Prison Is The Future

As probation continues to be airbrushed out of the picture, it's fascinating to see how the image of prison and prison officers is being actively burnished in a number of quarters and indeed now accorded 'professional' status. This from the Howard League on Monday:-  

New report on prison officers calls for urgent action to save the profession

Action on staffing levels, rates of pay, and officer development is urgently required in English and Welsh prisons, research by the Howard League for Penal Reform and the justice sector trade union, Community reveals today (Monday 13 November).

Dangerously low staffing levels, a poorly-defined job description, insufficient training and a perceived lack of decision-making power have left officers feeling ignored, ineffective and unable to achieve their aims. Morale is low among staff in private prisons and few see a long-term future for themselves in the service.

The concerns are raised in The role of the prison officer, a joint report by the Howard League and Community, the trade union representing staff across the justice sector. The report presents the findings of focus groups and surveys with 27 prison officers working in the private sector for a range of companies. A number of officers working in public-sector prisons also gave evidence to the project.

Prison officers said that they were enthusiastic for change and wanted to play a role in helping people to turn their lives around. They want systemic change so that they are able to continue to develop their skills and receive the support that they need to succeed in their roles. The report calls on private companies, ministers and officials to demonstrate that they value prison officers. They must recognise their staff as professionals, fulfil their potential and ensure that officers are able to build rewarding careers.

Frances Crook, Chief Executive of the Howard League for Penal Reform, said:

“This report, based on findings from focus groups and surveys with people working on the front line, underlines the need for urgent reform of the whole system. The Howard League’s experience is that staff morale is low in public prisons as well as private prisons. The problems will not be solved by simply recruiting more prison officers. While devolving responsibility to governors, ministers ought to take steps to ensure that the workforce is motivated, empowered, educated and allowed to exercise professional discretion. This must come hand-in-hand with bold action to reduce the prison population, which would protect staff, save lives and make the public safer.”

Roy Rickhuss, General Secretary of Community, said: 

“Community members in the justice sector carry out important jobs in difficult circumstances. This report confirms that government must urgently address the problems in our justice system. There are simply not enough staff in prisons to keep people safe, and those officers that are there are not paid nearly enough. If we want prison officers to be effective, then we need to show we value their work. We need proper training and career development, as well as practical and emotional support to help deal with the challenges of the modern prison. Community, the union for the justice sector, stands ready to engage constructively with government and employers to help make our prisons safe for the staff working in them, and effective tools of reform for prisoners.”

All who participated in the project said that there were not enough officers working in their prisons. In some, there were staff shortages and prisons were recruiting. Other prisons were technically fully staffed, but the staffing levels were so low that they did not have enough people to achieve the basics of keeping people safe and delivering a full regime.

One officer said: “[T]here are two officers on a spur of 61 men…when everyone is back for lunch, one has to supervise medication and the other has to go and collect the food from the kitchen. This means there is nobody else on the spur, the model incorporates completely unsupervised association time and with all the other tasks we have to do it really means that one officer is alone all morning and another in the afternoon.”

Another officer said: “[O]n our house block we have 60-odd on a wing and I work it by myself. I work 0715 to 2000 and I might only see and speak to another officer a couple of times a day…I cover two floors and so might not know about an incident in a cell until the following day”. Inadequate staffing meant that prisons were fundamentally unsafe for staff and prisoners, researchers heard. One officer said: “[W]e had a murder a few months ago. There wasn’t enough staff on at night and nobody came when the alarm was rung. They thought one experienced staff member could run the house block on their own.”

Many officers no longer felt that they could make a difference as the conditions in their prisons meant that they could not form quality relationships with prisoners. Low staffing levels, high workloads and frequent rotations to different parts of the prison made many officers feel powerless to achieve what they saw as a central part of the role. One officer asked: “[W]hat am I doing for them apart from holding them on behest of a judge? There is nothing to help them.” Another said: “[W]e’re at rock bottom and it’s going to take a lot to get that back.”

