CHAPTER 7

My daughter told me she wants to read my book, I told her sometime soon, that I currently only had enough copies to sell. That was a lie. She had just turn 12, and I’m thinking that my story is too hardcore, too advanced, too rude for her right now. Maybe I could work on an edited version. I’m not sure how I am going to deal with this one. Not sure that I’m ready to give her the whole truth about her father. When I used to visit her at her primary school, the children would ask me if I had been to prison, I would say ‘yes, wonderful place man. Have you ever been yourself?’ there were too young to know and that would usually stop them in their tracks, if they asked me about what I did to go there. I would be just as evasive. They recognize me from my poster portraits. At first it had an effect on my daughter but she has grown to deal with it. I told her that if anyone asked her if I was her father, and that was often, she could feel comfortable to say whatever she liked.The one man cell I had entered, had all these sayings written all over the walls in shit, in big bold letters,……. CURE FOR AIDS, HYPERTENSION, DIABETES and the likes. The occupant had also drawn what looked like a 32 inch T.V. in shit with the same slogan on the screen, CURE FOR DIABETES AIDS HYPERTENTION. Whoever he was he seemed obsessed with finding a cure and I wonder what it was, maybe it was shit. For months prior to me being

there we would pass by and peep into this cell and whenever I wanted anyone to find me all I had to do was to tell them that I was in the T.V. room or the cell with the T.V. on the wall. Some of my friends couldn’t believe that I had moved in there. I tried to scrape off the letters, but they were caked on. Luckily there was no smell. So I acquired some paint and did a makeover, but the letters were still, raised and visible beneath. So involuntarily I would read those sayings over and over and ponder their hidden meaning, what it was the guy meant to convey?

Persons who didn’t know me personally seeing me going or coming from there, assumed I was mad. On the wall, over my bed I had drawn life-size in pencil, a yogi eyes closed, sitting meditating in the lotus position hands on knees with thumbs linked to index fingers; nearest the door I did a life-sized lion-headed dreadlocked warrior crouched and holding a sword in one hand and a shield with a huge marijuana leaf on it in the other. This was positioned for the warden to see as soon as he opened the door. On the floor just in from the door I had painted a murder issue; an outline of a dead man and a gun next to him. Inmates would stop to admire the artwork from time to time, borrow and exchange books.

On rear occasions we were privileged to peep into the cells of long time prisoners up the yard. Now these cells were different, more like apartments. They were

exclusively one man cells, well plastered, well painted and decorated. Some even had carpets and solid furniture, and framed pictures on the walls. Many had strings of postcards accumulated over the years. These inmates were usually very proud and protective of their cells.

Just woke up on a ledge, 0530 a.m. been out 2hrs earlier to gather some ‘pahwee’ mangoes; juicy fruit. I sleep usually 1, 2, 3 or 4 hrs at most. Although I have a bed, I prefer cold concrete, a park bench or the bare floor, matter of fact the only time I sleep on a bed is in prison. I was thinking that although I’ve developed a rhythm, and so far covered most of the material I wanted to, there is still something missing; I want to go deeper, I want to really feel the jail again, Glendairy, and write hard-core. I am writing from memory, and I am thinking, why not go to the prison and pick up the vibe? Real thing as the youths say. It would be sure to jar my memory even further. Then I thought, why not contact the superintendent Colonel John Nurse, send him what I had written thus far and ask him to allow me a special visit to see the old prison. Then I thought; fat chance of that.

You know how they are; mechanical, they would never agree to give an ex-convict permission to visit the prison-riot, burnt-out remains, at Glendairy, never. They want the truth to remain hidden. And even if John Nurse

agreed, he would have to first consult the prison authority, they would have to meet on it and that could take forever; it would enlighten them as to what I was doing, and what was I doing? You might ask, exposing the system, and it’s wrong-doing; and even if I did get an official tour in the end it would be with some uniformed guard or guards looking over my shoulder and that would make me more than queasy. We’ll test the theory, ask permission, but in the mean-time, check it out myself. Then it occurred to me that it shouldn’t be too hard to break into Glendairy, after all, security would be lapse and they wouldn‘t be expecting me. But if that 20ft high wall was still intact then there would be a problem. I decided that I would scout around during the day first and suss-out the possibilities. To get close to prison again would probably make me sick. It’s now a month and my toe still hurts but is getting better, the swelling is down. I did what someone told me and tied the effected toe to the one next to it with a bandage. I try wherever possible to ask questions as the general public is a source of unlimited knowledge and resources. Been to court Tuesday 19th July 2011, a day late; forgot to appear the day before, was only required to be present in the dock for a short while, a female magistrate set a new date for 7th Dec 2011. She was smiling when she told me to be careful that I didn’t lose my freedom. It was hard to tell if she was smiling with me or at me. Don’t forget I’m

on bail. This is about my 6th appearance the police never once turned up. Yet she refuses to throw out the case.

