Years ago, I spent quite a bit of time in prison. Not as a criminal, but as a literacy teacher.
While working at TAFE in Tasmania, a technical and further education institute, an opportunity came up for two teachers to deliver literacy classes at the local prison. I jumped at the chance and was fortunate enough to be selected as one of them.
The surveillance and security checkpoints
Getting into the prison itself was a major exercise. It felt very much like going through airport security, only more layered and more intense. There were multiple surveillance and security checkpoints, including checks of temporary visitor passes, photo identification, and supporting documents.
Warning – Don’t wear anything that could be considered provocative
There was also a strict dress code: long pants, covered lace up shoes, and long-sleeved tops were required. No makeup. No perfume. No see-through tops. Nothing that could be considered provocative.
Pockets had to be completely emptied to ensure no contraband was brought in. At various points, a sniffer dog would also move through the area, adding another level of screening before entry. Once everything was checked and approved, we were issued with a body alarm.
Arriving at least half an hour early gave us enough time to pass through all these checkpoints, providing we weren’t trying to smuggle anything in or dressed inappropriately.
Checking for contraband
As teachers, we carried two large plastic bags containing resources for our literacy classes. Inside these were smaller labelled bags with carefully numbered items—such as 20 scissors, 3 glue sticks, 3 three rolls of sticky tape, 15 sheets of coloured card, 3 sheets of star stickers, 3 packets of textas (no pencils – could be considered a stabbing hazard.) You get the idea! Everything had to be emptied into a plastic tray, then checked, counted and ticked off by two prison guards. Once everything passed through the scanner, we were on our way through the first dark grey corridor following the prison guard assigned to us.
The women versus the men
I started out visiting the women’s prison weekly on a Thursday, and then the men’s medium- and maximum-security units on other days of the week. Eventually, I was given a regular Thursday teaching contract in a public school, which meant I could no longer visit the women’s prison.
To be honest, I really preferred working in the men’s medium and maximum-security units. The men were like old buddies with each other and were very respectful to us (their teachers). They were under constant surveillance and they knew if they put a step wrong, they’d be out of the literacy class and locked up in their cells.
Unlike the male prisoners, the women didn’t seem to care about getting into trouble and often got narky with each other. And us. There was one incident where one of them had hidden a pair of scissors. We, the teachers, weren’t allowed out. Some of the women were sent back to their cells until someone owned up. Failing that, a body search was conducted. Eventually, the culprit was caught, we were allowed to leave, and the rest of the girls were sent back to their cells.
Meanwhile, over in the men’s quarters
Over in the men’s quarters, we always managed to have a laugh, and I never felt scared. The men loved making cards, so we would take in coloured card, silver and gold paper, decorative designs, special card-making materials, and little plastic scissors.
They had a favourite card design
One particular card design became a favourite. It involved folding dozens of tiny pieces of paper. The men often struggled to cut the paper with the tiny scissors, which were designed for kindergarten children. Imagine it—these big, tough prisoners wrestling with kindergarten scissors! I often had to remind myself that they were prisoners. Most of the time they seemed more like ordinary boys—well, high-school boys at least.
Of course, some of the conversations that took place within the prison walls quickly brought you back to reality. Yet, despite their circumstances, most were surprisingly caring towards one another.
Breaking and entering after a prison stint
One day, Phil announced that he was Jamie’s carer. He then proudly explained that, once they were released, he would look after Jamie while they went back to ‘breaking and entering.’ It was one of those moments when compassion and criminality seemed to sit side by side.
Asking for advice
The men often asked for advice.
‘Miss, is it okay to be promiscuous?’
‘No,’ I replied. ‘That’s not a good idea. People get hurt and hearts get broken.’
‘But what if you’ve got a girlfriend?’
‘That’s even worse.’
‘But what if she’s promiscuous too?’
‘In that case,’ I said, ‘it’s probably time to get yourself a new girlfriend.’
What about your life, Miss?
Many of them were curious about my life.
‘Are you married, Miss?’
‘No.’
‘Well,’ they would say, ‘there are plenty of blokes around here who’d like to be your husband.’
It was impossible not to laugh.
Prison was not what I expected. Beneath the tattoos, tough talk, and criminal histories were people who loved creating things; sharing stories; looking after their mates and their families; and asking surprisingly thoughtful questions. Some days it felt less like working with hardened criminals and more like supervising a room full of oversized schoolboys armed with glue sticks and very blunt scissors.
She got the job!
Thanks to my daughter Hannah for inspiring this story after her successful application for the position as a Prison Nurse at Victoria’s newest maximum-security prison in Lara, the Western Plains Correctional Centre.
Featured image: Thanks to Larry Farr on Unsplash
