Working With Ex Prisoners

They took me on. I don’t think anyone else wanted the post; the previous volunteer had lasted only two weeks.  So I was paid £1 and 10 shillings per week for a post for which I was so academically unqualified, yet for which my crazy family upbringing made me an ideal candidate. Well, I like to think that! A sixteen-year-old certainly would not be allowed to do this work today! I imagine the newspapers and trade unions would have a field day, plus all of the health and safety issues! This was all preparation for my becoming a student of raw life by working with very dark, hurt souls, particularly men.

The voluntary work was like a baptism by fire, though not much more dangerous than living within my own family. The work with ex-prisoners was at times hell, yet I had tremendous guile that became a gift. I learned to connect with people who were worse off than I was. I could somehow get through to them. Little shocked me—or so I made out. My present partner has often said, “You have a natural gift for running groups.” True or not, I do feel some energy runs through me that allows me to trust the energy in the people and myself. Perhaps it’s the power of now. My body is so alive and integrated with mind and spirit. The same happens when I give talks; I can take ages preparing, them, the words may change, and it’s as if divine wisdom inspires me. I give thanks for this gift and it is my intention to use it wisely to benefit others.

Protection

At the hostel, I learned how to work with groups and use the different personalities to offset conflict and violence. The probation officers were often scared to come into the hostel and would ask me to bring their clients out to their cars. I was so egotistically proud that I could mix with such colorful souls, who often told me their horrific stories, even though once or twice two men were so triggered by their memories of hurt that they threatened to kill me! But somehow there was a “presence” protecting me; I learned to talk them down. For once in my life I felt strangely at home. The hardest part of the job was coping with the warden who was a tough ex-miner who had no empathy and little skill in communicating with the men. I do admit some of the men were not easy. They had murdered, robbed, abused people, and some were burnt-out ex-mental patients who were completely institutionalized.

Insight: I often see that the people who care for people in institutions of despair are as hurt or even more damaged than the people they care for. Consequently, instances of staff members abusing inmates appear on the news. We need a way of truly caring for the care givers. These include prison wardens, teachers, police officers, doctors, social workers, nurses, and many others. (As an aside, recent research on men in prison showed that one in four men is dyslexic).

Robert Holden, founder and director of The Happiness Project and Success Intelligence, has written a book called Loveability: Knowing How to Love and Be Loved. I quote from his first chapter: “One Day, all the great professions will include love in their training syllabi and core values.”

Dr. Ihaleakala Hew Len teaches workshops on the Hawaiian method for achieving wealth, health, peace, and happiness, and teaches Ho’oponopono, an ancient Hawaiian practice of reconciliation and forgiveness. This mantra is an integral part of Ho’oponopono: “I love you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you.”

Each morning at the hostel, I would find women and/or men in bed with each other. The smell of alcohol was everywhere, and I would find broken furniture after fights. I learned to take this all in my stride. I remember being addicted, as were all the inmates, to smoking at sixteen years of age. It was a way of sharing even if it was killing us!

The police would often raid the place if there had been a local burglary. This created a lot of hatred and mistrust.

One particular incident happened while I was there: the Welsh Aberfan coal disaster. A landslide of coal slag killed many children and teachers. What amazed me were the tears in these so-called hardened men, who had been so condemned by society and unloved. This disaster led to deep sharing amongst the men and changed many attitudes and behavior in the hostel. From then on there was an honor amongst thieves! We cooperated and assisted each other, from laying the tables for meals to admitting wrongdoings, like theft. Out of tough experiences good can come. I witnessed a lot of healing at 56 Morris Lane, Leeds. I left this voluntary job after a year, a very different young man, yet still I had many unresolved emotional issues.