Tuesday, March 25, 2003

THE GULAG TREATMENT - The Trauma Of Court Appearances When Incarcerated

Prisoner transport vehicle

10th January 2003 It's about 4.40am, very darkoutside and although I'm expecting it, it is still intrusive when my dreams are interrupted by the sound of my name, it is the officer checking that I'm awake ready to face the long day ahead.


I shower and get dressed, make coffee and elect to bypass whatever is available for breakfast, toast usually or cereal. I want to look my best but how to accomplish this in the near dark with barely any cosmetics is beyond the realm of possibility for me.

Hair wet and partly awake I'm functioning on automation. It seems only a few minuets and the officer calls my name in an almost whispered shout, I respond diligently racing to the door to be let out into the night air eager to cause no hostilities on this auspicious day.

Wearing long pants and a sloppy Joe I'm feeling snug against the early morning pre-dawn. Must be around 5.00am and the "intruder" and I walk towards another house to pick up more "fodder for the mill". I'm wondering who it is, do I know her? Like her? An interesting personage or one of the sheep?

This time it's and old Aboriginal woman I give her what I feel is a respectful greeting and breath deeply the fresh cool air, it's been so hot and this is pleasant.

Others are added along the way towards the gate that opens into the main compound and we head to the Clinic for a pit stop to get medication or Methadone. I'm interested in getting dosed so early and produce an altered state perhaps the day will pass in a pleasant haze with hardly any input from me!

Thank God I remembered the ID. A "skinny Lizzy" type embarrassingly confesses her mistake and is instantly lectured and threatened that no medication will come her way unless the right amount of contrition is displayed. Tears always help in a situation like this. "Lizzy" has to wait until last.

We all wait until everyone has been attended to so no one can claim first place. The sky is starting to lighten and we are at the Reception.

All three officers are busy and we are herded into the cell type room, bars only so you're on hand when needed. We pass the time talking, getting to know each other or catch up with the latest gossip pass the time explaining to the uninitiated the differences between Mulawa and Emu Plains and asking after several friends I've been unable to see for a while.

A couple of women, exhausted already, nod off. I'm getting fed-up with the waiting, as are most the women. After about an hour the drivers arrive and finally the process of transforming us "inmates" into "normal" people starts. It's always a shock to see women in their everyday attire often a complete personality is transformed some in attractive confident ways others sluttish and appear shamed as they attempt to pull down a shrinking skirt.

Some show little concern that they look like clowns caught out in their evening attire hardly appropriate for an appearance in the so very conservative rooms of justice. We are called to recite our Min Numbers and date of births; do we know which court we are going to and for what? This to check that you understand what's happening and that you're fit for the trials ahead.

Today there are about 10 women waiting to be processed. Each of us are stripped of the gaol "greens" and dressed in our own clothes which takes only about 30 minuets owing to the use of two officers supervising the process instead of one.

After this we board the waiting truck and are taken the few 100 meters to the holding cells at Silverwater transport depot. It's now around 8.00am and the other holding cells are full of other prisoners probably from the various compounds within Silverwater. The trucks get packed with a load and soon everyone's Set off to court.

It's about 8.20am by the time I'm locked into a compartment back of truck with a high small one way window and a double seated chair facing the bolted door. I get the feeling of being entombed.

It's air-conditioned and soon feels so cold I wished I had a cardigan or jacket but thankfully my dress is long.

My vehicle goes towards the city and after only one stop to off-load a mystery guy who'd been isolated in his own compartment (probably a protection prisoner).

I'm at Newtown court. It's very much along the lines of an underground car park the same muffled sounds and monoxide smell. I'm escorted to a row of cells with uniform yellow paint and various angry graffiti as the decor. I choose the cell that appears the cleanest and sit on the concrete bunk that runs the full wall length. A constable hands in a foam mattress and thick blanket but no reading material and only three pieces of loo paper at any one time.

Absolutely no smoking or at least (seeing as these cells are run by cops rather than corrective services) no lighters...no fires or no setting fire to yourself.Seems the main concern these days is don't die whilst in police cells too much paper work. They are very courteous and professional, almost too nice to the point where I felt patronised.

I hope that so much pity might entice them to providing a decent cuppa if I'm very good I may get one I'm on a promise. After what feels like an hour but is probably less (first hour always seems the longest) I'm asked if I'd like to see the Legal Aid guy. Of course I don't pay vultures! The 15-minute interview held at the cell door proved constructive. I quickly explain what I require of him, answering the usual "form" questions and signing on the dollar dotted line that is required above and beyond all.