Many of the officers working in private prisons felt that their companies were not sufficiently focused on recruiting people who understood and had the right skills. Several reported that new officers sometimes arrived without a full understanding of the realities of being a prison officer and as a result quickly left. This high turnover put enormous strain on longer-serving officers. In the prisons that the officers worked in, basic training ranged between seven and nine weeks in length. Officers viewed this as being far too short for the difficult and complex role they were carrying out.

One officer said that training at his prison “is death by PowerPoint…there’s a mandatory five-day course on control and restraint (CNR). It’s not a pass or fail – just an idea of what happens. You are told that CNR can only be enforced by a three-officer team, but there are never three on a wing – most of the time you would be on your own. I think it’s too detached from reality. There’s no training for what to do when you’re on your own”.

The report recommends that the government should support the setting-up of a specialised training and standard-setting college, akin to the College of Policing, to set standards to promote high-quality training across prisons in both the public sector and the private sector. Such a college would also provide an ethical framework and guide good practice, both of which are currently missing.

A number of officers told the project that the starting pay was reasonable in most areas of the country, but needed to rise as staff became more experienced and took on more responsibility. Others thought that the starting salary needed to be higher and commensurate with police officers and social workers in the area.

One officer said: “You can go and work in Aldi for £18,000 a year without having to deal with the things we have to deal with. It’s nowhere near to what we should be paid for [what] we’re doing”.

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This from the Community website:-

Our story

Community was formed in 2004 when the Iron and Steel Trades Confederation and the Knitwear, Footwear and Apparel Trade Union joined together. These two traditional unions had deep roots and strong regional identities in the UK’s steel, textiles and footwear towns. The unions’ members had experienced large-scale de-industrialisation through the eighties and nineties.

Traditionally, once a factory or steelworks closed the union would leave too. Community’s founding unions took a different approach, particularly in the steel industry. They stayed to help their members retrain and find new work and continued to represent people in their new jobs, in new industries. The union became a voice for those communities, not just the people still working in the traditional industries.

This approach attracted other unions to join with the Iron and Steel Trades Confederation. Carpet weavers, based around Kidderminster and Axminster, had also seen their industry transform as production moved overseas. The Power Loom, Carpet Weavers and Textile Workers union joined the Iron and Steel Trades Confederation in 2000 as it began to change into a community union.

The National League of the Blind and Disabled (NLBD) also joined in 2000. It was founded in 1899 as the first organisation for disabled people in the UK. It had a strong record of political campaigning to win rights, recognition and support for disabled people, so the idea of being part of a community-focused union appealed to its members.

Since Community was formed, other smaller, like-minded unions joined us, helping to create the diverse union that we are today. The National Union of Domestic Appliance and General Operatives, the union for people manufacturing white goods, joined us in 2006. And in 2008 the British Union of Social Work Employees, which included NSPCC employees, also made the decision to be part of Community.

Finally, members of the Prison Service Union joined us in 2013. This means that Community now represents more people in privatised justice and custodial services than any other trade union. Together, we are Community. The modern union for a changing world.

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This in yesterday's Guardian:-

X Factor star Sam Bailey: ‘Being a prison officer is tough. But I miss it every day’

Before Sam Bailey won the 2013 X Factor final, she had been patrolling the landings and corridors of HMP Gartree, a life-sentence prison in Leicestershire, for three years. “I didn’t really do a lot of singing at work – though I did sing down the corridors sometimes as the acoustics were great. When all the prisoners were locked up I used to sing as I patrolled the corridors. I loved it. But then obviously I needed some time off for the audition. I ended up owing hours which I had to pay back. When I won the X Factor I had a letter from the prison saying I owed them money.”

As she progressed in the competition, despite the support of colleagues and the governor, she was told that it would be in the best interests of the prison and her family not to go back to work as there had been so much about her personal life, and about where she lived, on the show. After winning the contest, Bailey had a Christmas No 1 and her debut album went to the top of the charts. She is currently starring in Fat Friends – the Musical at the Grand Theatre in Leeds.

