One of the main problems was that every time they came, the visiting rules kept changing. They’d change the amount of days we could see each other. The length of visits was cut in half and the officers always changed what was allowed to enter the prison or not. One time lovingly prepared food was allowed in, the next visit it was not and was binned (or taken by the officers).
This was an ongoing problem. Food given to debitari (the depository, where anything for prisoners has to be handed in for inspection), had a habit of going missing. For example, I’d be sent six apples but I’d receive four.
The pain from chasing made me so angry, that in the end it wasn’t worth the good times. Moreover, my wife was subjected to rudeness and behaviour that I wasn’t going to allow.
In between visits we had the phones. There wasn’t really a time limit on the phones. It was supposed to be ten minutes, but it was never enforced. Some inmates would spend hours on the telephone in one sitting. Some would stop, let others phone and then phone again. But these were in the minority.
It was madness listening to the Maltese prisoners (I could by then understand some Maltese) complain to their families that the €50 a week they brought them wasn’t enough money. Or the tracksuit they’d given them was the wrong shade of blue. They were always phoning the ministry to try and get back remission or be moved to better conditions.
Us foreigners were more alone than we thought, and some foreigners had it worse than me.
I was lucky that phone calls to the UK were very reasonably priced. So, a few times every day, I was be able to phone. I still spent a small fortune on phone calls.
I normally called my wife and children three times a day. Before school, after school and before the children’s bedtime. With the hour time difference, my bedtime was the same anyway. As a foreigner I was allowed to receive one ten-minute overseas phone call a day. But the length of the call time depended pretty much on the officers.
My parents would normally phone, and these calls were perfect for dictating my Instagram and writings to them, since the call was received in a separate room. This meant there was no background noise of the shouting masses, as was the case with payphones.
They were also a cause for anger. I still don’t know for sure, but in my heart, I know that officers played with this line. Sometimes they would say that I wasn’t in the Division, when I’d be. They’d call the wrong person, just hang up, or put another phone call through after only a few minutes. A few times, officers in the guard room were even caught by other inmates listening in to conversations.
Every phone call is monitored and checked in the control room. But officers fish for information, I think, more out of boredom. The amount of times officers would complain to me about their own colleagues and working conditions was staggering. Nearly all of them knew I was writing a book, maybe they didn’t believe I’d get it published.
Every week I could send a letter home. Some weeks they’d let me send more. I even had stamps in my cell that I’d put on myself. That fluctuating of rules again.
These letters kept our relationship alive. I could write to my wife thoughts and feelings that were hard to say over the phone. And every week I could send my children letters and colouring pages that I’d spend a long time creating with as much colour as I could.
I’m not a fantastic artist, so mainly the pictures were traced from anything I could find. My wife would send me some printed off the internet. But with one a week it was a challenge to keep them new and interesting. They still use photocopies of them now.
Every birthday, anniversary or special occasion I would make cards for my family and for hours my thoughts would be full of my family and it was easier to pass the time.
This contact with my family was the only real thing to pull me through the years. I’d look forward to visits and phone calls and plan my years around them.
I marked every visit on my wall calendar in bright colours, so even when my family were gone, the memory stayed with me in that monochrome place.
Visiting day through a child’s eyes
“Are you a bad man, Daddy?”
“No darling, you know I’m not. Why do you say that?”
“Janet says only bad men go to prison.”
“Life’s more complicated than that, darling.”
“Why are you here?”
“I told you sweetheart, for growing some plants I wasn’t supposed to, five years before you were born. When you’re older maybe you’ll understand.”
How could she when I can’t. The headline still echoes in my head: “Maltese courts sentence British man to decade for five cannabis plants”
Her little face twists in contemplation, her eyes searching everywhere trying to understand.
“There’s a lot of sad men in here, isn’t there?”
“It’s not a happy place darling, a lot of people have families they miss.”
“But surely flowers would make the world happier. Mummy always smiles when you send her flowers … I love making daisy chains, Mummy showed me how.”
Her innocence melts my heart. I want to cry. I can’t. One day she will lose that innocence. I want to protect her. I can’t.
“Are you being a good girl for Mummy?”
“Yeah … She’s sad a lot.”
“I know darling, and me.”
“Can I stay here with you tonight? I’ll be good.”
“You wouldn’t like it here honey, better you have ice-cream with Mummy.”
“Do you have ice-cream in here? I love chocolate ice-cream.”
I smile at her innocence.
“No darling, there’s no ice-cream here. The last time I had ice-cream you were this big.”
I raise my arm.
“Your head would rest in my hand, and your feet would just reach my elbow.”
“I was never that small,” she scoffs.
“You were, and smaller. A tiny bundle of wrinkles when I first held you.”
“How long have you been here, Daddy?”
“Well, you were two months old. How long’s that?”
“Nine years.”
“No darling, you’re seven in eight months … so?”
“Seven.”
“Almost. Six and a half years.”
“Why won’t they let you come home?”
“I told you, sweetheart.”
“Oh yeah … Janet says I haven’t got a father, only Father Christmas.”
“Well, you tell Janet I’m very real and love you more than anything.”
“Except Mummy.”
“That’s a different love honey, but I can love you both.”
“Me too … Why’s that man staring at us?”
