Easter Sunday in Arbour Hill

Arbour Hill prison is situated behind Collins Barracks between the Phoenix Park and Smithfield. The prison (which has only been functional as a civilian prison since 1975) is housed in an old Victorian building with three wings, a recreational and workshop area, an admin area and an enclosed courtyard. It holds about 150 male inmates. It was originally built as a military prison in the late 1700's and not much has changed in terms of basic architecture since then.

For the last 4 years I have been part of a football team where, every Sunday morning between 11.00am and 12.00pm, we play the inmates in a 5 a side game of soccer in the enclosed courtyard.

Of all the projects that I am involved in this is the one that is the most divisive. On one side of the divide are people who would argue that prison should not be easy (as it would then not become a deterrent to crime) and that the tougher it is (within reason) the better it serves society. Those that support the initiative would see merit in the simple solidarity it offers to people who have had their freedom taken without passing further judgement on their actions.

I have never been a victim of serious crime so have a bias for the latter perspective but that said I fully acknowledge and respect the alternative view which is simply stating that we need a prison system that reflects the need for serious consequences for people committing serious crime.

Arbour Hill is home to many people who have committed serious crimes. It is an odd mixture of people serving very long sentences (for crimes like murder) and people serving sentences for sexual crimes. At first you would think that this mixture of people could not work but in time you understand why it does. Inmates who have a very long prison sentence ahead of them tend to settle down into a routine and become quite institutionalised as the years go by. People who have committed sexual crimes tend to keep to themselves and over time (sometimes admittedly, a long time), differences are respected and people get on with their lives and their sentences.

Arbour Hill is a very settled prison and in all the times I have been going in there I have never felt threatened (though on occasion, disputes during the football game can get a bit heated!). Interaction with the inmates is very controlled and limited to a quick chat before and after the game and prison wardens normally escort the team in and out of the prison. You never quite get used to the experience of walking down through the prison wings nodding to and acknowledging various inmates along the way. Some of the prisoners will choose to be in exactly the same place every week and will actually continue a fragmented conversation with you on every weekly visit!

People inside will tell you a range of stories from how they have sustained injuries from playing football on the cement courtyard through to the rejection they face from their families because they are in prison. Much of it comes down to the simple need of wanting to be listened to. On other occasions you will be teased about your premiership football team losing the previous day. You will be offered support for the up and coming game against the 'home' team (the term used to describe the inmates team). The 'away' team gets a lot of inside support - they really want us to win (we rarely do) as it makes for a good slagging match the following week inside the prison in advance of the next game.

 

In these simple limited interactions you come to realise the importance of things like remembering everyone's name, remembering everyone's story and giving as good as you get in terms of slagging!

Obviously there are necessary controls and restrictions in terms of interacting with the inmates but it does strike me that even the limited human contact with the inmates is a very positive dimension for everyone.

The inmates really look forward to the game every week and, as time has gone on, have built up a great rapport with the outside team. Everyone is on a first name terms with everyone else and there is even a tactical understanding between all the players inside about how to play a particular outside team selection when they arrive in.

The outside team of 5 (+1 sub) is selected from a pool of about 30 young (with the obvious exception of myself!) volunteers. The feedback from everyone seems to be that the experience really helps them see the inmates in a more compassionate light - to see them as people who have committed crime and not just as people defined by their crime.

We try to make sure the game happens every Sunday – this can be a challenge with people being away, Saturday night festivities, people working shifts etc – but it is next to impossible to get a team together for Easter Sunday as most people understandably go home to their families.

I tend to be free on Sunday mornings (yes even Easter Sunday morning!) so for the last couple years I have asked the prison authorities for permission to attend the Easter Sunday mass in the prison with the inmates given that there is no game. They have politely refused on each occasion.....till yesterday.

Thanks to the chaplain, who has been a tremendous support for the whole project and who made all the arrangements, I was given clearance to enter the prison at 9.30am to attend the mass.

I have to admit that I was nervous. I honestly did not know what to expect. What happened though prompted me to write this note. It was a truly extraordinary experience.

I arrived at the prison gates at about 9.15am. I went through the normal security arrangements (leaving mobiles etc at reception) and was then let into the prison. The church is just inside the door on the left of one of the wings so I made my way down there. I met the chaplain on the way who greeted me with a big beaming smile and said I was most welcome. I noticed that one of the lads who normally plays in goals for the 'home' team was acting as sacristan. He looked at me perplexed and much to the chagrin of the Chaplin, asked me what the 'f**k' was I doing here and then shook my hand.

I then entered the church. It is a small beautifully decorated room in bright colours that can hold about 150 people at a squeeze. It was packed.

People turned and looked at me and the sense of shock combined with an eerie silence was palpable in the room. I was suddenly really self conscious. I quickly sought out an empty pew seat and awkwardly stumbled into it bumping off everyone...to find myself standing beside the longest serving prisoner in the Irish prison system. He also looked at me perplexed and then grinned. He said something like he hoped my adherence to religious ritual was in better order than my football skills. The truth was that it wasn't! I have not been to mass in years...