Although life as a professional performer couldn’t be more different than that of a serving prison officer, Bailey says it hasn’t changed her. She still lives in the same house and is still in contact with most of her ex-colleagues, for whom she has nothing but admiration. And she wants to use her public profile to raise awareness of her former profession. “I take my hat off to anyone who works as a prison officer right now. It’s not an easy time. I want to let the public know that what these men and women do is phenomenal. People rarely get to hear about the value of the officers: it’s all about what the prisoners do, the problems, the drugs and riots. But it’s one of the best public services and I think the officers deserve recognition for what they do.

On the night that I won the X Factor, the whole prison was banging on their cell doors. Can you imagine that? “The stigma attached to being a prison officer is unfair. A lot of people think of prison officers as big stocky guys swinging a set of keys and looking all hard. They’re not. They come in all shapes and sizes and they are there to help people in their care – and to facilitate rehabilitation.”

Since she left the service, the rates of violence, self-harm and suicide across the prison system have escalated to record levels. Spice and black mamba drugs have flooded the wings and landings and introduced a new level of unpredictability for all those who live and work in prisons. And many of the most experienced officers have left, leaving prisons dangerously short of staff able to maintain effective control. “The service has lost a lot of the more experienced officers who knew how to talk to prisoners and build rapport. I’ve seen the skill it takes for an officer to talk someone up when they’re at their lowest ebb. That skill deserves huge respect,” says Bailey.

These evident problems are spelled out in a joint report by the Howard League for Penal Reform and the trade union Community, published this week, which calls for “urgent action” to save the service. It points out that many new officers arrive with no real understanding of what the job of a prison officer entails and soon leave when reality kicks in, putting “enormous strain on longer-serving officers”.

“I am in touch with a lot of my former colleagues, via Facebook and so on, and I do get told that there are some really good new officers coming through,” says Bailey. “But you know, we are asking these young people to go into some really difficult environments – and they’re not on a particularly good wage. I think it’s unfair that they are paid so poorly, especially when there are things going on that make their job really quite risky. A lot don’t stay long because they’re thinking, ‘Why should I put myself in harm’s way for such a low amount of money?’”

How did prisoners react to her X Factor win? As a former prisoner myself I could imagine the interest of prisoners serving in Bailey’s prison.“I had messages from colleagues on different wings, saying so and so on H Wing sends his best and is really proud,” she says. “I had a lot of nice messages from people I’d been in charge of which was really sweet. On the night that I won, the whole prison was banging on their cell doors. They only usually do that for football finals and at midnight on the last day of the year. That’s around 700 prisoners all banging at once for me. Can you imagine that?”

Was she ever concerned about working in such close proximity to men who have committed some of the most serious violent crimes? “We’re not there to judge anyone. But we have to teach the importance of respect and boundaries,” she says, reverting to prison officer speak. “You have to have a rapport with prisoners – we’re not their friends, but we have to try to support the changes they want to make. It’s about building relationships that allow the prisoner to see the mistakes they’ve made – and then helping them to put things right. Few people outside have any idea how hard the job of a prison officer is. But when you see a prisoner beginning to change because of something you’ve said or the support you have given, it’s incredibly rewarding. The job is not and never has been just about locking people up and talking down to them. It’s not that at all. It’s frustrating when you never hear anyone say just what the job of a prison officer entails.”

It almost sounds like Bailey misses the job. Does she? “Yes, every day,” she replies. “I miss the camaraderie of the officers and the banter: when you work in a prison, that’s what keeps you going some days. I was only a prison officer for three years. I have to say, I wasn’t the best – but I loved it.”

She still supports the work of the prison system when she has the opportunity. This year she presented the Prisoners’ Education Trust’s annual Prisoner Learning Alliance awards where she told the audience “working in a prison is a tough gig, and one that since my time has only become harder. one thing stays the same though: outstanding people can make that harsh environment better”.

The most challenging part of her old job, she says, was not taking work home. “It’s so hard; you might be wondering if that person’s going to be alive the next day.” The best and most satisfying part? “When you see a prisoner start to change. You see the lightbulb switch on and you see them trying to make a real effort. You see them become better people – and you know something good is going to come from the sentence.”