It's around 10.00am and already I feel enough is enough. I'm still groggy from lack of sleep and ponder if this is what one feels with jet lag, I've read each wall's epitaphs, poems and love stances, tried to envision who "AA Beecroft 89" was and the sad story behind the scribe. Some dates end in the future, others proclaim passed events all are reminders that someone else endured this and probably worse. I imagine the passerby's walking above on the summer pavement oblivious to my misery and impatience.

I've nodded off and awakened to tea and a white bread sandwich of cheese and processed meat. Who the hell would order such muck? Is this torture? Another straw to break my back? I've gone over the scene of the up coming court event and I know I've nothing to really fear it's only a small summary charge nothing that could add more onto my sentence.

I've gone through far more serious and traumatic appearances than this but the stories of passed injustices echo in my thoughts and I can't hide my anxiety in dreamless sleep any more, so I pace the length of my cage wishing it all over. It's very quiet now, no noise from the charge desk around the way, no tapping of typewriters, no sounds of conversation or movement from above I start to worry they've forgotten about me. Finally I hear footsteps coming down the stairs and I know they've come for me.

By the time I find myself in the courtroom staring at the Australian Emblem, I'm so wound up and frustrated all I want to do is show the world the contempt I feel. I know I must look a wreak, I feel so dirty and ugly and who wouldn't when their day started 12 hours ago, sitting in a dirty, cold cell for hours? I feel so drained and defeated. I'm so very grateful when I'm led back down to the cells after a five-minute appearance that concludes with a fine; I doubt I'll ever pay. Now I can take off the unaccustomed high-heeled shoes and no longer worry about messing up my hair. It's over I've my last court appearance over with thank the Gods!

So now the question is when's the truck arriving to take us back? How great to get back and relax get clean, eat something nice and share the day's experience with a mate. How wrong can you be? After an hour or longer the truck does arrive but the elation is soon over. At 4.30pm I'm on my supposed way back to Mulawa, however, I soon discover that my truck is on a route completely at odds to the route back. We end up at Waverly on the East Side amongst the peek hour traffic.

It's absolutely freezing again but worse than the morning as this time I'm on the truck five hours instead of just one! I curl up as far away from the air conditioner as possible and try to keep some body warmth. What would happen if I die from exposure back here? How long is it before the human body succumbs to such low temperature? I even moan and groan to expel some of the horror feelings I'm experiencing and wish I'd had more tobacco, made it last longer, but then how was I to know I'd be all these hours away from such luxuries? Each time I peer out the small window I find that we are miles from Silverwater Parklea, John Marony anywhere but on the road I wish for.

Finally we halt at the Silverwater barrier. It's 9.30pm by the Reception room clock and I'm soothingly assured that the rovers to escort me back to the wing won't be long. Amazingly the two rovers do soon arrive I can't help but voice some of my aggravation by tone and attitude, I'm in a filthy mood! We don't go straight to my part of the gaol though, we head instead to the clinic where after some radio exchanges between the rovers and the nursing staff, and a nurse appears.

This is a new policy I'm told; to ensure that the court returned inmates are in the same physical condition as when they left. The nurse appears embarrassed over this inconvenience and it's obvious I'm seriously pissed off. All I want is to get home revive sleep and forget this ever happened.

I truly realise why so many prisoners elect to cop petty charges whether they're guilty or not. I wonder how anyone could endure more than what I'd just gone through how would you face a long trial how could you function optimally? I doubt whether anyone could keep in the right frame of mind under such pressure. It can't be a fair system under these conditions.

I've asked lots of other prisoners about there experiences and been given similar descriptions we all agree that the system was better when each court was responsible for their own prisoners and the police were the drivers but owing to the greater numbers in attendance before the court and higher numbers of prisoners in custody I should think that any system will have problems.

But that is not to say that this issue is not in need of the most urgent attention. How can it be said that justice can prevail under these conditions? Will it take someone to sue the department before anything is changed? Or an even worse scenario a death caused by too much stress and physical exhaustion.

Suggestions: Blankets in the trucks, reading material, writing materials, able to have the occasional cigarette, choice of food, vending machines for hot/cold drinks or access to these facilities, basic cosmetics small concessions but necessary.

By: Annabel Walsh 25 March 03

THE ELEPHANT: Being drip-fed though the courts is a strategy used by the state to have you plead guilty. Like the Gulag treatment 1930-1940 Russia, you're taken to court, made extremely uncomfortable until you own up. When you arrive most times your not even taken up to the court itself and are returned to the jail to face a bad night. Cold meals, no cigarettes all day, no coffee all day.

A Long-Bay roll for lunch and an apple. Stressed to the max without any stimulation can be tantamount to torture. Concrete seating and cold steel framework are meant to freeze a person into submission. After surviving this experience you become hard just like the steel and concrete that supported your human existence in the cell. And you will remember it, just like the elephant, an experience you'll never forget! Ever!


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