KC HillOn The Inside
September 9th 2008 11:35
There’s something surrealistic about being locked in the same jail you used to work in. I’d spent three years as a prison guard in the toughest maximum security jail in Australia, and now I was a prisoner in the very same jail.
As I was marched through the main gate into the jail, my wrists bound with the latest style in stainless steel handcuffs, I thought about how things had gone so wrong. I had known that I was in a rut, living out the same old thing day after day. I knew there was more to life than just teaching computer classes month after month, year after year.
Then I decided to start an Aboriginal Reconciliation group in town. The very first meeting attracted over ninety people. As it turned out, that upset some of the misguided police in town, who still thought that all blacks needed to be kept in their place.
The next day, I was arrested for the first time, and kept overnight in a cell at the police station. The charge was stealing a text book from the college I had taught at for three years. I was found not guilty, after police admitted they had actually put the book in my house during their first illegal search, then “found” it later when they finally got a search warrant.
It took fourteen such arrests before I was finally found guilty, and sentenced, for supposedly assaulting a woman I had met at a disco. At the subsequent appeal eighteen months later, I was found not guilty.
The judge’s decision was made easier by the fact that she had three other men in court on the same day as my appeal, on the exact same charges, but all separate incidents. She also had eight prior matters in the previous five years, with eight different men being sent to jail, for exactly the same thing. Her criminal compensation payments from the government meant she could afford a very comfortable lifestyle. She is now in jail herself for the repeated false complaints.
The sentencing was devastating. I remember quite clearly the judge stating “I sentence you to eighteen years imprisonment.”
“That’s not good,” I thought to myself, “that’s definitely not good. Not good at all.”
My lawyer stood up and cleared his throat. “With all due respect your honour, eighteen years seems rather excessive.”
The judge seemed confused, as though he wasn’t quite sure where he was. “Did I say eighteen years?” He gave a nervous laugh, and smiled a false smile. “I’m sorry, I meant eighteen MONTHS. There, I hope that’s better now.”
It wasn’t really. Eighteen months still seemed like a hell of a long time. And I knew I had been set up.
So I was marched into the jail I knew so well from when I was a guard. There was Smithy at the main gate, who I had known for ten years. He gave an incredulous single laugh, and seemed not to know what to say. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head slowly “So I guess you’re not coming fishing on the weekend?” he asked.
I laughed, recognising he was trying to make the best of an awkward situation. “Doesn’t look like it,” I replied, taking the cigarette he offered.
I was taken to the high security section of the jail, reserved for high risk escape prisoners. There was a guard there who was new to the job, and I didn’t know him. I was stripped naked, and put in a completely empty cell, no blankets, no mattress, just a cold concrete floor and an open window with bars on it. It was snowing outside, and the icy wind blew through the cell. I had never seen this done when I was a guard
“You’re on suicide watch,” the guard told me, with a sneer that showed he enjoyed what he was doing. “We can’t risk giving you clothes or blankets that you might hang yourself with. First time prisoners always cop this.” He slammed the door, and I could hear the bolt slipping into the hasp on the other side, and the key turning in the lock.
“Enjoy your stay at the Hilton.” He called through the door, as he gave it a hard kick to remind me where I was.
Two hours later, he was back, with the Governor of the jail. The Governor looked through the Perspex walls at me, huddled in the corner, trying to keep warm. There was a genuine remorse in his eyes, mixed with just a hint of anger. He motioned to the guard who had put me in the cell the way I was, and the door opened. The guard looked scared.
“Get this man his clothes and some blankets, and move him to a cell with a window and heater,” the Governor said. “This cell is condemned.”
The guard started to protest, and the Governor stopped him with a slow and deliberate “Keep your mouth shut.”
After that, things were better. I had a lot of experiences in jail, and, surprisingly, most of them were positive. I got a new outlook on life, and learnt a lot about people in general. Most importantly, I had the time to learn about myself.
After four weeks, I was released on bail pending appeal, on the condition I not reside in or enter New South Wales for any reason except to attend court. After eighteen months on bail, exiled from my home state, I was finally found not guilty of assault. But I was found guilty of the new charge of resisting arrest, when I was arrested for the assault I didn’t commit.
The jail sentence was dismissed, and I was sentenced to a two year good behaviour bond, not to enter New South Wales in that two years, for any reason whatsoever.
Talk about feeling like you’re not wanted! Anyway, a lot of positive things came out of that four weeks in jail.
While I was on bail in Queensland, I was asked to be Deputy Principal on an Aboriginal community, because my jail experience could help me relate to the people in the community. That later led to me working with Aboriginal street kids in Rockhampton.
Later, I toured China for a year, lecturing at universities about Aboriginal education. I have now visited nine countries outside Australia. I wrote for major national media publications, and worked as a researcher for a federal senator, particularly on homelessness, marginalisation and Aboriginal affairs.
In hindsight, if I hadn’t spent that four weeks in jail, my life would never have changed. And in this case, I believe it changed for the positive. Life is what you make it.
