This article was published in the Times 2 Life, 2nd July 2010

The inmates who may hold the key to prisons dilemma

Alice Fishburn

2 July 2010

As Ken Clarke talks about a radical change in prison sentencing, we look at how empowering prisoners with inmate councils could provide a solution

The meeting starts late. Ten minutes after a crackling walkie-talkie announces “All council members to the boardroom”, a series of secure metal doors clang outside and the casually dressed, notebook-wielding councillors file in to take their seats. One has sent his apologies: a mandatory drug test has delayed him. After a call for silence, the weekly Parkhurst Prison Council at HMP Isle of Wight is declared in session.

Earlier this week, Ken Clarke, the Justice Secretary, condemned the British prison system as an expensive failure, saying: “Just banging up more and more people for longer without actively seeking to change them is what you would expect of Victorian England.”

Yet here, behind the high stone walls that set inmates apart from island life, the Parkhurst, Albany and Camp Hill jails are piloting a prison council model designed eventually to reintegrate prisoners into society. Each week, groups of elected inmates meet around a boardroom table to put suggestions, concerns and proposals to the prison staff — with a portrait of Queen Victoria looking on.

After the minutes are approved and concerns over campaign literature solved, the meeting moves to a Q&A session with Richard Knowles, head of prisons healthcare for HMP Isle of Wight. A council member requests that lists of medications dispensed by the pharmacy be removed from public display. Those at the table grin knowingly as he describes how they offer “a shopping list” for drug dealers. Knowles nods and makes a note.

Such common-sense observations provide the sort of feedback that busy officers don’t usually have the time to contemplate, and the list of achievements secured by the Isle of Wight councils range from providing new can openers to more releases on temporary licence for the low-security prisoners in Camp Hill. Extra toys have been supplied for visiting children, careers fairs held in the prison gym and flower orders on Mother’s Day placed on the additional shopping list. In Albany, the canteen remains a popular subject of debate. Food quality has improved but there are concerns about quantity. “Two slices of cucumber, a lettuce leaf, a tomato and a piece of cheese. That’s it,” moans one inmate. His colleagues, sitting next to him on the sofa, nod vigorously.

This new ability to debate and solve problems shows prisoners that they can make a difference. “Beforehand, we were all saying ‘you never get nothing here’. That was the stigma Camp Hill had,” says Wes, an offender.

Last week, the group successfully proposed phone booths to shut out the background pandemonium that intruded on prized calls home. This week, they are thinking about asking for domestic training that will help them in resettlement. “A washing machine is a hard thing to use,” Wes says sheepishly.

It may also seem like a small thing to teach, but such little improvements to everyday prison life can have a big impact on release. “People talk about the Big Society, this is it,” says Mark Johnson, founder of User Voice. “It’s about communicating with people, removing reliance on public services and promoting personal responsibility.”

An ex-offender who has “done a few” sentences for robbery and fighting, Johnson battled with a heroin and crack addiction before setting up the London-based charity, which works to alter the justice system by deploying the insight and experience of ex-offenders.

That he served several prison sentences is not unusual. One of the main criticisms made by Ken Clarke this week concerned the rising rates of reoffending. Almost half of all prisoners are reconvicted within the first year of leaving prison. The 60 per cent of short-term prisoners who reoffend in this period cost £10 billion a year. Wes believes that the prison council will help him to buck the odds by teaching him patience and application. He has just weeks left of his sentence and wants to volunteer for User Voice in other jails.

“A lot of us in here have no structure in our lives. We are impulsive. We find it hard to plan things,” he says. “But on the council, we’re listened to and we see that results don’t always happen straight away. It’s the same when you apply that concept to life.”

The prison councils aren’t just helping inmates on release. The Isle of Wight staff believe that they are also transforming life inside the jails too. Barry Greenberry, the energetic governor, becomes more animated as he sits at a table made for him by the inmates. “The councils are changing the nature of this place,” he says. “If people believe they can help change the system, maybe it will knock on so that they can help to change themselves.”

