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That
republican prisoner Ciaran McLaughlin returned to
prison after being released on compassionate parole
is as expected as it is welcome. Freed for a twelve
hour period to attend the funeral of his grandchild,
Kyle McMonaghle, the leader of the republican prisoners
in Maghaberry initially did not report back to prison
authorities once his leave had expired. The same authorities
placed the parolee’s details on its website and
sent out an alert. However, the republican prisoner
eventually presented himself at property owned by
clergy stating that he had stayed out in order to
take ‘the extra time I had requested.’ He
had initially asked for seventy two hours which the
prison authorities refused.
Despite
having honoured the terms of two previous compassionate
leaves the Derry man had also been refused permission
to be with his grandchild when it became clear that
the two year old had only hours of his short life
left to live.
Few
would dispute that Ciaran McLaughlin violated prison
rules. That he did so with little to gain and plenty
to lose in terms of retribution from a vindictive
prison administration raises questions which need
answers rather than self-righteous indignation from
those in charge of prison policy. His motive was hardly
selfish given that he returned. And no one has yet
said that his behaviour while out posed any threat
to either the state or society.
The
history of the British penal system in the North of
Ireland over the past thirty three years has been
one which remains unintelligible if not read through
a prism of jailed republicans challenging and violating
unjust prison rules. Denis Faul once described Bobby
Sands as the greatest prison reformer of the 20th
century. As a result of republican protest the prison
regime has been modified and its administrators pulled
away by the roots from their essentially brutal management
procedures and towards the more enlightened and humane
regime envisaged by people like Bobby Sands. In order
to minimise systemic violence and humanise its perpetrators,
protest and a flagrant disregard for the rules, as
well as being at times the only weapon in the prisoners’
armoury, proved indispensable. Disobedience was the
engine driving the push for change and improved human
rights standards. 12 hours parole to attend the funeral
of a loved one is an insult and a major infringement
of human dignity. Ciaran McLaughlin’s peaceful
attempt to highlight it is perfectly understandable.
In
a typical fit of the pique displayed by a bureaucrat
scorned, a spokesperson for the prison administration
described McLaughlin’s parole violation as a
serious matter which would be dealt with appropriately
by the prison governor. The same spokesperson went
on to threaten that this incident would negatively
impact on any future parole applications. Behind the
bureaucratic jargon this simply means that all other
prisoners can expect to become the victims of a collective
punitive measure.
Few
will be surprised by such a knee jerk response. It
is hardly atypical of bureaucrats in their little
fiefdoms of power. And their memory seems as 'great'
as their intellect. Throughout imprisonment compassionate
parole was always considered a right by republican
prisoners and a weapon by the authorities. Those of
us on the Blanket protest remember clearly Seamus
Finucane being told he could attend his father’s
funeral in 1978 if he would leave the protest. We
also recall the insensitivity of a prison governor
who informed Seamy Kearney in 1979 that his brother
was dead by asking ‘have you a brother called
Michael? Well, he’s Michael no more.’ Neither were freed, yet,
republicans always persevered.
In
the early 1970s not long after Billy McKee had, through
a prolonged hunger strike, secured political status
for loyalist and republican prisoners alike, Jim Scullion
- a future IRA leader in Long Kesh - and others took
part in a 35 day hunger strike to win compassionate
parole for those prisoners whose families lived across
the border. Republicans had a history of honouring
their paroles. When an Ardoyne republican lifer in
the mid 1970s returned to prison many hours late from
the funeral of a family member he was expelled from
the republican cages by the IRA leadership within
the prison. While many of the bereaved prisoner’s
comrades felt the sanction was too harsh, the camp
leadership felt they had no choice such was the sensitivity
of the issue.
In
real terms the expulsion did little to assuage the
vengeful appetite of the prison administration. In
1977 they seized their chance and refused compassionate
parole to another Ardoyne republican lifer on the
death of his mother. This heralded the start of a
five year moratorium on compassionate parole for lifers
that was only conditionally lifted after the 1981
hunger strikes which kick started the tentative beginning
of a thaw in cold management procedures.
By
1983, the moratorium was re-imposed after Davy Allen,
a loyalist lifer and Gerard McCrory, a republican
serving a similar sentence failed to return from their
compassionate paroles. It took until the mid 1980s
before matters began to improve and then only after
much lobbying and the application of pressure.
The
prison administration can expect nothing but trouble
if the vindictiveness contained in the statement of
its spokesperson who commented on Ciaran McLaughlin’s
protest is allowed to translate into policy. The treatment
of republican prisoners is always a volatile tinderbox.
If wiser counsel within the higher echelons of prison
management allows its minions-cum-spokespeople to
run around unsupervised with inflammatory intent,
they can hardly feign surprise at the resulting conflagration.
Those
tasked with running the jails should view Ciaran McLaughlin
not as a prisoner lost but a lesson learned. A much
more liberal approach toward compassionate parole
and a willingness to understand rather than punish
prisoners will go a long way toward obviating the
grievances of bereaved and, consequently, acutely
sensitive people.
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