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Finally, another article in the Guardian last week:-

The graduates training as prison officers: 'People think we just turn keys and shout orders'

Less than a month after Jack started his job, he walked in on a man slashing his arm with a razor. Jack is 23, with a degree in arts and sciences from University College London. He is also a prison officer at Brixton prison.

“I had a good childhood and upbringing. I’ve never come into contact with people like this before,” he says, gazing around the prison wing at the prisoners shouting across the landings and hovering nearby, in vigilant groups. “When I told my family and friends I wanted to be a prison officer, they were shocked and horrified. Mostly, they were worried about my safety.”

Jack has been at Brixton for just two months. During that time, he has been the subject of prisoners’ aggression and violence although, he hastens to add, the violence has always been at a low level – “so far, anyway”. He has begun to win the trust and respect of the men in the prison and, he hopes, he will go on to make a real difference to their lives.

“I love my job,” he grins, as he strides through the corridors, locking and unlocking doors every few paces with the enormous bunch of keys hanging from his belt. “I thought I’d find it fascinating, but I actually love it. People think of prison officers as bouncers who just turn keys and shout orders. But you couldn’t have a more caring, diverse and challenging job: I come into work every morning not knowing if I’ll be on healthcare, education, behind a desk or on the landing, where I might be a negotiator, leader, counsellor, educator or role model.”

Jack is one of the first cohort of Unlocked Graduates, a new, two-year prison-officer training programme modelled on the phenomenally successful Teach First scheme, which takes ambitious graduates and, after minimal training, parachutes them into inner-city schools where they are tasked with raising the aspirations of some of the most deprived children in the country.

Teach First has been the biggest graduate recruiter for the past three years, training more than 1,400 graduates each year. Almost 60% remain in teaching with the rest going out into the world, tasked with building a movement of people leading efforts to tackle educational inequality in schools and beyond. About a fifth of teachers in low-income schools are now Teach First graduates, around 70% of them from elite Russell Group universities. Unlocked Graduates works in the same way and hopes to mirror Teach First’s success inside prisons – and outside, too.

The prison system is, without question, in urgent need of help. Two-thirds of prisons in England and Wales are overcrowded, with the population rising by more than 1,200 places in the 13 weeks since May. It is now higher than at any other point in the past four years. Ministry of Justice (MoJ) figures show 68% of prisons are housing more inmates than their “certified normal accommodation” – the limit for ensuring a “good, decent standard”, with some more than 50% over capacity.

According to a report last month by the HM Inspectorate of Prisons, prisoners are living in cells that are too small, with inadequate ventilation, damaged furniture and unscreened, unhygienic toilets, for up to 23 hours a day. And with almost half of all prisoners returning to prison within a year of release, it is clear that more needs to be done to break the cycle of reoffending. After repeated cuts in the size of the prison estate, the government last year committed to recruiting 2,500 extra prison officers, not counting the Unlocked graduates.

In many ways, Unlocked has a harder battle to fight than Teach First. As its CEO Natasha Porter acknowledges, prison officers are “the unsung heroes of public service work”, who must “manage, protect and rehabilitate some extremely challenging individuals, people who teachers and social workers have often been unable to help”. Jack’s experience of telling his family is representative: many initial graduates in the scheme talk of the horror their family expressed, the fears about the risks and assumptions about the calibre of the job. A number of mothers broke down in tears. An aunt asked if her niece was a lesbian.

But, as Jack says, these perceptions do not match the reality. Just two months into the job, one Unlocked graduate is learning sign language in his own time to help a deaf prisoner who has been unable to communicate and, as a result, had begun expressing his frustration in violence. The aggression disappeared once he knew someone cared enough to try to get through to him. Another graduate is teaching a prisoner Key Stage 3 maths, so he has something to talk to his daughter about on the phone. Another has helped a prisoner reconnect with the mother he hasn’t spoken to for 10 years.

What is interesting is that this first wave of graduates visibly challenges what a “typical” prison officer looks like. Bucking the trend of prison-officer recruitment, 80% of Unlocked participants are women – compared with 37% nationally – and 20% come from an ethnic minority background – compared with just 7% of staff in prisons across the country.

