“It is said that no one truly knows a nation until one has been inside its jails. A nation should not be judged by how it treats its highest citizens, but its lowest ones.” — Nelson Mandela

The present climate within our island’s prisons is the direct result of a lack of resources for prison officials to do their job, and an unwilling mindset that hinders the transformational education and rehabilitation that is so desperately needed in the lives of the incarcerated.

While much can be said about the state of the island’s finances and the budget constraints within the Department of Corrections, this opinion piece wishes to address the latter issue — a mindset of unwillingness.

Let’s start with the Prison Act 1979 and Prison Rules 1980: these laws set a bar so low for the care of the island’s prison population. Understandably, they don’t address the issues faced by a prison population in modern times. Yet they also don't explicitly state what prison administrators cannot do. They actually provide such broad authority that willing and creative prison officials could, in fact, provide more relevant care for today’s generation of prisoners. The reason why they don’t is largely because of an unwillingness to do so.

Being a prison officer is a unique occupation; it is not an ordinary government job. Similar to the Royal Bermuda Regiment and the Bermuda Police Service, the prison service is under the direct responsibility of His Majesty’s representative, the Governor. This highlights its uniqueness among all other government jobs.

A prison officer is responsible for the safety and security of the facilities operated by the Department of Corrections, as well as the care of the residents housed within. But they are also entrusted with the education and rehabilitation of those same residents. The safety and security of Bermuda’s prisons is of critical importance. The general population of the island should feel secure that those who have been convicted of crimes are securely housed away from the society in which they committed their crimes until their term of imprisonment has ended.

The safety of each resident within Bermuda’s prison system is of equal importance. Being sentenced to live in one of Bermuda’s prisons is the punishment. A deprivation of liberty for a term determined by a judge is the sentence. It is not for any prison officer or prisoner to further punish someone. And while there are instances of violence in prison, Bermuda’s prisons are virtually incident-free by comparison with what is found in other jurisdictions.

The care of prisoners is the sacred duty. It is what requires an officer to look past one’s crime and administer care without fear or favour. This encompasses everything from ensuring that every resident is provided with healthy meals, clean clothing, necessary toiletries and medical care. To be able to effectively exercise these duties, an officer requires a great measure of empathy. This is especially true in Bermuda, where the effects of crime, especially violent and sexual offences, are felt so intimately within our close-knit community.

In other jurisdictions, prisoners are often incarcerated far away from where they committed their crimes, and are cared for by prison officers who have no ties to them. This is not the case here. In Bermuda, it is common for prison officers to have to care for not only their relatives, but those who have caused harm to their family and friends. But this creates a special opportunity for citizens to be a part of the rehabilitation of our fellow islander.

Now, prison officials can’t change anyone. That is not within their remit — or anyone’s. Can they create a climate that better facilitates and even inspires change? Certainly. And they should. But true change has to come from within. Once a prisoner makes a decision to change from a mindset that led to their criminality, it should be the department’s responsibility to provide them with the resources necessary to make that decision a lasting one. Our community needs it to be.

No one is advocating against personal responsibility. That is the only way one can truly be rehabilitated. Those who have committed crimes should be held accountable; always. But our society is not built on an eye-for-eye system of justice. It is why we no longer hang prisoners. As a society, we have placed a value on the redeemability of every person — even convicted murderers. This is by and large owing to our deep-rooted religious beliefs.

Matthew 6:14 reads, “For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.” The Koran (39:53) states, “Surely, Allah forgives all sins. Indeed He is the most Forgiving, the Merciful.” These principles of forgiveness and mercy can be found in our laws, and meted out by the courts at sentencing.

So why is this not being felt by prisoners in their interactions with prison administrators? The answer is, sadly, simple. There are some who cannot look past one’s offence. Who can’t or won’t see one’s capacity for change or their limitless potential. It is this mindset that most hinders progress within our prisons.

What is critically needed is prison (and parole) reform — a revamp of the laws that govern the care of our prison population. The existing laws are woefully inadequate in large part because they afford prison administrators broad discretion in how they administer care. It allows for favouritism to factor into the treatment of prisoners instead of creating a merit-based and accountable system of care.

The laws, being so outdated, do not reflect the technological society in which we live. For example, at present, the law states that prisoners are entitled to write one letter per week to be sent to the recipient of their choosing. And while the department allows for much more frequent written communication, it still lags behind most modern jurisdictions where prisoners have access to secure digital communication such as e-mail — in some jurisdictions, even social media is allowed.

The fear of technology in our prisons is misguided. How are we to successfully reintroduce people into society when they lack basic computer skills? Or when they don’t even know how to bank digitally or manage their personal finances? How do we ensure that those who are released from prison have relevant employment skills?

There will be many who oppose bringing Bermuda’s prisons into modern times, but these will be the voices of those who view convicted persons as irredeemable and see incarceration under harsh conditions as a deterrent to future crime.

My questions to them are:

• How have such views worked out so far?

• Even with harsher sentences, has Bermuda become safer?

• Do we, as a country, expect to legislate ourselves out of the scourge of crime?

Even if you believe that incarceration is the solution, what happens when the convicted are released? Because they will be released. Everyone leaves our prisons at some point, so it is of critical importance that the care of prisoners is thoroughly examined. Have our incarcerated not only successfully completed court-mandated classes in relation to their offence, but has there also been an investment in their education? Or are we happy to simply release persons back into society just because their “time” is up?

Now let me be clear: no one should spend more time in prison than is required. But releasing someone back into society who has not been invested in — especially after a lengthy term of incarceration — is plain irresponsible. How does this create a better, safer society?

I believe the solutions are out there. Countries such as Norway are shining examples of the value placed on rehabilitation. Rehabilitation does not diminish the pain and trauma that has been caused to the victims of criminality in our community; they deserve our empathy and sympathy in any proposed solutions. Rehabilitation can, however, allow citizens who were the cause of that pain and trauma to be part of a holistic approach to the healing of our island.

There will be much more time to discuss these solutions and the public’s appetite for them. For now, I am happy to spark the conversation.

• Behind The Walls is a resident of Westgate Correctional Facility