Then the ceremony began. In the corner of the Church was a small choir which burst into song. I recognised the guitar player as one of the best footballers on the 'home' team and there was also an African man playing the bongo drums. The singing was fantastic and full of energy and I noticed people moving and swaying to the rhythm of the music.

When the singing was over the chaplain welcomed everybody in a wonderfully warm and generous way. He talked about hope and light and that death had been conquered through the resurrection and that to remember that light banished darkness not the other way around.

The readings were read by various inmates interspersed with more wonderful singing from the choir. The chaplain read out the gospel and then gave a short sermon on hope. He emphasised the importance of belief in hope and that love conquers all.

I found myself looking around at the misshapen and troubled faces of many of the congregation and found myself in the presence of something deeply human. Amidst all the brokenness and suffering inward and outward, there was a genuine, earnest, almost desperate sense of a search for meaning and understanding. There was a pure rawness and starkness and awful honesty in terms of what it means to be a human being. Despite everything I actually felt I was in the presence of something sacred. I have no idea where that feeling was coming from. It was quite over whelming. I felt I was getting a very stark reminder of the redemptive power of love and more importantly the deep need we all have to be loved.

When we uttered the words of the 'Our Father' together every sentence truly made sense particularly the closing lines. I felt I was actually praying in a way that I had never done before.

When we shook hands at the sign of peace all my apprehension had gone. The sincerity I felt in those handshakes was truly humbling.

During the Eucharist, the normal divides between the prisoners were gone. People from various factions, old, young, different cultures and perspectives walked solemnly up to receive a host. In many ways I was staring upon a microcosm of a broken humanity gathering around the simple flickering Easter light to bathe in its hope. I felt very much a part of rather than apart from that brokenness and most importantly I felt hope.

I suddenly realised that this is exactly the place Jesus would be were he alive today. Everything he did would seem to be about hope. And then it dawned on me that this is the essence of what we celebrate in communion. We nurture and celebrate hope.

As an aside, when I went up and received communion I forgot that you are supposed to say 'Amen' on receiving the host. Instead I said thanks. It caused both the chaplain and myself to get a little flustered. Mind you, it was how I was feeling at the time!

The mass ended with a wonderful rendition of the song 'The Lords Dance'. People literally left the little church with a spring in their step. At that point I expected a prison guard to tap me on the shoulder and to escort me to the exit of the prison.

Instead the Chaplain came up to me and asked me did I want to stay around for a cup of tea. I told him that I would love a cup of tea thinking we would have it, and a chat, over in the Chaplaincy.

Then out of the blue, one of the inmates came up and offered to make me a cup!

I looked at the Chaplain who winked at me. I then looked across at the prison guard and he gave a subtle nod of approval (suggesting he would turn a blind eye...) and the next thing I found myself with a group of the inmates outside one of the cells, sipping tea and chatting about the up and coming clash between Manchester United and Liverpool later that day.

The conversations were frantic and full. We joked and laughed about aspects of life (including the craziness of the situation I found myself in!). Everyone was keen to engage even just for a transitory moment. I became truly conscious of the potency of the gift of time and freedom. When somebody has no or limited freedom giving of your time would seem to be the most powerful gift of all.

Over the course of the next couple of hours inmates from the different wings came over and joined in. The prison guards kept an eye on everything from a distance and the atmosphere was completely relaxed and cordial. There was a simple beauty in the simplicity of it all. The stories were amazing (and unrepeatable but incredibly funny) and to be honest I could have been in any group of people having a laugh and not noticing anything different.

It was quite surreal.

Lunch is served at noon so it was time to go. One of the prison guards escorted me to the entrance where I waited for an outside guard to open the door. The cell nearest the exit in any prison is known as 'Cell No.1' . Coincidently it is to the right of the entrance and across from the Church. The person who gets that cell is considered to be 'Number 1'. In terms of hierarchy in prison the person who holds the 'Number 1' position is the inmate boss.

As I was waiting there the 'Number 1' prisoner came out of his cell and shook my hand. He then gave me a tiny Easter Egg and grinned, telling me it was an appetiser before my Easter dinner later. The gesture however was not lost on me. It is extremely difficult to get any 'treats' in prison even on Easter Sunday. This was an act of huge generosity.

I was actually nervous eating the Easter egg. Stupid doubts plagued my mind. Was it laced with something that would make me sick? I overcame my prejudices and discovered that I had in fact, probably had communion twice on this amazing day.

Epilogue

I know I am on dodgy ground even sending this note out (and may I stress that if anybody in the Department of Justice reads it, no safety rules were compromised – I think there was an implicit understanding by everyone that it was a safe and good thing to do). However, there is a strong tendency in society to demonise people in prison and, without condoning crime in any way, I honestly believe this is unfair and serves no constructive purpose whatsoever. Taking somebody's freedom as a punishment suffices. To go further and take away their dignity is wrong. And I believe all aspects of our society including our justice system should reflect that.

If you fancy joining the soccer team let me know....