PRISON-SOVIET STYLE

New house of the dead

TIBOR SZAMUELY

Prisons are news. International com- missions investigate them; teams of report- ers calculate the exact number of political prisoners held by tyrannical regimes; plain- tive calls for help from the unfortunate victims get front-page press treatment; de- mands for immediate improvements in prison conditions and, better still, for the speedy release of all prisoners, are regularly signed by dozens of MPS and other prom- inent people.

I am referring, of course, to prisons in Greece and South Africa. These are ruled by right-wing governments and only right- wing prisons shock the liberal conscience. Nowadays the chief criterion for assessing the quality of a jail is the ideology of the jailer. Thus, amidst the intense anxiety currently expressed over inhuman prison conditions, there has been a singular lack of interest in the circumstances under which a young British lecturer was held for over four years—for actions which would not be regarded as criminal in any faintly civ- ilised country. Indeed, numerous letters to the press have implied that it served Gerald Brooke jolly well right for interfering in another country's affairs and thereby dis- tracting the attention of the British Foreign Office from things that really matter, such as cultivating 'good relations' with the Kremlin. To make the distinction still clearer, various progressive groups are busily enlisting the Soviet Government's support for the cause of Greek and South African freedom.

Yet today, unlike in Stalin's time, there can be no excuse for not knowing that the USSR is in fact far ahead of any other country in the world as regards both the number of prisoners in proportion to the total population and the harshness of prison conditions. We have this on the authority, not of some embittered emigre, but of the Soviet Government itself.

A few weeks ago the Supreme Soviet, the 'parliament' of the USSR, assembled for its biannual one-and-a-half-day session, unanimously approved the new principles of corrective-labour legislation in Russia. By

an unfortunate coincidence, almost none of the enlightened British newspapers, which unflaggingly report the slightest rumour about prison life in you know where, could find the space even, to mention the 'publication of this important legal docu- ment—let alone to analyse its implications. i I shall try to make up for the regrettable omission.

To begin with, we have been presented for the first time with an official statement containing some indication as to the total convict population of the Lissa. The rapporteur, one Comrade Nishanov, having described the three types of corrective- labour institution—the corrective-labour colony (as the prison camp is now known), the educational-labour colony (for minors), and the prison—went on to announce that 'over 99 per cent of all persons condemned to deprivation of liberty are held in cor- rective-labour colonies'. This was no im- pulsive figure of speech but a carefully phrased factual statement.

Let us then attempt a rough calculation. To be on the safe side, we might take 20,000 as the total number of convicted persons in prison—a ridiculously low figure. considering that there are several hundred prisons in Russia and that the new law contains a long list of categories of convicts who are to serve their sentences, or part of them, in prison. Then comes the 'educa- tional-labour colony': in view of the high incidence of Soviet juvenile delinquency a figure of 50,000 would again be most con- servative. This gives a figure of 70.000 for the 1 per cent of all convicts not held in cor- rective-labour colonies; implying a mini- mum overall convict population of some seven million, or 3 per cent of the country's total population. True, a definite improve- ment on Stalin's last years. when about 10 per cent of all Soviet citizens were held in confinement; true, also, that political prisoners have fallen from a majority to a small fraction of the total. Yet it still re- quires an effort of the imagination to grasp the enormity of the fact. I might add, by way of comparison, that in Britain the

proportion of prison inmates to the total population is about 0.06 per cent, or one- fiftieth of the Soviet ratio, while in that much reviled country of violence and crime, the us, it is 0.2 per cent, or fifteen times less than in the land of sociaiism—wnere, as we all know, the social causes of crime have long been eliminated. To match up to the Soviet achievement South Africa would require a prison population of 550,010 and Greece one of 270,000. However repellent the two countries' political systems, I rather doubt that this is the case.

As regards the conditions of confinement, described in great detail by the Soviet government, not only are they worse than anywhere else in the world, but they have actually deteriorated since Stalin's day. I have carefully compared the provisions of the new law with my personal experiences of Russian prison camp life in 1951-52, and there can be no doubt that Stalin's 'liberal' successors, so hopefully acclaimed by our progressive thinkers, have outdone the old tyrant in inhumanity.

Camps (or colonies) are divided into four categories: general, intensified, severe and special. All political prisoners—or 'especi- ally dangerous state criminals', to use the official term—go automatically to the 'severe' variety (the more obstreperous characters can be sent to the long-estab- lished 'special' colonies, the prototypes of Hitler's death-camps, situated mainly in the islands of the Arctic Ocean). By con- trast, in the bad old days it was usual for 'politicals' sentenced, like myself, to ten years or less, to serve their time in 'general' camps.

Needless to say, all prisoners are required to work—and to work hard. However, they are paid for their work—with the proviso that the cost of administration, of guards, prison food, prison uniform, etc., is de- ducted from their wages. (Women in the last stage of pregnancy, nursing mothers and sick people are fed free of charge: a splendid example of Soviet 'humanism' in action.) Not everything goes towards sup- porting the prison: the law states that every prisoner shall be paid no less than 10 per cent of his earnings. And he would hardly need much more, since he is only allowed to spend a maximum of fifteen roubles (about £3) per month on buying food and other necessities—in accordance. naturally with the type of colony and the length of time served (there were no such restrictions, incidentally, in my day).

A prisoner is strictly forbidden to be sent any money from outside (with the exception of pregnant women, etc.). Regardless of sentence, crime, or type of camp, he is per- mitted to receive food parcels only after completion of half his term, and then only an annual maximum of three parcels weigh- ing no more than five kilos (eleven pounds) each. In prisons no food parcels are allow- ed at all. Under Stalin (sorry to keep harping on this) one could receive unlimited remittances and food parcels.

Two or three years ago I described in this journal how, in July 1951. a crowded cell-full of political prisoners in Kirov transit goal was reduced to helpless, hyster- ical laughter by Pravda's moving account of the unspeakable conditions of Greek prisoners (sheer paradise compared to ours), and of the great international campaign conducted on their behalf. This little epi- sode was typical of the contempt felt by the ordinary Russian for the hypocrisy of western progressive' opinion. in his great novel The First Circle Alexander Solz-

henitsyn has described an almost identical (and contemporaneous) situation:

'That year there was a lot of talk in the newspapers about Greek political prisoners who, from their cells, sent telegrams com- plaining of their ill-treatment to foreign parliaments and the UNO. The Mavrino prisoners, who usually couldn't send so much as postcards even to their wives, took to giving Greek forms to the names of the prison officials.'

And yet we are actually told—even by people in high positions of authority—that the Soviet penal system provides an admir- able model for prison reform in our country. This interesting idea was put for- ward, for instance. two sears ago in an official report of the House ot ontmon Estimates Committee on prisons, borstals and detention centres. And no less a per sonage than a High Court judge and chair- man of the Law Commission returned from a visit to Russia recommending the estab- lishment here of Soviet-type corrective- labour colonies. Sometimes I wonder whether our self-appointed experts on for- eign penal systems have the slightest idea of what they are talking about. If not, they might, for a start, read what the Soviet government itself has to say.