Portrait in Grey By HUGH J. KLARE I am not
specifically concerned in this book with the subject of Capital Punishment; but the question of its aboli- tion must surely be related to the conditions involved in the alternative sanction of life imprisonment. . . . It is my firm belief that the death penalty has never been a deterrent; but it is unethical and immoral only in so far as the conditions. of imprisonment are not even more so. Upon this vital issue I ask that the words of Portrait in Grey may be carefully and conscientiously considered.
ILESS than three months after Norman Howarth Hignett added these words to his final proofs of the book* that tells the story of his imprisonment, he was dead. What- ever pressure of fear, whatever outer and inner circumstances, whatever instability of mind and will drove him to suicide, it is clear that his experience in jail had a profound effect upon him, and is likely to have influenced him in his last decision. There is no doubt that his book must and will be taken seriously by all who read it. It may be, however, that his words and his deed will be seized on by some advocates of the death penalty in a final attempt to retain the executioner. This would indeed be ironic, for what Mr. Hignett pleads for is life and not death, humanity and not inhumanity, hope and not flespair.
Not all the details of Portrait in Grey are accurate; nor, despite the author's expressed intent, are all the criticisms fair. But that does not invalidate the account of the truly shattering impact which prison makes on an intelligent and sensitive w PORTRAIT IN GREY. By Norman Howarth Hignett. (Frederick Muller, 18s.) man, and the suffering which it can inflict, not so much by physical hardship or' discomfort as by the denial of individu- ality and the degradation of the spirit. And if it be objected that few prisoners are intelligent and sensitive, it must be replied that this does not alter the oppressive fact that there is something in the grim and impersonal atmosphere par- ticularly of the larger, so-called 'local' prisons that is under- mining and deadening, something that defeats kindliness and efforts at reform, something that is fundamentally and pervasively negative.
Before the war the average number of prisoners in English jails on any one day was about 10,000. Today that number is more than doubled, and this is due not so much to a greater number being sent to prison as to the much longer sentences which the courts impose. As a result, men literally pile up on top of each other and more than 2,000 have to sleep and live three in a cell considered adequate for one a hundred years ago. For most of our prisons were built in the middle of the last century, and are.embodiments in stone of the ideas which were then current. A new gaol is at last being built in Yorkshire, and some others are planned, but their con- struction may unfortunately be delayed owing to. the cut in next year's civil estimates to which the Home Secretary referred, last Monday.
But perhaps even more important than the overcrowding and the nature of the buildings themselves, is the lack of suit- able and constructive work—or, indeed, of any work at all. The average working day in the average local prison is still only four or five hours, and the main standby is sewing mail- bags, one after the other, in monotonous succession, eight stitches to the inch, day in and day out. There are machines which could do this work. But if they were used, many prisoners would have nothing to do at all. And even now, time stretches futile and pointless, inertia saps body and mind, and prisoners who have served longer sentences find it hard to get used to the tempo and demands of life beyond the walls.
The reason why there is so little work in prison is ultimately because we seem to want it so. Any success which the Prison Commission has in painfully securing a contract is liable to be resented by other manufacturers who may have submitted tenders, and by trade unions, for any work done by convicted prisoners takes work away from law-abiding citizens. And yet we have full employment and indeed in some industries there is a shortage of labour.
Linked to the lack of work, and to some extent reflecting it, is the question of prisoners' earnings. Until 1930 there was no earnings scheme at all. Then the Howard League raised funds to introduce an earnings scheme at one prison as an experiment. It was .a success, was introduced into all prisons. and today there is not a civilised country in the world that does not have its earnings scheme. But whereas countries like France or Sweden will pay between 10s. and £1 a week, and sometimes more, we only pay an average IA 3s. or 4s. This is deplorable because it seems once more to demonstrate to those who lie in jail the singularly low value which is placed on effort and honest labour; and yet they are often the very people who habitually seek to avoid this unpleasant necessity. Moreover, while cash is so low, tobacco—in which there is a lively black market—continues as the real currency, and such few amenities as may be available tend to be obtained by manceuvring for privileged positions in the stores, the library, or the kitchen where you are in touch with the things that count in the economy of a penal institution. The effect of all this may almost amount to an object lessdn that 'fiddling' pays after all!
However, there is yet another limiting factor on the amount of work that can be done in prisons, and that is the shortage of staff. Only a few days ago, the Annual Conference of Prison Officers drew attention to the fact that a thousand extra men are needed to operate a system which would enable prisoners to spend more time out of their cells and in the workshops. The rate of recruitment to the prison service is slow. It may be that the recent wage increase will now attract more men and women, but there is no doubt that wages are not the sole, or even perhaps the most important, factor. And here we come to the crux of the problem of prison reform.
There are many people—and Mr. Hignett was very under- standably one of them—who look at the treatment and rehabilitation of prisoners as if it were a subject separate and complete in itself. Yet we have only to look at any jail to realise that locked behind its grey walls there are not only prisoners but staff of various kinds; that they interact upon each other individually and in groups in a most complex and subtle way; that the attitude of prisoners will mirror and to some extent complement the attitude of the staff; and, what is even more important, that the morale, outlook and attitude of the staff will have a decisive impact upon the pris'oners.
Now, the job of the average warder in the average local prison is at once monotonous and tense. Monotonous because he spends much of his time counting heads, locking and unlocking doors, marching prisoners to and fro; tense because he has to bear the brunt of the sudden fights and outbursts which occur in a captive and closely packed community of often unstable and sometimes explosive men. The world out- side knows' little of him, partly perhaps because he has to spend so much time behind walls. If he does not get much blame., he certainly gets precious little praise. To the prisoner he is the symbol of those oppressive powers which deprive him of his liberty. And to the Governor he is the man who will receive and faithfully carry out his orders, the man in a blue uniform who will probably have to wait eighteen years to get his first promotion.
It is a job, in short, that might well breed indifference and bitterness; and it is greatly to the credit of prison officers that it does not do so more often, that so many remain cheerful and kindly. Those officers, however, who have succumbed to a sense of frustration, or who develop undesirable character traits, can have a disastrous effect upon the atmosphere of a prison.
The way to overcome indifference and frustration and to raise morale is to encourage officers to take a personal interest in individual offenders and to play a much more positive role in their rehabilitation.' This can be done in several different ways (space forbids their enumeration). Such a policy Would make the prison officer's job more varied and interesting, attract the right type of candidate in the right numbers, and, by fostering a really sustained personal approach to the prisoner under expert guidance, it might transform his chances of becoming a law-abiding citizen.
It is in this direction that progress lies. Mr. Hignett's book paints the faults of a system which it is impossible not to criticise. The remedies, however, are not quick and easy, and, in the last analysis, their touchstone lies in man's relationship to man. To change and improve this must be the true object of penal reform.
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