(1)
(An Open Letter to the Home Secretary—at that time, May, 1909,
the Right Hon. Herbert John Gladstone, M.P.—printed in _The
Nation_.)
SIR,—In addressing you, I desire to say that I do so with a gratitude
and respect that must be shared by those who know how much you have
already done for the improvement of our prison system.
I head this letter “Solitary Confinement” because, though the expression
has long been officially abandoned in favour of the term “Separate
Confinement,” it more adequately defines the seclusion undergone by
prisoners in closed cells, and distinguishes that system from a practice
obtaining in local prisons of setting prisoners to work separately in
their cells with open doors (when it is impossible to find them work in
association).
Solitary, or closed-cell, confinement—that is to say, complete
seclusion every day for nearly twenty-three hours out of twenty-four—is
now, sir, as you, but not all men, know, endured by every convict
(persons sentenced to penal servitude for three years and over) during
the first three, six, or nine months of his sentence, according to
class—star, intermediate, or recidivist, and for the first month of
their sentence by all prisoners (except juveniles) sentenced to hard
labour. Closed-cell confinement for women convicts lasts four months.
It is the object of this letter to urge on you the complete abandonment
of this _closed-cell_ confinement, save where it is rendered necessary
by the conduct of the convict or prisoner after his arrival in prison.
In order to demonstrate the weakness of the case for its retention, I
shall first quote certain paragraphs from the Report of the Departmental
Committee, 1895, over which you, sir, presided. (The italics are my
own.)
52. “We do not agree with the view that separate confinement is
desirable, on the ground that it enables the prisoner to
meditate on his misdeeds. We are, however, disposed to agree
that the separate system as a general principle is the right
policy. The separate system rests on two considerations only. It
is a deterrent, and it is a necessary safeguard against
contamination. But we are not of the opinion that association
for industrial labour under proper conditions is productive of
harm. On the contrary, we believe that _the advantages largely
outweigh the disadvantages_. . . . Subject to this condition”
(careful supervision) “and to a proper system of classification,
Colonel Garsia, a prison official of great experience, stated in
his evidence that there was _no danger whatever_ in associated
work. . . .”
53. “. . . We think that this limited form of association is
desirable for several reasons. (1) It is a welcome relief to
most prisoners from the dull and wearying monotony of the
constant isolation which forces men back on themselves, and _in
many cases leads to moral and physical deterioration_. (2) It
can be made in the nature of a privilege liable to suspension,
and would be, therefore, a satisfactory addition to the best
kind of available punishment. (3) It materially lessens the
difficulty of providing and organising industrial labour in
prisons. Prisoners can be taught trades in classes, and they can
then work in association under proper and economical supervision
in regular workshops or halls provided for the purpose. (4) It
is more healthy. _It is desirable that cells should be
untenanted for some hours in the day_, and in any case it is
better that work which produces dust should not be carried on in
the cells.”
55. “In recommending a wider adoption of associated work, we
must admit that several competent witnesses expressed
disapproval of the principle. . . . But upon cross-examination,
it _did not appear that they could sustain their objection to
associated labour properly supervised, and they seemed to us to
have formed their opinion rather because separation has been the
accepted rule of the prison system than on any experience of
failure of the associated system_. . . .”
76. “In the consideration of several matters contained in the
reference we had to touch upon the practice of confining
convicts for nine months’” (now, 1909, three, six or nine)
“solitary imprisonment either in local or convict prisons. . . .
The history of it is interesting and suggestive. It was
originated in 1842 by Sir James Graham, then Home
Secretary. . . . We shall show how complete a change in the
apparent object of the practice has since occurred.”
77. “. . . The convict was to undergo eighteen months’ solitary
imprisonment, but he was to be _freely visited_ by chaplain and
prison officials . . . he was to be kept in a state of
cheerfulness; hope, energy, resolution, and virtue were to be
imparted to him, and he was to be trained to be fully competent
to make his own way and become a respectable member in the penal
settlements. . . .”
78. “In 1848 it was determined that, eighteen months being too
long a period for isolated confinement, a system should be
introduced based on a period of separate confinement, followed
by a term of associated labour, with a maximum of twelve months.
This was reduced by Lord Palmerston in 1853 to nine months. The
original intention of Sir J. Graham, which was that this period
should be _primarily of a reformatory character, appears fifteen
years later to have been lost sight of_. . . .”
79. “It would appear from Sir J. Jebb’s evidence in 1853 that
the main object of the separate (solitary) confinement had come
to be _deterrence_. . . .”
80. “_In effect, this is the purpose which it must be regarded
as now designed to serve_. . . . It is certainly a practical
convenience in the sense that the expense of sending convicts
immediately after sentence to convict prisons, either singly or
in small detachments, is curtailed by the system of gathering
prisons. _This consideration alone is not sufficient to justify
the practice._ The argument that it is a necessary discipline
for penal servitude, _if true_, is no argument for sending the
convicts to local prisons. We do not regard the system with
favour. We see no objection to short periods of detention in
local prisons for the purpose of collecting parties for transfer
to the convict prisons; _but if the system is a good one at
all_, we think it ought, as far as possible, to be worked out in
the convict prisons from first to last. _We think it cannot be
denied that cases occur in which a nervous condition, agitated
by remorse and by a long continuance of the separate system, may
be injuriously affected by it._ From the evidence before us, we
have no reason to believe that such cases are of other than
exceptional occurrence. We think it is worth considering whether
the severity of the system _might not be mitigated by a
substantial reduction in the period of separation_. . . .”
