KATE Donegan . . . the very name sounds Chandleresque, and indeed many
a thriller is built around Donegan's profession, but the problem is that
drama invariably gets it wrong. Donegan watched television's The
Governor, cringing throughout the series at all that unremitting
austerity: the slamming of cell doors, the oppressive air of people
being marched around and pushed about. An effectively run prison, she
says, doesn't resound with jangling keys. It has no need to operate like
that.
But such is the public's poor regard for the offices of law and order
just now that ''an effectively run prison'' is perceived as a
contradiction. The Home Secretary would have us believe that draconian
punishments are the surest means of shrinking crime statistics.
In England, however, many prison officers, angered and demoralised by
Michael Howard's peremptory treatment of their former director-general,
Derek Lewis, see the Government's proposals as a time-bomb which would
be imposed at colossal cost to the taxpayer, only to be detonated by
inmate mutiny.
In Scotland, where the prison service has been radically restructured
since the riots and rooftop agitation of the late eighties, the
situation seems less fraught, less primed for confrontation. But
Donegan, formerly the deputy governor at Barlinnie in Glasgow, and now
No 3 at the Scottish Prisons Inspectorate, would be apprehensive about
any significant erosion of prisoners' privileges.
''Psychologically and emotionally, visits and the possibility of
remission are of tremendous importance,'' she says. Even the business of
anticipating that day's food plays a substantial part in maintaining a
jail's equilibrium.
There is a range of rights on both sides, she says, and prison
officers have to work positively towards gaining inmates' consent.
''They can only do that by understanding where the prisoner is coming
from. For our part we must never forget that our core purpose is custody
and order. We must keep secure all those who are sent to us but we must
try to do so in a way that promotes harmony and a safe environment all
round.''
Down south the problems between the Home Secretary and the prison
service, Donegan feels, are due to a failure of communication more than
irreconcilable differences. ''I think we all may be talking about the
same thing, really, but somehow the lines of discussion have become
confused. We all know about the expectations of society, but for us the
whole point of the exercise is not just to keep the bad guys locked away
but to try and rid them of a criminal mindset while they're with us. At
the end of the day that is what will lead to crime reduction.''
After 18 years of working in the service, which has included seven
years at the women's prison, Cornton Vale, and the deputy governorship
at Oscar Wilde's old slammer, Reading Jail, Kate Donegan is now the
senior woman in Scotland's prison service. It is a distinction she is
almost reluctant to acknowledge since she says she has never personally
experienced overt discrimination in the profession. What does dismay
her, however, is the near-invisibility of women in senior management
throughout Scotland.
''Generally we have the impression that the situation is getting
better but things are not moving as fast as they should. None of my
female colleagues, either inside or outside the service, is looking for
preferential treatment or a standard increase in the ratio of women to
men. But what they do seek is equal opportunity and that means opening
up recruitment systems in all careers so that the line of advancement
isn't only hierarchical.''
Open and transparent competition for jobs is what she has always
championed but that view became an active, clear-sighted credo between
1991 and 1994 when she was head of the Scottish Prison Service's
manpower planning, and later became a key figure in the service's
staffing structure review. This, says Donegan, produced a slimmer, more
robust organisation shaped to take on the growing challenge of
private-sector involvement in our jails.
''There is no such thing as an easy nick. Every one of them has its
special problems although in Scotland ours are undoubtedly less complex
than those of England where the prison population is around 57,000. And
because of its disparate nature -- the number of ethnic minorities, for
instance, and far more Category A prisoners -- the English prison
service has difficulty in developing a corporate identity.
''Here, our prison population stands at around 5000, and currently
there is no prisoner in the system whose behaviour is unmanageable,
though that certainly wasn't always the case.'' Since the public
perception is that more violent criminals exist today than previously,
what has caused this outbreak of docility within the pen? Could it be
that drug taking has subdued the most troublesome?
Donegan says it would be dishonest to suggest that the prevalence of
drugs in prison is not alarming the authorities, but she doesn't believe
there is a strong correlation between many drugs' taming effect and the
present manageability of prisoners. ''If you walk around a jail you do
not see zombies, for the simple reason that those on drugs inject,
ingest or smoke them at night.''
