Australia and Australians have had a love/hate relationship with criminals ever since. For many years, to be of convict origin and not from free settlers was a great family shame. Then from around the 1970s onwards, being of convict stock became a badge of honour. Although I noticed that prison guards of today who were of convict ancestors saw no comparison at all between the guys standing in front of them in green and their own distant relatives.

In Australia, prisoners and being punished by governments have always had a place in the countrys psyche. Australias modern history began with jails and a prison system that definitely was based on punishment and through punishment, behaviour was meant to be corrected. Modern studies indicate that punishment is not a major deterrent to crime. If you lose your cool and kill someone, it is only afterwards that youll consider the repercussions, or so the theory goes. The most serious offenders I encountered in the system the murderers and the like were not deterred by the punishment. They had committed their crimes in an act of rage or in a state of intoxication from drugs or alcohol or both. They had no regard for the consequences at the time of the offence. Therefore, the literature suggests that behaviour needed to be modified for prisoners to be able to function better within the boundaries of society. Cognition, it seemed, was the key to rehabilitation, not punishment.

I remember rocking up on that first day with that in mind and thinking how, as a teacher, I might contribute to someones rehabilitation. But as I walked into that correctional facility for the first time, my thoughts were quickly overtaken by my overloaded senses. The guarded black-and-yellow boom gates, the tall, metallic razor-wire enclosures glistening in the sunlight, the corroded iron and sheet-metal accesses with oversized padlocks, the numerous aerial cameras observing all activities down below, the authorities in blue and the inmates in green.

When you first enter a jail, there is a strong sense of order. I suppose it comes from the military roots of the institutions. The high fences and razor wire just seem too difficult to scale, and the heavy steel gates and locks everywhere, mean every movement is predetermined and restricted. It has the feel of an impenetrable fortress.