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HerlndoorsIn a rare glimpse behind, prison ualk,
LUKE sHEEnex discovers thefoirer sid,e ofprison
ffi at Dublinb controaersi^a,l Dochas Ceine.
Fhotographg by rcnx wALDRoN.
he Dochas Centre's new Governor
picks up a used paper cup in the
J- prison's admissions room andpops
it in the bin. "someone left this here,', savs
Mary OCorrnor. "It,s best to keep this area
tidy." Is that because of us? I ask.
I tell her not to trouble herself. Surelv
being the head of Ireland's only all_female
correctional institution comes with
responsibilities more taxing than tidying
up afteryourovrn statr?.,Well, I did asil
that the place be cleaned up. As you would
with anyvisitor." Governor OConnor is
only a few months into her newjob and
wants to keep the good reputation ofthe
facility intact. Before our walk_and_talk
can begin, a uniformed guard enters and
tells her that she's needed elsewhere to deal
with a resident's personal problem. On
her return, I can't help bui think that she
has the look ofone ofthose sLrong Irish
mothers that dedicate most of their waking
hours to nurfuring and
restraining a large brood
of unruly offspring. Seeing
the women under her care
over the next few hours,
and breathing in the sense
of relief and recovery that
circulates through the
courtya^rds and corridors at Dochas, it is
not hard to conclude that she is well suited
to both responsibilities.
, Ifyou were thinking of committing
a serious crime in Ireland (and I am
not recommending it) it would seem to
be better for you to be female. A newly
convicted woman in the Republic. if
unlucky enough to be given a custodial
sentence, may look forward to a wealth
ofeducational resources being put at her
disposal, to freedom ofmovement within
the place where she will be incarcerated,
and to a high standard ofcare for the
duration. These things dontjust make for
a suong contrast with most people,s idea
9{what ajail is (or perhaps should be; like.
The women at the ten-year-old Dochas
c€ntre may actually enjoy a quality of life
that many have never experienced before.
In the centuries-old men,s prison, just afew
hundred feet away, unsanitary, tiny cells
are crowded with what must be some quite
agitated men. A strange chain of decisions
has led to the prison system's proudest
achievement sitting right beside its greatest
embarrassment.
The male and female prisons in
3. **
8,;
publicity was attracted to the centre
earlier in the year when Kathleen
McMahon, the previous governor,
retired. Public statements suggested
that she was unhappy about the issue of
overcrowding at the prison.
"We were designed to house 89
individuals," says officer Tara, standing
opposite the shower stalls where
new arrivals are invited to scrub uo
before giving up their belongings.;.We
currently have 14,6 women - and one
baby."
Where they originally had each a
cell to themselves, Dochas women
now double up with roommates of
their choosing. The greater number of
prisoners in the system, and the lack
of space for them, is partly because of
the extra resources given to the Courts
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Mounf oy have one thing in common,
however, and that is heroin. On the walls
ofthe men's jail, nets have been installed
to stop dealers throwing drugs inside.
For entry into the Dochas Centre, my
companion and I must stand on a small
red line and allowZach - the sniffer dog
- to bury his face in our crotches. Not
having been to any music festivals recently,
I experience no unrest: my friend, however,
has been to the Electric picnic, ,.I
was
worried that some illicit subskinces might
have brushed offonto my clothesj,he tells
me aiterwards. Bu! as we are soon told,
Zach doesnt actually get anyone arrested.
"There are two visitors'rooms,,'chief prison
officer Tara tells us. "If anyone doesn'i pass
the dog, they can make avisit in a room
with a screen." ,
Sorne uncharacteristically negative
TI{E DUBLINER
in H*ungny have une thing
in comrfisn, howeve[ and
that is heruin. 0n the walh
ofthe men'sjail, nets have
bsen installed to stap dealers
throwing drugsinside."
and the Gardai in the recent past. More
resources to the guards mean more
inmates - and prisons are obliged under
law to accept any new admissions sent
their war'.
With Governor and oficer Tara leading
5. ihe way, we move through the bright
and orderly open spaces between the
buildings. There are no bars anyr,vhere,
nor is there any obvious evidence of
"overcrowding." Rather we are struck
by a sense ofhow open and expansive it
all looks.
A courtyard, exercise yard and
archways echo with the voices of chatting
women. The ladies smoke and drink tea
and coffee, and call out to the Governor
by her first name. Governor O'Connor
shows remarkable tact and patience at all
times - she also finds another used cup
and places it on top of a bin. .'Hey."
says a
stroppy woman walking over to retrieve
it, "That's mytea!"
"We can't have cups lying around,
okay?" says the Governor. I look for a
trace of the intimidation that you might
expect to see in the inmate of a prison
faced with the governor, and I don't see
it. I am already amazed and impressed
by the rela-red nature of the regime. Soon
we meet Thylor and Mackenzie, twin
golden Labradors, and resident pets that
restore my trust in canines after the more
invasive sniffer-dog.
We hurry onwards to explore the
education-block, where we find a brand
new hair salon, computer rooms, library
sewing rooms, art classrooms and a niftv
photography room. We are reminded
that all of this investment is aimed not
towards personal pleasure, but towards
rehabilitation and employrnent. Head
teacher Marcie Barron tells us proudly of
a recent graduate. "She got a Fetac word-
processing level five, with a distinction.,,
Her new boss has come looking for a copy
of her certificate, which, incidentally,
does not state where the trainee received
her qualification.
A positive outcome of the centre,s
education process, like finding ajob, is
not just the result of learning technical
skills. Of the many courses mentioned,
one unusual sounding title stands
out. "What are interpersonal skills?,'
I ask. "We teach them to be polite. to ,,
'.f{hat are interprrs*rlal skills?"
I ask" 'lTe te*rh tfurm to he
pnlite, ta mak* eys r*ntart,
not tCI shsut lvhan thsv want
somethimg. Tu get CImwit$?
E*Fj
ffi;
&
t*t
&
make eye contact, not to shout when
they want something. To get on with
people, basically."
Governor O'Connor, over tea and biscuits
in her office, reiterates this when I ask
her what she feels most proud about
when the "community" (as the vision
statement ofthe centre refers to itself)
succeeds in turning out a reformed
individual.'You see certain women here,
and they have more confidence, they can
relate to you, basically. They have had
hard lives, before this. And some of them
are much better prepared to face the world
when they leave."
Working against this positivity and
hope for personal renewal is the spectre
ofdrug abuse. The addiction r".ou.ry
centre on Merchant's Quay makes over
1,5OO counsellingvisits to inmates in
the Irish prison system every month. Of
the four thousand individuals currently
incarcerated, approximately 7OO altogether
are on methadoire, and 51 of these are at
the Dochas Centre - a third ofall residents.
One Dublin barrister recentlytold of a
client who broke down into tears when it
became clearthat she wouldn'tbe going
back to the Dochas, as she had nowhere
else to go. Govemor O'Connor also referred
to such episodes, with women returning in
winter and askingto be re-admitted.
These cases are exceptions. In the
residential'houses" (as the cell blocks are
called) the doors to the rooms stand open.
Inside, ultra-violet lighting is in place to
inhibit intravenous drug use. I asked one
woman what she thought of the place.
"It's good. You can walk around, you can
go across and do your bit ofsewing or
whatever." Her fi:iend chipped in. ,,It,s
better than Limerick," she iaid, referring
to the only other women's prison. "But
nobody actually wants to be here, you
know?"
pefiple, basirally."'
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