From inmates to authors
Creative writing programmes are quietly helping rehabilitate New Zealand’s prisoners, writes Jack Barlow.
Sarah – not her real name – nervously holds a small piece of paper, which shakes as she glances towards it. After a pause she begins to read her poem aloud, at first in a stuttering voice but gradually gaining confidence.
Sarah isn’t the only one nervous. On this day, she is one of several inmates at Arohata Upper Prison demonstrating what she’d learned in a special creative writing course for prison inmates.
Later, she says writing is a healing, and deeply personal, experience.
“I have two exercise books that have poems and songs and I write every day, whenever something comes into my head,” she says.
“I write about my life, my past and the things that have happened to me. It’s good to get it out – it makes me feel lighter.”
Sarah said she wrote when she was younger, well before entering prison, but that it fell by the wayside when she “got caught up in other things.” Writing allowed her much-needed “safe expression”.
“The programme has been a blessing,” she says. “It’s brought me closer with some of the others, it feels good to share work with some of the other ladies. And even with confidence, getting up in front of all those people...” she laughs, “even though I developed a bit of vibrato in my voice today, which was interesting.”
Forget stereotypes: there’s nothing menacing, dark or foreboding about the activity room at Arohata Upper Prison. It’s little more than a bland office building, its grey brick walls and thin, industrial carpet hardly making it the sort of place you’d expect to see outpourings of creativity.
But, on a cold, grey day in early March all that changes. On this afternoon, a busload of curious writing fans pour into the room, quickly finding seats around several hastily formed groups of tables. Today, for just a few hours, onlookers will get the rare chance to see how a prison writing programme really works.
The Prison Voices trip, part of the Writers & Readers section of Wellington’s New Zealand Festival, shines a light on the rehabilitative powers of teaching creative writing in prison.
The 30 or so people mingle freely with inmates, all whom have spent weeks taking a creative writing programme run by the Write Where You Are Trust.
Staffed by volunteers, Write Where You Are focuses on teaching inmates to reconnect with themselves through the arts.
There’s a nervous energy in the air, mostly from the inmates themselves. Reading stories to one another is one thing, but reading to a large group of strangers is a very different matter.
“Creative writing is something where, really, you can’t be wrong,” a Write Where You Are spokesperson says. “It’s often an opportunity to build some self esteem and some self belief around expression. That what [inmates] say matters and how they say it is valid.”
The programme began in 2014 and teaches small groups of inmates, usually around 12 but sometimes more, at different prisons. All of the group’s tutors are practicing writers.
Like many of the country’s prison creative writing programmes – in fact, many prison arts programmes in general – the group is closely linked to Arts Access Aotearoa, an organisation which many say leads the charge when it comes to teaching the arts in prison.
Richard Benge, the group’s executive director, says the organisation’s work is based on the belief that access to the arts and creativity is a basic human right for everyone, wherever they are and whatever their circumstances.
“Over the years, we’ve documented the positive impact of arts programmes in prisons,” he says. “Events like Prison Voices engage the public, building important links with the outside community and increasing the likelihood of successful reintegration.”
Incarceration and rehabilitation are often contentious topics, but there appears to be nearunanimous support within the wider prison community for what Arts Access, and other, similar programmes, are doing. They have friends in high places, too, including Department of Corrections’ Chief Custodial Officer Neil Beales.
Mind you, Beales knows a few things about teaching art in prison. For a spell in the 1990s, well before becoming involved in Corrections, Beales was an actor who taught drama to inmates at an Isle of Wight prison.
He’s seen the effect on tough, jaded inmates firsthand, and knows what it can achieve.
“[It was important] just getting these guys to show a little bit of vulnerability, some creativity,” he remembers. “What I saw was some guys who, on a day-to day basis, were your tough, no-nonsense types... and you saw them becoming a bit of a team, supporting each other, encouraging each other, laughing with each other. They’d be laughing at themselves, and actually just demonstrating to everybody that would come in and have a look that – you know what? – they’re just like you and me.”
Viewing inmates as normal people – and, perhaps, reminding themselves that they are – sits at the core of prison arts programmes.
“They’ve made mistakes,” Beales says. “They’re paying for their mistakes, they’re serving their time. Why wouldn’t you want to engage with them on any level that you can, whether it be just on a creative basis or fundamentally tapping into something that can help them move away from an offending lifestyle?”
While there are plenty of arts programmes, there are relatively few that specialise in creative writing. Of the country’s 19 prisons, only Rimutaka Prison, Arohata Women’s Prison, Northland Region Corrections Facility and Auckland Region Women’s Corrections Facility are known for offering them fairly regularly.
Beales says while Corrections’ job is “first and foremost” to keep inmates securely in prison, getting them ready for life after they leave prison is hugely important. “Once we’ve got people in prison we are duty bound to work with them, and to rehabilitate and reintegrate them,” he says.
“On average, most prisoners will be with us for two years, give or take, so you don’t have a long time to work with individuals. Sometimes the arts is an avenue into... reconnecting them with their own humanity, in many ways.”
It’s something he’s very passionate about. “I don’t want to come across as too overbearing on that subject, but having been involved in arts in the past, that’s one of [the arts’] fundamental aspects,” he says.
“It’s why we go to see the theatre, why people go to movies, to concerts. It’s because, somehow, it reconnects you with part of your fundamental humanity. And in prison it’s really important we do that.”
Occasionally, although it hasn’t happened with creative writing, prison arts programmes forge a profile in the wider world. The best known is probably critically acclaimed Māori Television show Songs from
the Inside, which featured big-name performers and made waves upon its 2012 release.
Yet while most agree about the positive benefits of prison arts programmes, opinions differ as to whether enough resources are spent on them. Most, like Write Where You Are, are run by volunteers and funded by donations and grants. Beales says that while there are no plans to scale back any of the programmes, a large part of their success does depend on the scale of community involvement.
Kim Workman is a lifelong advocate of restorative justice. He sees arts programmes in prison as hugely beneficial, but lacking in number. “Is there enough of this in New Zealand prisons? I don’t think there is,” he says.
“The meaning of rehabilitation has been lost somewhere along the way. When we talk about it we’re often talking about people committing less crime, and not so much about making people productive, fully functioning members of society. Part of that is [encouraging] the creative, artistic or spiritual side to life – it’s about helping someone become a complete person.”
Naturally, there are unique challenges when working with inmates. Many are victims of crime themselves, and working with them calls for a great deal of sensitivity and understanding.
“When we start writing we often don’t know where we’re going,” the Write Where You Are spokesperson says. “So it can start off fairly neutral, and as we write we can touch on parts of our emotions and our pasts that can be slightly, you know, painful.
“And that’s another thing. Sometimes we start with an exercise that we think is relatively unchallenging,
“Creative writing is something where, really, you can’t be wrong. It’s often an opportunity to build some self esteem and some self belief… That what [inmates] say matters.”