The writing is flowing but I’ve stopped at this point to purposely break the continuity and take stock of what I’m doing, to review the work so far, in relation to what’s going on around me, and so forth; to see the bigger picture. It is possible to psyche up one self to the point where you become oblivious to everything else. If I write in isolation I stand the chance becoming disconnected from you the reader. It is necessary to check their pulse of the public, their rate of absorption, their reaction, and even their projections. So after days of writing nothing, I decided that I would resume as the ideas and memories keep coming in fast and I want to avoid stagnation or back log.

The world around is perched precariously on the edge, with the civilian public waiting helplessly for the next development. It’s the 26th… and the Obama administration is experiencing great opposition in getting the Republican Party to back their requests for more funding as they struggle to deal with the ridiculous debt situation they, The United States of America finds itself in. Recently watched two dvds, one called the ‘illuminated shakras‘, dealing with the rise of the kundalini serpent power via the spinal column up to the 8th chakra or level of consciousness, where you ascend for a possibly

encounter your soulmate shiva. The other dvd, entitled ‘sex the secret gate to eden‘ deals with a similar theme of using sexual energy between a couple to liberate. It promotes sex without orgasm as a means to transmutation; conservation and regeneration of creative energies. It appeals to me.

Adding to the bad news, government troops in Syria launched a major offensive with tanks and machine gun fire to crush protestors in the town of Hama resulting in the deaths of hundreds of civilians. This saddens me greatly as I believe in power to the people and the necessity to agitate for rights and reforms, freedoms and better systems. It is common knowledge that power corrupts, and there is a constant struggle for power and control.It stands to reason that if people receive proper representation, the inclination to rebel would be greatly diminished. The safe society organization I founded way back in 1994, recently posted a music video on you-tube called ‘murder one’ under search (safesocietybarbados) dealing specifically with civilian casualties at the hands of security forces. (check it out) I sincerely wish there was something tangible I could do to bring an end to the madness and mayhem, by this I mean the violence and wholesale slaughter of innocent men, women and children. It doesn’t have to be this way. I hope for a time

when peace and unity would reign. I am riveted to the news, following the developments, most every hour around the clock, the internet, newspapers, it’s incredible, the rate and magnitude of it all. I would like to look away for my own peace of mind, but if I do that I miss. 0630 hrs Sat. morning found me at the waiting room outside the old burnt out prison of Her Majesty’s Glendairy. There were 3 or so prison officers in plain clothes waiting to enter the building. When I approached they asked me to state my business. When I told them I was back to gather information for the book I was writing one of them became very hostile, asked me who gave me permission to write such a book and demanded that I leave the compound; typical.

I left immediately, but toured the pasture land just beyond the perimeter at the back and picked two handfuls of mushrooms from the cow-dung, and headed home. From the onset I realized especially since I had been to the new ultramodern facility at Dodds Prison, St. Philip that Glendairy had been long overdue for an overhaul and had been an accident waiting to happen. Built in 1855.…. to house 350 prisoners, in its latter years was home to over 1000. Moral was at an all-time low in the months preceding the riot. The prison staff were disgruntled at what they said

was a lack of respect shown them by the new superintendent Col. John Nurse, this, coupled with the fact that their payment was routinely late caused several officers to demonstrate their disgust by staying away from the job and reporting sick. There had been discontentment among the prisoners as well, things were at their lowest ebb with acute shortages of virtually everything. Spoons, plates, cups, toiletries, beds, sheets, etc. The wardens staying home meant that the prison was often short of staff, which meant that inmates were often locked in all day for days. It also meant less persons to man the parcels and visits which meant a lot of people were turned back from seeing their relatives and a lot of privilege revoked. It also meant that arrangements for legal representation became strained, creating further difficulties in the law courts. The overcrowding caused the job to become perilous, the ratio of wardens to inmates was ridiculous, tensions were running high and there was an increase in the number of altercations and fights between prisoners and between prisoners and wardens. I remember a warden called Ellis saying that he wanted to get out before something happened, well he didn’t, he got transferred to work the gate which was a lot less stressful than on the yard, but somehow got involved in an altercation with an H.I.V. positive prisoner Carson Cave who broke his neck with a kick, the warden Ellis died. -----------------------I remember distinctly when John Nurse first took over at Her Majesty’s Prison Glendairy. George Clark had been

