#LifeInLockdown
TRAPPED by Ross Greenwood
Before you judge a man, walk a mile in his shoes
For a year I worked on the prison wing for new arrivals. It’s a strange thing to lock someone up for the first time. If you were in a rush, you perhaps wouldn’t have time to consider it, but I was rarely too busy for a few kind words, even if they’d been acting up when they came in. Just something simple with a bit of eye contact to get them through the night, like, ‘You all right?’ or ‘Just get your head down, I’ll talk to you in the morning.’
Often they’d be hungry having been in court all day and then stuck on the transport van afterwards. Some would be in the clothes they were nicked in on Friday night, even though it was now Monday. Few dared go near the showers though, having watched too many prison movies. So you’d give them a faded stiff towel and a bar of plain soap, and tell them to use the sink.
We usually had a few sandwiches about for those who came in late. You’d think from reading the newspapers that all prisoners were hardened brutes who sneered at the system, but all except the insane fear the courts. Hunger isn’t a concern until the verdict is in.
Newspapers would have you think that prisons are holiday camps. Obviously that’s rubbish. Admittedly they could be more spartan, but locking people up with nothing to do and no TV when they already have mental health illnesses is inhumane. If you’re struggling with life before jail, it’s probably not going to help.
Prison is tough, however tough you are. The freedom to more or less do what you like is something we value the most in our lives, even if we don’t consider that fact often. It’s a real shock when it’s taken away. Imagine being guided into a musty room with a narrow bunk bed, occupied by a stranger who stares at you suspiciously, and then the door clangs behind you.
The Coronavirus has given us a glimpse into that world. It feels surreal, unnatural, claustrophobic, stressful and boring, and we’re only under house arrest. All our plans have gone to pot. We don’t know if we’ll have a job when all this is over. How will we pay the mortgage? We’ll miss weddings and funerals. Will life be the same afterwards? Could we lose hope?
Read that last paragraph again. Those words could easily describe how prisoners feel when the door closes on their freedom. Yes, they’ve broken the law. Yes, there must be consequences, especially for those who cynically choose that path, but there are many types in prison. Some are there because of things that happened to them when they were young, or even just because of their nature at birth which they cannot change. Others must be innocent, as we are, because no justice system is perfect.
Perhaps the title phrase has more meaning now we’ve walked in others’ shoes, especially when the sun shines and flowers bloom.
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