Moreover, suicide rates in jails and prisons everywhere in the world run many times higher than the rates in the population as a whole — a recent Ontario estimate was four to seven times as high, and 10 times as high in B.C. jails. In my first days in jail, just after my arrest, I was visited by a close family member who was clearly worried that I might take my life.
But one of the first things I was told by another prison, while still in a police remand cell awaiting a bail hearing, was never to say you felt suicidal, because no matter how bad you felt, you would soon feel worse if you did disclose. It was striking that I heard this several times from different people, none of whom I knew anything about.
Why would a prisoner feel worse after asking for help? Because the custody facility, whether a provincial jail or federal prison, is not concerned with helping you feel better. It is concerned that every suicide means scrutiny, having to provide explanations, and a lot of additional paperwork. Coroners may get involved. Families may contact the media. There can be official inquiries. Given how many bad things go in prison that management does not want known, suicides are bad news — not for the deceased or his or her family, but for the institution.
That conclusion may seem unduly harsh but it is borne out by experiences.
Here’s what happens if you tell someone in the jail that you have suicidal thoughts. All your clothes will be taken away. You will be given a special jail outfit of flimsy clothing, almost like paper, called “baby doll pajamas” to wear. You will likely be manacled to a bed, so that you cannot strangle or hang yourself, or reach anything that would allow you to kill yourself. Everything that goes into your cell will be carefully screened. You won’t have any visits or any contact with other prisoners. And you may remain in that situation for days, or even longer, until the institution concludes that you are not going to kill yourself.
That’s how our prisons help people in distress.
So if you weren’t suicidal before, you might well be as you experience this treatment.
The response to suicidal thoughts is extreme, but it is not untypical of the way prisons operate generally. I was held for nearly three weeks in solitary confinement in a provincial jail because they were worried that other prisoners might attack me. The net result is that I was punished additionally, ostensibly in order to protect me.
Another practice in Canada’s federal prisons that is now under review is “dry cells” for prisoners suspected to have drugs concealed on them — for example, being swallowed in condoms to be excreted later and then sold to other prisoners. In fairness, this is not an uncommon practice; I met several prisoners who said they had done this or bought drugs from other prisoners who smuggled them in this way.
The prison response is to put such prisoners in a cell with no working toilet, so anything they excrete can be examined by prison officers. (Yes, what a wonderful job for someone!) I knew someone who had a couple of weeks of such treatment in a provincial jail, though he had nothing to do with drugs and none were found; he believed they were just choosing to punish him. The practice is more common in provincial jails because there is so much coming and going. Another example of how the welfare of individual prisoners is not of much concern to the institutions.
For those who may think I’m exaggerating, I recommend a 2022 report from the Senate of Canada that concluded that “Too many of CSC’s practices violate the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms and the principles of fundamental justice, while operating without the Rule of Law.” In other words, prisons are themselves lawless places, not just among the prisoners but as institutions that don’t follow their own rules or the laws of the country.
I saw this disregard for prisoners many times, in big and small ways. In the assessment unit, for example, these kinds of things ranged from being yelled at for no reason, to a guy being pepper sprayed, to the young Black man being sent to segregation (written about here) for asking for an apology for being called “boy,” to one’s written requests never even receiving an answer. I was always aware that just about anything could be done to me by the institution and its staff, and I would have little or no recourse.
There is a lot less fear in minimum security, so the violations are not as gross, but they still exist. For example, I learned that all first level grievances were automatically refused. I was told at one point that in order to take a program that the prison decided I needed, I might have to go for several months to a higher security prison. One prisoner I knew could not get a guard to sign his request for a day release for his son’s birthday; the guard said it was too much work. Another could not get his request for a change of work assignment approved. My request for a spousal visit (a subject for a future column) was delayed several months for no reason. Even in minimum, strip searches are quite routine, as are drug tests. Disregard for prisoners and for the ostensible rules of the institution is just standard practice.
It is hard to see how a setting governed by this kind of culture or attitude and these kinds of events can be a place where prisoners learn to treat others better, and change their own lives in positive directions. The instinct for punishment is very strong. We seem to get pleasure from making people we don’t like suffer. In prisons there is a lot of power to do that, with very little oversight. But surely this is not a way to build stronger and safer communities.
David Dorson is the pen name of someone who went through arrest, case disposition, imprisonment and parole in Ontario a few years ago. Law360 Canada has granted him anonymity because he offers a unique perspective on a subject that matters deeply to many readers, and revealing the author’s identity would make re-establishment in the community after serving his sentence much more difficult than it already is.
The opinions expressed are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the views of the author’s firm, its clients, Law360 Canada, LexisNexis Canada or any of its or their respective affiliates. This article is for general information purposes and is not intended to be and should not be taken as legal advice.
Interested in writing for us? To learn more about how you can add your voice to Law360 Canada, contact Analysis Editor Peter Carter at peter.carter@lexisnexis.ca or call 647-776-6740.