given the boot as it was under his watch that celebrated criminal, Winston Hall now dead had escaped for a third time. I don’t think it was totally his fault but the authorities had to pin the blame on somebody, to satisfy the public concerning this lapse in security. So after a televised shame and blame inquiry George was given his marching orders and the authorities set out on a quest to find a stricter, more capable Superintendent. At one time there had been speculation in the media that someone from overseas would be appointed, but somehow they decided on the misfit John Nurse. Prior to him taking over it had been bussing in the pipeline that this army man would be the new Supa. Jail had been suffering terribly, and it was convenient for us to pin blame on George Clark, he did things in the old way, which clearly wasn’t working. We looked forward to the coming John Nurse with great anticipation; the prisoners truly believed that he could and would change the sad state of affairs that existed back then; we were ready to welcome him as our saviour. There was tremendous build up to his arrival. Word would travel like wild-fire whenever he was on the premises and inmates would scamper to get a glimpse of their new boss. I was on the farm when it was suddenly announced that Col. John Nurse would address the general assembly of the prison in the mess hall. We were made ready and joyfully filed up the hill to the mess, as I said with great expectation. A lot of the inmates from the main building were there as well as the entire female section and their

matrons seated in the front row. This was indeed a rear occasion. Several top-ranking staff were present and the mess was packed to capacity. We waited for several minutes, during which time, one or two unruly inmates were cautioned and a few extracted from the crowd and placed in cell. The warden who acted as chief coordinator waved his cane at intervals asked us to be quiet, and threatening to have us expelled and punished if we didn’t. Finally John Nurse took centre stage, and all eyes fell on the immaculately dressed army-style fit figure in Ray-ban type sunglasses complete with officer’s flat hat with the red-stripe round the top. He immediately approached the microphone and started to speak, but found to his obvious displeasure that it was not working, he promptly replaced his hat on his head exchanged a few inaudible words with the coordinator and left the room.

A murmur went up from the crowd and a few individuals approached the stage to test and fix the public address. When everything was ready, the Colonel returned to the room, and once again approached the mike this time without removing his hat; there was a moments silence and for a second it was as if everybody in the room held their breath. At that point without as much as a ‘Good Morning’ to the assembly or acknowledgement, or any show of courtesy, John Nurse started cussing and swearing. We were seriously taken aback. He next

voiced his displeasure at the way jail was being run and the unsavoury manner in which some inmates carried themselves. He threatened to put on solitary for 28 days anybody who carried themselves like vagrants. He also threatened to shoot on the yard with his 9mm any prisoner who fought with a warden. The prison assembly immediately went into an uproar and had to be quieted. For the rest of his speech John Nurse made it clear who was in charge and referred to the prison as his prison, periodically, swearing at the inmates.

This was too much. A number of prisoners started to stand, some shout and some attempt to leave. It was truly a sad occasion. The assembly was promptly disrupted and we were allowed to return to the farm. Everyone seemed to be talking at the same time, pandemonium set in and the wardens had trouble controlling the column of men going through the gate to the farm. Prisoners started swearing, cussing at John Nurse, and the mood turned ugly.

So on his first day at prison, John Nurse had almost succeeded in causing a riot. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, but openly voiced my displeasure. We were not used to this. Everybody complained and the wardens were silent, they too could not believe what they had just heard and witnessed, it was in extremely poor taste. The men on the farm continued to be so unruly that it became

necessary to lock-up everybody.

So started the reign of Col. John Nurse. In the months that followed, it was reported that Mr. Nurse repeatedly referred to the prison as his prison; now anyone who knows anything about the way Glendairy was run would dismiss this as bare nonsense. The prisoners did everything other than actually turn the keys. They even slammed the doors shut on other prisoners at the request of the wardens. They did every conceivable task on the farm. They were really in charge. The authorities maintained the balance by keeping them happy and by spoiling a few highly privileged inmates.