Although the pilot has operated for a year, figures already show a shift. Camp Hill inmates are requesting to stay and serve out their sentences. In Albany, a Category B prison that houses sex offenders, there has been a 37 per cent reduction in prisoner complaints. In Parkhurst, the number of segregation days on the site — a reflection of bad feeling and bad temper — has fallen from 160 to 47. And council members are reporting that more men on the wings come to them first with any problems. “This is about allowing these people to take responsibility for themselves and often that’s all they want,” Johnson says. “The council attracts the bright minds, who are often the most frustrated.”

The knock-on effect is a better reputation. When the first-time offender, Chik, found out about his transfer to Camp Hill prison, he assumed the worst. The site had such a bad name that his cellmate at Wandsworth told him that he would pray for him. “I got scared out of my wits thinking it was some kind of hellhole,” he says. Yet on his arrival, he joined the council. When he wrote to reassure his old friend about how well he was getting on, the reply came: “Are you sure you were sent to Camp Hill?”

Another intangible change has been a shift in staff attitude. Greenberry assumes the expression of an harassed dad as he describes the intense “sibling” rivalry that defines the officer-inmate relationship. “When we talk about empowering prisoners, it puts staff backs up. To some people empowering prisoners means undermining their authority,” he says. But over time, the councils have enabled a more harmonious relationship: that of line manager and line managed. Now everyone calls everyone “Mr”.

Back in Parkhurst prison, the councillors tease Barbara Bronwin, the head of Prisoner Engagement, about her lack of IT skills. She grins and hassles them to get back out there on the campaign trail.

Both staff and prisoners vote in the council elections, which are held annually. Candidates receive training on how to make their voices heard, stand for a particular party — education and resettlement are popular issues — and hit the stump for votes. “Last year, our turnout was considerably higher than that at the European elections,” Greenberry says. One User Voice survey reports that only 35 per cent of prisoners had voted in general elections before jail, yet 79 per cent of council members plan to use their vote in the future. Prisoners are not allowed to vote in general elections.

“The process here actually highlighted the last election for me,” says council member J. D., dodging the mocking of his co-councillors as he recounts how he followed the coalition talks. “It’s all about taking control of your life.” By learning to speak up in the councils, prisoners also learn to engage with authority. “There’s 101 ways in which people come into prison. We need 102 to keep them out,” Greenberry says. “This is about people regaining their notion of citizenship.”

Juliet Lyon, director of the charity Prison Reform Trust, goes farther. She says that councils play an important role in the successful management of prisons and are “a bedrock for resettlement” when offenders are released. According to Barred Citizens, a new report from her organisation, more than half of UK prisons now offer some sort of council or forum, although few are as structured as the one operated by User Voice, which sends ex-offenders into prisons to help oversee the process.

Its project manager, Sheila Clifford, understands the frustrations of life inside better than anyone. More than a decade ago, she did two stints for drink- driving. While her years of work in drug rehabilitation lend her credibility with the staff, her personal experience gives her authority with the inmates.

Almost every week, Clifford takes the ferry to the Isle of Wight. Part of her job is to make sure that offenders understand and appreciate that there are limits to requests. Learning how to accept rejection is seen as one of the most important parts of re-engaging with society.

“They start to believe in themselves when they’re heard because being heard in prison is a big thing. But you have to siphon through the ones who just want to moan and those who really want to ask for changes,” she says. “We still have to drill it into them that change doesn’t happen overnight.” After all, she points out: “This is prison.”

In a new article for The Guardian Mark explains that the best people to consult on effective drug rehabilitation methods must surely be reformed addicts – people with direct experience of both addiction and rehabilitation – rather than service providers with no personal exposure to the situation.

Mark argues that the Government’s policy of prescribing drugs to addicts in prison is an ineffective means of crime-prevention and does more harm to the addicted than good to the community in a new article for The Guardian article.

Mark questions the Government’s tendency towards repeat punishment of repeat offenders without emphasis on deterrent or reform in this article for The Guardian.