These, sir, were the conclusions of your Committee as far back as 1895.
I submit that, as a whole, they point to the existence of very grave
doubts in the minds of its members as to the wisdom of retaining this
system of closed-cell confinement at all. Since then great strides have
been made in the direction of the classification of prisoners, and of
associated labour, and the whole slow trend of thought and effort in
regard to prisons has been in the direction of reformation of the
prisoner.
The late Sir Edmund Du Cane, though one of its chief supporters, has
called solitary confinement “. . . _an artificial state of existence
absolutely opposed to that which Nature points out as the condition of
mental, moral, and physical health_ . . .” (“The Punishment and
Prevention of Crime,” p. 138.) Its effect on a highly-strung temperament
is thus described by a young woman who had served a long term of penal
servitude.
“. . . It is like nothing else in the world—it is impossible to
describe it; no words can paint its miseries, nothing that I can
say would give any idea of the horrors of solitary
confinement—it maddens one even to think of it. No one who has
not been through it can conceive the awful anguish one endures
when shut up in a living tomb, thrown back upon yourself . . .
The overpowering sensation is one of suffocation. You feel you
must and can smash the walls, burst open the doors, kill
yourself! . . .”
Add to this Sir Robert Anderson’s description of his sensations
(_Nineteenth Century_, March, 1902), after he had caused himself to be
locked up for only a few hours with a political prisoner. “I seemed to
be in a pit. There was no want of air, and yet I felt smothered. My
nerves would not have long stood the strain of it.”
This is the conclusion, from personal experience, of H. B. Montgomery:
“The whole of this procedure” (solitary confinement) “is cruel
and barbarous, unworthy of a humane or civilized nation. To my
knowledge it drives many men mad, and even when it does not
induce lunacy, mentally affects a large proportion of those
subjected to it . . .” And: “The less a prisoner is thrown in on
himself and the more he is encouraged to foster his home ties,
the less likely is he to descend into that condition of despair
and demoralization which are such potent factors in driving men
to perdition.”
These are the words of Colonel Baker, of the Salvation Army, before your
Departmental Committee of 1895:
“As to convicts on discharge, I should like to say that we find
a great number of them incapable of pursuing any ordinary
occupation. They are _mentally weak and wasted_, requiring
careful treatment for months after they have been received by
us. In several cases they are men who are only fit to be sent
off home or to a hospital.”
These, after personal experience, are the comments of W. B. N. in his
moderate, and stoical, book “Penal Servitude”:
“. . . but, at the best, the system of ‘separate confinement’ is
a very bad one. It is only solitary confinement slightly
improved, and it has some of the worst effects of that terrible
punishment. The intention of it, doubtless, is to impress the
prisoner with the gravity of his offence against society, and to
bring him to a better state of mind. But in some cases, I am
convinced, it has quite the opposite result. The solitude and
the hopeless monotony, with nothing to think of but the long
years of suffering and disgrace ahead, produces nervous
irritation approaching, in some cases, to frenzy, and instead of
softening the man brings out all the evil there is in him. Under
such conditions, the worst companions he could have are his own
thoughts. In men of a different temperament, again, it deadens
all sensibility, so that they do not care a straw what happens
afterwards, but would just as soon become habitual criminals as
not. It is this sullen hatred of themselves and of everybody
else engendered and fostered during the long dismal months of
separate confinement that makes the most dangerous and
troublesome prisoners at a later stage. There are a third class,
who, having no criminal instincts, nor any strong instincts at
all, merely give way mentally, without any acute distress, and
become little better than half-witted by the time their separate
confinement is at an end. . . .”
These are the remarks of Professor Prins, Inspector-General of Belgian
prisons:
“Solitude produces in him (the vacuous-minded, erratic, and
animal person who is usually the criminal) no intellectual
activity and no searching of conscience; it serves to deepen his
mental vacuity and to deliver him over to unnatural indulgence
in the one animal appetite of which he cannot be deprived.”
(“The Criminal,” Havelock Ellis, p. 328.)
Beltrani-Scalia, formerly Inspector-General of Prisons in Italy, is of
the same opinion, and remarks that “the cellular system looks upon man
as a brother of La Trappe.” (“The Criminal,” p. 329.)
The following passage, taken from Prince Kropotkin’s “Memoirs of a
Revolutionist,” refers to a peasant confined solitarily in a cell
beneath him in the Fortress of Peter and Paul, and with whom he and his
neighbour could communicate by knocking.
“Soon I began to notice, to my terror, that from time to time
his mind wandered. Gradually his thoughts became more and more
confused and we two perceived, step by step, day by day,
evidences that his reason was failing, until his talk became at
last that of a lunatic. Frightful noises and wild cries came
next from the lower storey; our neighbour was mad. . . . To
witness the destruction of a man’s mind under such conditions
was terrible.”
Finally, this is the judgment of the rector of St. Marylebone, Dr. W. D.
Morrison (after more than ten years’ experience as Prison Chaplain): “It
tends to have a demoralising effect upon many classes of prisoners.”
Such evidence might be multiplied indefinitely.
Now, sir, in regard to the object of solitary confinement we have surely
no need to go behind the finding of your committee:
“It would appear that the main object of the separate” (closed-cell)
“confinement had come to be deterrence . . . In effect this is the
purpose which it must be regarded as now designed to serve.”
In regard to its nature, we have, as surely, no need of other
description than its supporter’s, the late Sir Edmund Du Cane’s “An
artificial state of existence absolutely opposed to that which Nature
points out as the condition of mental, moral, and physical health.”