For John Nurse to have just arrived and state that it was his jail, when there were already prisoners there doing lifetime, 10, 20, 30 years and upward was not only ludicrous and utterly disrespectful, it was the rant of a madman, and for a while was treated as such. But when he started to disrespect and undermine his own party, things started to go woefully wrong. Among the prison population it was understood, that the prison belonged to no one, and to everyone. It was home to all but the property of none. It was the property of the state, the government. Named after Her Majesty the Queen, though I doubt she ever visited. So in effect, it became noticeable the Colonel had a serious personality disorder. He would eventually alienate himself and disrupt the up

until then smooth running of the prison with his bullshit.

He quickly became disconnected from both prisoners and the prison staff alike. He threw the weight of his rank around but kind of forgot that prison was not the army and prisoners were not soldiers. Instead of applying what he had learnt at the military barracks he tried to enforce it. Anyone who followed this confused human being stood to themselves become confused. Instead of skillfully employing psychology as the other Superintendents had done before him he decided instead to employ mind games. Unlike most of the other Superintendents before him who had come through the ranks, he had been simply transferred to his new post. To achieve his objective, he would need to garner the trust and devotion of those around him. It was a tradition, all new officers to the prison had to humble themselves, to learn from the prisoner, the ways of the prisoner. This was gospel. It couldn’t happen no other way; after all no one was born a grown up.

Every mistake, every technical error he made was reported through the prison grapevine, to the inmates. So john Nurse became a laughing stock, and after a while no one took him too serious. Only so he remained adamant and arrogant, the murmurs became very negative and developed into a conspiracy to get him out, and Col. John Nurse soon became despised. To my mind

what he really needed was a bucket of stale piss and shit dumping on his beautiful uniform. _____________________________________ The wardens planned and rebelled against their new oppressor, using any excuse to report in sick which meant an acute shortage of staff situation and a security threat. The prisoners planned and rebelled as well and before you knew it, within months you had a proper riot on your hands and the prison burnt to the ground. Some would not admit it but the truth is you had in many ways Col. John Nurse to thank for it. He was the straw that broke the camel’s back.--------------------------------------------------At one point, Mr. Nurse, accompanied by the who is who of the prison visited the farm extension prison to make an announcement. He stated that he expected very prisoner to do his part in upholding the general hygiene of the farm prison and again threatened solitary; he stated that any musty men he found would be sectioned in this way for an extended period. I put my hand in the air and made sure I skinned my teeth to get his attention, other inmates also put up their hand and eventually was giving the chance to speak. I made it a point to first greet him cordially and with respect, then I voiced my displeasure and that of the prison body at the way we were address at his opening speech, days before, when he cussed the prisoners. Many in the crowd echoed the sentiment. I went on to draw attention to my clothing, the shirt was badly torn, and I allowed him to know that I had only one

suit of clothes, which I had been wearing each and every day for the past 6 weeks, having to wash them and put them on wet or strip to a bare boxer, during this time. I told him that I had applied to the staff in the office for an alternative suit of clothes and they replied to the effect that if I hadn’t brought any into prison they couldn’t help me, so I put it to him that the administration was to blame for the sad state of affairs of the attire of many of the prisoners. I also made it a point to state the obvious. That there were pig sties directly behind some cells and loads of animals defecating on the farm and that flies followed shit.

He appeared interested and told the officer next to him to take my name. By now several other inmates were eager to be heard. One by one he picked out a raised hand and encouraged dialogue. The prisoners opened up and stated their case, many times they were legitimate complaints and queries about a wide range of topics, from guys failing to receive prescribed medication, to persons not receiving soap powder to keep themselves clean, and a whole host of genuine concerns that showed that inmates truly lacked and brought to light the short comings of the prison. To each request and complaint, John Nurse appeared earnest, and to be listening, ‘Take that inmates name’ he would say aloud each time to the 3 striped officer next to him, and this went on for quite a while until the majority of inmates were heard, and had voiced their opinions.

That day John Nurse shows us a caring side, the side we wanted to see, that of our superior officer prepared to give us our dues. After he left, there was a live buss in the air, we were once again filled with hope and expectation, after all we had found favour with the top man, our requests basic and necessary as they were, were about to be met. Yippy. We were going to be elevated to human status again.