Just as the Teach First graduates are given minimal training before being thrown into the fray, the first 50 Unlocked trainees completed a short, university-based course in August. But such is the volatility of the prison estate that real life intruded. Two prisons – HMP Hewell and the Mount in Hertfordshire – descended into riots within a week of each other. At the Mount, riot squad officers were sent in twice in 24 hours as prisoners armed with weapons reportedly took over and vandalised its 250-inmate Nash wing.

Although deaths in custody have fallen over the last 12 months, from 324 to 300, other prison violence has increased as the prison population has expanded. In the past 12 months, there were a record 41,103 incidents of self-harm and 27,193 assaults, 7,437 of which were on staff, up 25% from the previous year. “Despite a small but welcome fall in deaths, every other indicator points to the ongoing and longstanding deterioration in standards of safety in our overstretched prisons,” says Mark Day, head of policy and communications at the Prison Reform Trust. “Too many prisoners are held in overcrowded and impoverished conditions with too few staff to provide a safe and constructive regime.”

The trainees seem unfazed by the August riots. George, a 24-year-old politics graduate, tells me: “The prison officers who are mentoring us haven’t sugar-coated anything. We know prisons are a volatile environment. But the only reason people think prisons are tougher than, say, A&E, is that the criminal justice system is put behind locked doors and forgotten about. These people will come out again and live alongside us, so we can’t forget about them.”

Clo, 22, has a degree in sociology from Cambridge. “I was president of the junior common room at my college. I was taken out for dinner by a lot of consulting firms towards the end of my degree and have no doubt that, had I wanted to go down that career route, I could have done. “This scheme is exciting,” she adds. “I like the idea of being part of a first cohort. It’s risky and it could flop. But having this experience gives us a mandate. I don’t know if I will stay in the prison system, but I will carry the mission with me.”

As well as being tasked with working full-time on the prison frontline, graduates complete a newly created master’s degree focused on helping identify ways to reform the prison system, reduce reoffending and improve rehabilitation. As with Teach First, after two years, participants are expected to either continue working in the prison service or to use their experience to encourage employers to take on more ex-offenders to help reduce reoffending.

“We want our graduates both in the prisons and across society in positions of power,” says Porter. “We want them promoting prisons, investing in prison industries, employing ex-criminals and prison officers.” Porter founded the scheme after working on the influential 2016 review of prison education by Dame Sally Coates. She had assumed it would take a while to grip graduates’ imaginations. But after a cautious social media campaign and limited number of appearances at careers fairs, Porter’s team fielded interest from more than 2,000 graduates. More than 600 eventually applied.

Unlocked is now open for a next wave of applications. This year, it hopes to place twice as many graduates in prisons, including in the youth estate.

Sabrina, 23, has a psychology degree from Aston University. Her motivation for joining Unlocked comes from her own history; brought up in foster care, she saw her contemporaries fall into gangs and, one by one, disappear into the prison system. “I’ve seen it all first-hand,” she says. “I’ve seen a lot of people go into prison who didn’t have anyone to look up to, and who therefore came out and reoffended. I’ve always wanted to have a career where I could be that role model.”

But the scheme is also pulling in older graduates. Robin (not his real name), 51, has had a successful career as a banker. Instead of retiring early to enjoy his wealth, however, he opted for a career change. “It’s a radical change,” he admits. “When I told a very old friend and business partner, he asked if I was taking the piss. It took me ages to convince him but, when I did, he went a bit quiet, then said: ‘That’s amazing.’ And that has been the response from everyone: ‘You’re kidding?’ then ‘Amazing!’”

While the younger graduates are open to different career paths after their two years in prisons, Robin knows exactly what he wants: “In the next 18 months, I want to see the path to being a prison governor open up to me,” he says.

In Brixton, assistant governor Abby Sloan couldn’t be more positive about the scheme. “Unlocked graduates came on to the landings with such confidence that they immediately started making a difference,” she says.

Arnaldo, a prison officer for 15 years, agrees: “They’re great,” he says. “They bring fresh eyes and minds to a prison system that has traditionally been primarily about discipline and rigidity. They’re so confident and positive. They see solutions where traditionally, the prison system has just seen problems.”