Most of the addicted hide the substances in their rectums, bringing
drugs into prison when they first arrive, or when they make outside
contact through visits or court appearances. The service, however, is
not permitted to search prisoners internally, and even if it were
Donegan feels that this duty might be unacceptably fraught, most
officers finding it inapproprate to have to hold down a reluctant,
screaming prisoner. There also is the question of whether such sensitive
examinations should belong to the medical sphere.
So what does account for the apparent calm? Donegan points to the fact
that officer-recruitment is now much more careful and targeted.
''I don't think the character of the prison population has altered. It
is fundamentally the same as it has always been but we are bringing in
to the service people who are much more prepared to be flexible in their
responses and who possess a whole range of inter-personal skills.
''Previously we weren't equipped with this kind of training, but the
rooftop troubles of the eighties were a catalyst for change. We knew we
had to take a hard look at ourselves and make sure the system worked
from both sides.''
What does worry her, though, is that the potential for disaster will
undoubtedly increase if longer prison services with no remission mean
overcrowded jails. ''I don't subscribe to the view that putting all
tough criminals together in one location is the road to hell. Instead it
is a challenge for us, and the service has certainly managed challenges
before.''
But neither does she believe in evil. ''I think we must see everybody
who steps over the threshold into prison as redeemable. If you believe
otherwise then you will eventually return to the community people who
are worse than when they came in.''
Donegan would like to see a data base compiled on ex-convicts'
successful re-entry into society as law-abiding citizens. ''At the
moment we only get the recidivist rate, but the other side of the story
would be most beneficial both to prisoners and officers.''
After so many years what still engrosses her about this necessarily
closed and disciplined world is the dynamic between custodian and
inmate. Her new job, which will probably last for a few years, is
clearly a career move designed to increase her working knowledge of
every Scottish prison, and some English institutions.
But her ultimate goal is to be appointed a governor on merit.
''Obviously there are senior jobs within the service that require
operational experience but I would far rather be in a prison.'' In fact
her only regret about her present inspecting role is that it has made
her remote from prison life.
''I actually do miss being with prisoners where the challenge,
different everyday, is to make all the disparate groups work together.
Now I only get to see the very good or the very bad prisoners, which is
a pity.''
Kate Donegan, daughter of a policeman, wife of a management
consultant, and mother of two sons, has only ever once been assaulted in
a jail and it happened when she was working in Perth.
''I ordered a cell search of someone who regarded himself as
all-powerful in prison culture.'' She had been on her rounds and felt
that this particular cell was a little over-furnished for security. ''He
felt affronted, and some time later -- I think it was in the laundry --
he threw a glass jar at my back which didn't actually do much damage but
it fell at my heels and cut me on the legs.''
The prisoner's actual aim was interesting. Did he choose Donegan's
back out of cowardice, or out of warped courtesy because he didn't wish
to maim a woman's face? She is statuesque, two inches off six feet,
assertive without being confrontational; someone who does not feel the
need to show who is the dominant one in any prison encounter.
Donegan says that the ideal prison officer must combine
self-confidence with teamwork and an ability for good banter and humour.
''And as there will be lots of vocal abuse, there is no room for
officers with chips on their shoulders, or for those who see prisoners
as enemies. What's needed is a lot of self-esteem.''
She downplays the tension and dangers which obviously do exist, and
finds personal distraction in a vibrant family life in Stirling, and her
part-time degree course in business studies and business law.
But striving wisely to improve the service for everyone's advantage is
very much a life-commitment, and you sense that throughout her career
those behind bars have sussed this out. When she was at Cornton Vale,
the women knitted in preparation for the birth of her sons. At Reading,
an illegal immigrant composed a poem for her; at Barlinnie another
inmate did the same.
And it was also there that the prisoners who worked in the garden
would bring Kate Donegan roses, without any awkwardness or guile. Small
virtues brightening up the sterile melancholy of jail.
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