Recently, Pierre Poilievre, the conservative party leader and Bitcoin promoter, added his voice to the chorus of voices calling for political oversight over the decisions of Corrections Canada officials. This proposal, of course, almost certainly stems from the flurry of media interest in the transfer of Paul Teale (Bernardo) from a high security institution to a lower security one.
It makes sense to start here by pointing out the correctional service falls under the justice system, which as in most democracies operates under political oversight but not political micromanagement. Parliament passes laws and Attorneys General set policy, but ministers and members of parliament do not tell the police who to investigate, and for them to try to tell judges how to rule constitutes a serious breach of ethics.
Maybe politicians should handle corrections differently; a great many of them seem disposed to do so. I disagree with this, and I disagree with it no matter which politicians decide to get involved in attempting to micromanage our prison systems.
When we get the little dopamine hit and the sense of balance and the "good" vindicated when we read about, or watch, a real or even fictional offender convicted and sentenced to a long term of imprisonment, we rarely think about the men and women who staff the prisons. The guards staff the control booths and guard towers and walk the ranges. Classification officers and teachers work to prevent offenders from returning to violent ways, both in the prison system and after their eventual release. Medical professionals and clergy work to offer comfort.
Many of them wear uniforms, but few display medals. In seven years of prison work I don't remember ever hearing the words "duty" or "honour". Prison workers show up. They showed up in institutions where body fluids get used as projectiles, during the worst of the HIV epidemic and before antiretroviral drugs, when nobody had heard of post-exposure prophylaxis and infection could mean death. They showed up during the terrifying year between the arrival COVID-19 and the first vaccines, when even masks and other personal protective equipment ran short.
Our prison system is a violent, ugly, and profoundly biased system. In that sense, it simply reflects the bland brutality of our society. I agree with all those people who work to find new ways of keeping the peace in society, of dealing with conflict and with offenders without violence. But as long as we depend on a justice system that includes incarceration, we have to deal fairly with those we send to work in prisons, to protect the rest of us from the worst of us.
The prison system does not do a good job of fostering ethical behaviour, and it does not turn those we charge with enforcing the carceral system into plaster saints. Some prison workers abuse their positions and break our laws, and we try to hold those who do accountable. But I believe that as long as prison workers guard us while we sleep, we have no right to expect the management of prisons to cater to our feelings. Decisions about where and how to confine specific offenders should come from those who understand the system, ideally those who know the honourable men and women we send to work in prisons, to bide the dangers, breathe the air, suffer the difficulties and frustrations of working in a job both figuratively and literally confining. Politicians and opinion columnists, who have never worked face to face with violent offenders, and never faced the hazards or the moral injuries of confining other people, should leave these decisions to those with the knowledge and authority that comes from experience.
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