In the days that followed we went about our lives with a kind of gusto bravado, moral had returned, we were satisfied that improvements were on their way. We discussed the matter among ourselves and decided that knowing jail we would give them some time for the changes to take place and our requests fulfilled. After a week or two we started to pressure the officers about the promises made, cause things seemed to be moving at a very slow pace. But after a month or so none of our requests had been realized, and we were suffering in the same way. It became most evident that Superintendent John Nurse had been mamaguying us and giving us the bullshit. Virtually none of our concerns had been attended to. This made us mad, and caused us to see John Nurse as the bold faced liar and serpent that he was. We felt betrayed and depression once again set in. Truly Glendairy just before the riots was a living hell. Man I just wanted to get out.

Sometime after I left prison, I was privileged to see the said John Nurse from behind a glass door of the British High Commission, on Collymore Rock. St. Michael, he was at a social event decked in his fine prison uniform, looking very pleased with himself, champagne glass held high, and mingling with the folks there. He looked happy. He wasn’t swearing at these folks many of them white, and I thought to myself, a puppet rewarded for doing the bidding of those in high society. What one would loosely term a ‘house negro’ or ‘house nigga’ 16th Aug 2011...The past week has been one of much turbulence for the United Kingdom, with its worst riots in recorded history; this was accompanied by looting in London, starting in Tottenham where a black youth Mark Duggan had been shot dead by police under questionable circumstances, violence spread like wild fire to Croydon, Ealing, Gloucester and the major cities of Birmingham, Manchester and Liverpool; this resulted in gangs of organized youths and individuals simultaneously moving in to take advantage of the confusion, looting department stores across the country. There was island wide mayhem, and in its wake were 4 dead, near 2 thousand arrested and millions of pounds in damages to property. Civil unrest on this scale had been unheard of in England. This being my second home I couldn’t help but be disturbed over what was going on, obviously there is deep-rooted discontentment in some social circles; despite what a lot of people think, there is a lot of poverty in the U.K. I found this out personally during my homeless

ordeal on the streets of London. I had been living rough on and off for months, the winter period proving especially challenging; a shit, a shave, a shower, a privilege not to be taken for granted. There were however always charities where you could find food, clothing, a shower and during the bitter cold Christmas period limited nightly shelter. To my mind there are too many persons grown dependent on social support, thinking as the saying goes that the system owes them a life; with the coming of the recession, the welfare benefits were no longer enough to properly sustain a yob culture grown fat on handouts, and drugged on commercialism. In others words, here was a nation of spoilt kids with the rug being snatched from beneath them, coupled with fact that there were millions of desperate illegal immigrants and asylum seekers who were not entitled to welfare in dire straights intermingling with the local population. The divide between rich and poor had also become much more pronounced. Living in an urban jungle of millions of strangers, it is easy to feel isolated, especially if things are on the down. I remember being in London just after the 9/11 bombing of the World Trade Centre, man you could literally touch the gloom. It is a phenomenon where you feel one among millions disjointed from society, on a threadmill going nowhere.

I tried to follow the developments via the BBC news and associated interviews surrounding the issue. Various viewpoints were supplied and so too various techniques

to deal with the crisis. One thing is for sure, unless you walk around in the skins of those involved you stand to miss the real deal. British Prime Minister David Cameron’s quick assessment of the situation as certain elements of society being sick and the country being under siege by ‘criminal elements’ doesn’t seem totally accurate. After all these comments come from a person of the upper class and someone who has experienced a much sheltered upbringing and affluent lifestyle. One thing I know is that there is enough of everything to go around, but it aint happening. For there to be rich, there must be poor; which brings me back to my core beliefs, peace, equality, justice and freedom. An inquiry was launched to find out the cause of the riots, and yes they got it right , yes they got the answers, but like much of everything else in today’s world they couldn't afford to fix the problem, the cure was for them unrealistic, so they elected to continue to kick the can down the road and maintain the status quo. Riots bound to flair up agáin shortly, mark my word, society in the meantime is planning to be better prepared to crush it. Another guy of influence who once delivered a speech in the mess hall of Her Majesty’s Prison Glendairy while I was there was David Symmonds, now Sir David. If I’m not mistaken this was in the capacity of Attorney General. Much like when Col. John Nurse spoke, Sir David from the inception let the assembly know that he vehemently hated us criminals and he felt safe to show us this. He openly displayed the contempt and disregard he held for

