This month, a former prison officer writes about what motivated her to become a prison officer as well as some of the physical, mental and emotional challenges associated with working in prisons.
My fascination with prisons started at an early age. My father was a policeman and I grew up hearing about the nature of his job, the challenges the job presented and the people that he came into contact with. What was always apparent when hearing these stories was the gentle way my father dealt with the most challenging of behaviours. Although he had to enforce the law he treated everyone with as much respect as he could, often resulting in him being able to diffuse the most volatile of situations. I was always curious to know what had led to their behaviour in the first place and relentlessly asked the question ‘why?’ to my father.
I distinctly remember the emotions I had when my father explained the concept of prison to me. I was so intrigued to know what happened in these cryptic, veiled environments and naively, at my young age, assumed that prison was the antidote to society’s unacceptable behaviour. I desperately wanted to experience first-hand what it was like to be in this mysterious environment that could turn ‘bad’ into good.
"[I uncovered a] plethora of reasons an individual can end up having their liberty taken from them and none of them, in my opinion, being as simplistic as just being ‘bad'."
After leaving my successful career as a professional tennis coach I decided that my lifelong passion for prisons needed to be explored and I applied to be a Prison Officer in 2009. After an interminable wait of two years, I started in 2011. Having read avidly throughout my life about the penal system, and prisons in particular, my view had evolved somewhat from my formative years. My own research and interest in human behaviour and psychology had also gone a long way in addressing my question of ‘why?’ uncovering the plethora of reasons an individual can end up having their liberty taken from them and none of them, in my opinion, being as simplistic as just being ‘bad’.
I recognised that prison was a hugely contentious issue and split opinion in respect of its function and purpose as an institute. This divisive attitude was starkly evidenced in my years as an officer and closer to home within my own family and friendship groups with the prevailing attitude being punitive, and in contrast to my own intrinsic approach, of rehabilitative. I am however by no means blinded to the necessity of prison and uphold the importance that it plays in maintaining order in our society.
The 6 weeks training that I received to become an officer did little to prepare me for the reality of the entrenched culture behind the prison walls.
Although the importance of respect and communication was the thread that ran through the 6 weeks training, the dominant communication style on the job was dressed up as one of ‘banter’ toward the prisoners, often to their detriment and reinforcing their negative self-concept, with only very sporadic pockets of respectful interaction taking place.
The emotions that I experienced in my first few months were at times overwhelming. I experienced a lot of anger and frustration at the ineffective systems in place that made it almost impossible to offer a resolution to issues and concerns that the offenders raised. I will always remember the words of advice that were offered to me by another Officer in my first few weeks: ‘Try not to give a damn. If you do, it will be the death of you’. To care was at the detriment of your mental health and as a result, officers that wanted to make a difference were forced to dissociate from their emotions or risk the inevitable decline into stress and depression.
Conflict and violence that occurred in the prison was normally as a result of the pent up emotions that had built up during the hours spent behind their doors. With staff cuts resulting in a lack of officers on the landings, prisoners were often locked up for long periods each day. This lent itself nicely to rumination about whatever injustice they felt had befallen them, not being able to make that phone call to a loved one, still not receiving the letter that had been sent to them, items that they had ordered and paid for going missing. It was almost inevitable that it would culminate in violence. It was also conducive to affecting mental health – and for those offenders that didn’t use violence as an outlet, it manifested itself in depression and isolation with attempts at taking their own life as a cry for help and to get their voice heard.
So what needs to be done to address this within our prisons?
I believe that it starts with the recruitment and training of officers and the idea that ‘every interaction matters’. Because prison officers have the most contact with prisoners, they should be role models, in particular in their use of language and behaviour. Given that most prisoners will be released back into society, my view is that prisons should be more therapeutic in their approach, helping offenders to address the root causes of their behaviour with ongoing support once they have been released back into society.
I was an officer for 3 years, and although it was challenging and the environment was largely negative, it was the most positive experience of my life. It helped uncover facets of my personality that I would never, otherwise, have been aware of and understand my values and morals of being nurturing and empowering in my interactions with others.