More stories by this author after the following important information
As I was marched through the main gate into the jail, my wrists bound with the latest style in stainless steel handcuffs, I thought about how things had gone so wrong. I had known that I was in a rut, living out the same old thing day after day. I knew there was more to life than just teaching computer classes month after month, year after year.
Then I decided to start an Aboriginal Reconciliation group in town. The very first meeting attracted over ninety people. As it turned out, that upset some of the misguided police in town, who still thought that all blacks needed to be kept in their place.
The next day, I was arrested for the first time, and kept overnight in a cell at the police station. The charge was stealing a text book from the college I had taught at for three years. I was found not guilty, after police admitted they had actually put the book in my house during their first illegal search, then “found” it later when they finally got a search warrant.
It took fourteen such arrests before I was finally found guilty, and sentenced, for supposedly assaulting a woman I had met at a disco. At the subsequent appeal eighteen months later, I was found not guilty.
The judge’s decision was made easier by the fact that she had three other men in court on the same day as my appeal, on the exact same charges, but all separate incidents. She also had eight prior matters in the previous five years, with eight different men being sent to jail, for exactly the same thing. Her criminal compensation payments from the government meant she could afford a very comfortable lifestyle. She is now in jail herself for the repeated false complaints.
The sentencing was devastating. I remember quite clearly the judge stating “I sentence you to eighteen years imprisonment.”
“That’s not good,” I thought to myself, “that’s definitely not good. Not good at all.”
My lawyer stood up and cleared his throat. “With all due respect your honour, eighteen years seems rather excessive.”
The judge seemed confused, as though he wasn’t quite sure where he was. “Did I say eighteen years?” He gave a nervous laugh, and smiled a false smile. “I’m sorry, I meant eighteen MONTHS. There, I hope that’s better now.”
It wasn’t really. Eighteen months still seemed like a hell of a long time. And I knew I had been set up.
So I was marched into the jail I knew so well from when I was a guard. There was Smithy at the main gate, who I had known for ten years. He gave an incredulous single laugh, and seemed not to know what to say. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head slowly “So I guess you’re not coming fishing on the weekend?” he asked.
I laughed, recognising he was trying to make the best of an awkward situation. “Doesn’t look like it,” I replied, taking the cigarette he offered.
I was taken to the high security section of the jail, reserved for high risk escape prisoners. There was a guard there who was new to the job, and I didn’t know him. I was stripped naked, and put in a completely empty cell, no blankets, no mattress, just a cold concrete floor and an open window with bars on it. It was snowing outside, and the icy wind blew through the cell. I had never seen this done when I was a guard
“You’re on suicide watch,” the guard told me, with a sneer that showed he enjoyed what he was doing. “We can’t risk giving you clothes or blankets that you might hang yourself with. First time prisoners always cop this.” He slammed the door, and I could hear the bolt slipping into the hasp on the other side, and the key turning in the lock.
“Enjoy your stay at the Hilton.” He called through the door, as he gave it a hard kick to remind me where I was.
Two hours later, he was back, with the Governor of the jail. The Governor looked through the Perspex walls at me, huddled in the corner, trying to keep warm. There was a genuine remorse in his eyes, mixed with just a hint of anger. He motioned to the guard who had put me in the cell the way I was, and the door opened. The guard looked scared.
“Get this man his clothes and some blankets, and move him to a cell with a window and heater,” the Governor said. “This cell is condemned.”
The guard started to protest, and the Governor stopped him with a slow and deliberate “Keep your mouth shut.”
After that, things were better. I had a lot of experiences in jail, and, surprisingly, most of them were positive. I got a new outlook on life, and learnt a lot about people in general. Most importantly, I had the time to learn about myself.
After four weeks, I was released on bail pending appeal, on the condition I not reside in or enter New South Wales for any reason except to attend court. After eighteen months on bail, exiled from my home state, I was finally found not guilty of assault. But I was found guilty of the new charge of resisting arrest, when I was arrested for the assault I didn’t commit.
The jail sentence was dismissed, and I was sentenced to a two year good behaviour bond, not to enter New South Wales in that two years, for any reason whatsoever.
Talk about feeling like you’re not wanted! Anyway, a lot of positive things came out of that four weeks in jail.
While I was on bail in Queensland, I was asked to be Deputy Principal on an Aboriginal community, because my jail experience could help me relate to the people in the community. That later led to me working with Aboriginal street kids in Rockhampton.
Later, I toured China for a year, lecturing at universities about Aboriginal education. I have now visited nine countries outside Australia. I wrote for major national media publications, and worked as a researcher for a federal senator, particularly on homelessness, marginalisation and Aboriginal affairs.
In hindsight, if I hadn’t spent that four weeks in jail, my life would never have changed. And in this case, I believe it changed for the positive. Life is what you make it.
More stories by this author after the following important information
| 70 |
| Vote |
Subscribe to this blog
Go to Craig Hill's home page by clicking here
Comment by Cheryl J
Rhythmatism
Zentertainment
Budget Centsability
It's great to hear something positive has come through your experience. Perhaps you can be an inspiration to others to keep their heads held high and not have your spirit broken.
If you love to read I would recommend a book called Shantaram about a former prisoner whose life made the most dramatic and amazing turns.
Good luck!