us. For him we were the scum of the earth. In our home, cause that is what Glendairy was, he showed us total disrespect. His voiced his unequivocal support for the death penalty and the revival of flogging with the cat-o-nine tails. He told the assembly how he wanted to hang all murderers and that he would not allow us criminals to hold society for ransom. Obviously he couldn’t win our love or support with a speech like that but he didn’t care to either. David Symmonds was totally out of control, and totally out of order but no one told him. He went on and on lashing out venomously at us, degrading us, and we were supposed to sit and accept this, it was an awesome display of ignorance and arrogance. Once again the guards remained silent. It was crystal clear that this individual was all for the rich white ruling class and totally disconnected from reality. It was also clear that Sir David was a willing instrument in the hands of the elite, and for all his accolades was just another ‘house nigga.’ Despite his cultured bourgeois status and white wife, he was out of sync with our existence. I was to witness this first hand sitting in a packed assembly of the mess hall. Unlike John Nurse, his reputation had preceeded him so it came as no surprise really. As fate would have it, a few weeks later I had been escorted to the upstairs flight of the Barbados Tourism Authority and High Commission building on Tottenham Court Road, London, England by a female employee, where incidentally my artwork was displayed as one of

the featured Bajan artists, remember I told you I do 3-dimensional wire figurines to great effect. We were discussing the best way to display my work and how best to pay me when, we turned a corner and lo and behold, I was suddenly in the presence of none other than Sir David. In a split second I was introduced to him as one of the featured artists on display and the next instant he was pumping my hand. I was riveted to the spot, momentarily paralysed, cause here it was I was looking into the face of the same guy who just a short while ago had said he would like to kill prisoners. I felt sick but was able to maintain my composure. I watched Sir David leave and thought to myself, that I should follow this cock-sucker and put a bullet in his ass. I quickly dismissed the thought, I did not have a gun on me, anyhow. As soon as he left I withdrew my artwork forthwith from the exhibition. I had been just a face in the crowd back then but much transformed by it all. The world is indeed a small place I thought. There is nowhere to hide. I remembered earlier on in life saying to myself that I could have been a very dangerous person, a killer, and thief, sick individual, one with a brain. I had however decided to shelve these thoughts and that part of myself, staying close to the straight and narrow, and as a consequence to live the life of a pauper, at least up until now. I know full well in this life that what goes around comes back around. That you will ultimately be judged by the judgement you mete out. There is a time fast coming when a lot of those corrupt officials in society will pay the price for their corrupt deeds. Hopefully I will not

be called upon to administer justice; that my hands like my thoughts can remain pure and clean. Only when there is no justice all hell breaks loose, and to be an instrument of change usually means physically getting involved. It is said ‘we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but spiritual wickedness in high and low places.’ But I have come to realize that spiritual wickedness doesn’t only fly through the window it also bold as fuck walks through the door. So the fight is on all levels, and this is a reality. Trust me. The inmate population is almost exclusively from the lowest and poorest class of society, a fact that has never eluded me. Is there a link between poverty and crime? There most certainly is. For poverty and deprivation do not improve a person’s character but causes the individual to be more prone to embark on evil deeds; cause and effect. This is not always the rule but most often you find that circumstances lead to situations. In desperation we do things that we would otherwise not. And since the poor are also almost always exclusively black, then it stands to reason that the mass incarceration of negroes even in this present day and age is as a consequence of poverty and slavery, and if you look deeper you will find that it is for the most part due to

the purposeful engineering efforts of the ruling class. Their existence depends on the masses being under educated, under the poverty line and mind-controlled. This is the only way that minority can rule. Their status is further entrenched in law and order, coupled with the misguided belief that the poor were and will always be with us. To complete the picture we need to blinker our eyes and elect educated persons to do our thinking for us. Henceforth anyone who does not subscribe to this line of thought is a direct threat to the pyramid system of beliefs and the livelihood of those who head the status quo. They must therefore be partitioned or silenced. Prisons therefore exists to deter dissidents of the system and to keep the masses subservient to authoritative rule.

On the inside I became acutely aware that the captives were almost all black. That something was innately wrong. What was also noticeable was that a lot of the sufferers were very young; prison and society breeds a culture where the individual is recruited early and once incarcerated is bound to return. Used as cheap labour while there, educated in crime, blemished and excluded

from mainstream society.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%