Itook a trip to the prisons the other day. There were a couple of inmates I needed to talk to, so I took the afternoon off and paid them a visit. I’ve always been fascinated by prisons, the world over, and the Maltese prison is no exception. I’m always curious to hear how people, who are locked up for an indefinite or definite period of time, deal with it. So yes, I definitely find the whole idea extraordinarily captivating – the paronomasia is not intentional.
I was horrified to learn that Division 6 is still operational
After I’d parked, it suddenly occurred to me that I was visiting someone and that I shouldn’t go empty handed – in much the same way I wouldn’t, were I visiting someone in hospital. So I stopped at a nearby mini-market and picked something up, and then I wondered whether the loot would be temporarily confiscated and locked up along with my sunglasses, mobile phone and handbag. It wasn’t.
In light of recent calls for prison reform, I feel compelled to point out that the staff I met were polite, friendly and very cordial. My visit was temporarily delayed on account of ‘fall-in’, a roll call system carried out in each division, which serves as a security check.
As it happens, my visit coincided with the particular division’s ‘fall-in’ check, so I must have spent 20 minutes talking to a warder who was manning the main door.
We shot the breeze, while I kept an eye on the numerous shotguns displayed in various orifices and corners of his body. He was personable, efficient and no-nonsense without being too intimidating, which I think struck the right balance.
All the while, other prisoners from other divisions were coming and going about their business while I was kept up to speed. The prisoners have the option to work and get paid, and some of them are extremely talented and hard-working, especially some of the lifers.
The jobs vary, and range from stonework to making bread or assembling dolls. A few lifers came my way – people who have been in there for 20 years and longer, and who will never get out.
I tried to search their faces for some sort of expression, but most went about their business avoiding eye contact. Suffice to say that I didn’t register anything in particular, except perhaps resignation.
The guards were plentiful, and it seemed none were playing truant that day. Not that I’d know the difference, but the place seemed to have an abundance, and on second thought, since my last visit a few years ago, it certainly felt like personnel and human resources had been stepped-up somewhat.
What I definitely noticed was an ease and respect between the warders and the inmates. The rapport was what you’d call decent – even pleasant – and I don’t think it was being staged for my benefit.
A couple of high fives later my inmate was transferred to the lawyer’s visiting room and that was the end of that.
I eventually left the building and thought about it for a few days afterwards. The prison could do with a makeover, and more than just a few cosmetic changes.
I wasn’t given a grand tour of the place, but from the little bits I did see, it is quite obvious the place has seen better days. And yet, that didn’t really bother me so much.
Admittedly a little facelift might go a long way to lifting the spirits of the people stuck inside, but with the right investment and attitude, there is hope yet.
Still, I was horrified to learn that Division 6 is still operational. The first I heard of this division was as far back as 1995, when Meinrad Calleja was detained there for just over three months between November 1995 and March 1996.
Calleja was never released on bail and spent seven years in custody awaiting trial.
At the time, Division 6, dubbed the poorly-lit punishment cell, was where prisoners were sent as a punitive measure. There, one was denied access to basic rights and privileges. While in other divisions you could have your own TV, radio, bed linen, reading material, daily visits, daily phone-calls, and your own food brought in, Calleja – who had just arrived and was not even convicted – was kept in complete isolation and near darkness with absolutely no contact with the outside world.
He was even denied a toothbrush, which was only brought to him upon request. He literally had nothing in his cell, except the clothes he was wearing and an abundance of rats on account of the acute infestation.
I am not sure whether these conditions were ever enforced before or since Calleja’s time, so I wouldn’t like to speculate. That said, Steve Marsden – the Briton who did time time in this division as late as 2009, would seem to corroborate much of this version. And, in 2010, the poor lighting, lack of ventilation, hygiene and rats were still very much alive and prevalent, when Barry Lee, who spent six months inside the same division also as a detainee (he couldn’t make bail), was found hanging inside his cell.
Lee was co-accused with Daniel Holmes, the gentleman and prisoner from Wales who, pursuant to an admission and the usual plea-bargaining deal gone awry, is currently serving a 10-and-a-half year prison sentence which will be increased if he can’t pay the €23,000 fine that was also meted out.
If there is any justice, I do hope that this disproportionate sentence will be drastically reduced on appeal. But that is another story.
Back to Division 6, which is still a punishment section and sometimes doubles up as a temporary measure for prisoners who don’t have a cell to call their own.
Without quoting chapter and verse of reports frequently issued by the Council of Europe’s Prevention of Torture and Degrading Treatment Committee, before we can talk about a correctional facility, this one needs to go.
michelaspiteri@gmail.com