Life on the West Island - Going inside

Last weekend, Life on the West Island visited an inmate at what was described as a “minimum security correctional centre.” This description turned out to be a euphonism for what we found to be a gaol containing maximum security cell blocks with one area for minimum security prisoners. But let’s start at the beginning.

For many years, we have been friendly with an older couple who live in a small country town some 300km from the nearest capital city. We got to know their son, now middle-aged, who worked in a professional job and was involved in a range of voluntary community roles. By all external signs, Paul (not his real name) was a model citizen. So, it came as a great shock to us and his parents, when he was charged with several non-violent crimes. Although his parents believed him to be innocent, he was convicted and sentenced to a lengthy prison term.

Initially, he was held in a maximum-security city prison with very limited visitor access to one person once a week. His mother was able to travel there by bus and train (an 8-hour return trip) on weeks when he was not being seen by his lawyer or a health professional.

Then he was moved to a lower security facility well north of the city, making visits from friends and family more difficult by adding around 200km to the round trip. After more than a year, Paul was relocated to a regional correctional centre almost 300km from his parents but a little closer to some family and friends, including us. His mother asked if we would visit him sometimes, which we agreed to do.

However, we found that becoming a visitor to a prisoner in our state system was not a simple process. First, we had to register on the Correctional Services website, providing multiple proofs of identity and undertaking a police check. Those steps completed; we were sent a form to apply for a Visitor Identification Number. Almost two months later, after we had made several phone inquiries, we found by searching online that our VINs had been approved and that we should approach the correctional centre to seek an appointment.

That turned out to be quite complicated, since the phone number for visitor appointments was only open for an hour a day on Mondays and Tuesdays and often went unanswered. Calls to the Centre’s office number were met with advice to keep ringing the dedicated visitor appointment line. After a few weeks of trying, we eventually got through, only to be told that the only visiting time was between 1 and 2 pm each Sunday, but that all appointments were now to be made online.

The online site seemed easy to navigate, except that it instructed us to click on a link to the necessary form, only to get a message saying, “This form is no longer available.” It took a call to the manager of the correctional centre to eventually be connected to the right person, and so a visit was finally booked for a subsequent Sunday.

During the preceding week, we received a terse email setting out the conditions required of visitors. Among other conditions, the email had a long attachment specifying that we would need to arrive at least an hour before the appointed time to undergo identification procedures, including biometric identification and checking of photo ID. We would also be prohibited from taking any items into the visiting area, including any form of drugs or medications, pens, paper, food or clothing (other than what we were wearing).

So, we arrived an hour before the time and joined a long line of other hopeful visitors. Initial checking involved us providing our VIN numbers and the Master Index Number of the inmate we were visiting. Our photo ID was taken away, checked and copied and we were directed back to the waiting area. Some time later, we were called up to the counter to have the irises of our eyes photographed, then it was back to the waiting area. Other experienced visitors pointed us to a lobby containing lockers for prohibited items, such as wallets or purses, rings, watches, jewellery, mobile phones, trouser belts with metal buckles, keys and writing materials. The lockers had a slot for a two-dollar coin. After that was inserted, the key popped out. Having read the conditions of entry, we knew that we were allowed to take the locker key inside, along with a small plastic bag of gold coins.

About half an hour later, again a bored-looking correctional officer called out the name of the inmate we were visiting, and we were ushered into a sterile room with a small table and an x-ray machine. We deposited the locker key and bag of coins on the table, before being directed to a cross on the floor where we stood while a remote camera recorded a full-length image of each of us. Then we were each directed individually to step into the X-ray cabinet for a full body scan. We had to stand on footprint images on the floor uncomfortably close to the scanner, looking steadily straight ahead at a LOOK HERE sign a few centimetres from our noses.

That completed, we were each handed a slip of paper containing our VIN number and Paul’s MIN number, then joined another queue behind a locked door, awaiting admittance to the visiting area. On the door was a sign advising that no toilets were available beyond that point and that any request to go to a toilet would immediately terminate a visit. Standing there with empty bladders, it seemed that we had met all of the required formalities to visit Paul.

Next week: what we found inside this West Island prison.