“That’s his job darling, to watch.”
“I don’t like the way he looks at us.”
“Me neither, sweetheart.”
We both sigh.
“You’ve been so brave and strong, I’m so proud of you.”
“Me too.”
“Cheer up beautiful, I’ll be home soon.”
“For my birthday party?”
“No darling … But three weeks after it.”
“I don’t wanna party then.”
“You can have two. One without me and one with me.”
She smiles.
“Do you like jelly, Daddy?”
“It’s my favourite.”
“Me too.”
“TIME PLEASE.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“I know darling, but be brave.”
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too, honey, give me a big cwtch˚.”
Watching her walk away rips me in two. I must be strong. No tears. Not now. Not yet.
˚ There is not one word to translate Cwtch from Welsh to English. The Urban Dictionary defines it as, “Snuggling, cuddling, loving, protecting, safeguarding and claiming, all rolled into one. A cwtch creates a private safe place in a room or in two people’s hearts.”
; The support
Since my case began, I’ve received such overwhelming support from people all around the globe, in such a myriad of ways. My story would not be complete if I failed to write about some of the people who have encouraged me, given me and my family hope, and kept my case in the public eye.
While I got no amendments, reductions of sentence, or time given back by the “powers that be”, my only hope is that, in some small way, we may have been able to help make a slight change for people charged and sentenced for cannabis cultivation and use in Malta in the future.
In fact, in 2015, Malta decriminalised cannabis possession and cultivation of a cannabis plant for personal use will no longer be punishable by a mandatory prison sentence or suspended sentence. Malta has even pledged to invest land, money and their future in the production of medical cannabis. Even the prison has changed considerably. But like all the prisons, in all our nations, it still has a long way to go for a true reform.
I am no martyr, but I am peaceful. I wonder if those who judged me can say the same? I’m so grateful that my family and I are strong enough to get through this and if we have but helped one other family that is not as strong, then I believe the cause is just. It’s hard to accept such a long sentence for just a few cannabis plants while sentence lengths differ so greatly in Malta. All over the world, sentences for cannabis cultivation or use are incredibly varied. In so many countries now it’s legal, while in others it remains outlawed.
I believe soon we will see it accepted in most countries around the world – if nothing else, for its pure profit. I always knew Malta wasn’t the UK and that I’d never receive just a slap on the wrist and a fine or suspended sentence, but I did expect to be judged fairly and similarly to others charged with the same crime.
Surely, only violent offenders should be taken away from society for so long. I always accepted my part, but to be used as a scapegoat or pawn, simply to satisfy the ignorance of people is just too galling.
So, thank you to all the wonderful people who have stood by me, supported me, and campaigned on my behalf and on behalf of so many others who have faced injustice. Change comes very gradually and we hardly even notice, it’s only in hindsight that we truly see a difference.
A prison guard once told me, “I don’t know why you bother to fight the case and your judgments; a little fish can never eat a big fish.” I went on to explain to him that if all the little fish work together then they can, indeed, eat the big fish. He replied, “I don’t mean piranha,” and I knew my words had been wasted on him.
There has always been a huge public interest and high media coverage of my case. I think that with the Maltese society already disgruntled over flagrant miscarriages of justice and continued misjudged and wrongly sentenced cases, it was easy for the public to single out my case and get behind it as a means of venting their feelings and frustrations, and marking it as a cause célèbre.
After receiving my sentence, I’d see myself on the TV news and articles in papers most weeks. Very often inmates, even officers, would come to me with pages from Maltese and English language newspapers. So many front pages, centrefolds, double pages, more than I’ve seen for any other case. Since returning home, I realise that there was enough written about me to set up a small museum.
It really was quite overwhelming and intriguing to read the many takes on my life and case. Usually newspaper articles were also published online. The vast majority of comments were supportive of me, but of course there were some unsupportive or derogatory comments such as, “You did the crime – now do the time.” There are always people who don’t question authority and will follow rules blindly but, I suppose coming from the United Kingdom, the need to question was inbuilt in me.
I had to keep on reminding myself that I was not a narco-trafficker and was only found in possession of five one metre-tall cannabis plants and 26 not yet rooted clones. Hardly Pablo Escobar!
To this day, sometimes when the newspapers write of cannabis possession or cultivation cases, my name is mentioned as they compare the sentences to mine. They are always of a shorter length, even when the amount of cannabis is many times higher than Barry and I had.
People have not forgotten, after all these years, and that gives me much hope for society and justice in Malta and indeed the world as a whole. There have been some very brave reporters who have continued to fight my case in the newspapers and draw attention to the injustice, even though it may have caused them great personal and professional problems. I am amazed by their strength and determination.
Although many people who fight my corner do not necessarily agree with the use of cannabis, this didn’t deter them from fighting against the unjust sentence. I have found that most people are really so good at heart and this affirms my belief that good will always triumph against tyranny and evil.
Very shortly after my sentencing in 2011, a Facebook account was set up by an incensed Maltese citizen, John Aedyn King. It was called Free Daniel Holmes, and a few days later my sister was made an administrator and she has tirelessly run it ever since. It quickly became a forum for people to discuss, not only my case and situation, but also their views about current cases and sentencing in Malta. Unfortunately, I am still catching up with a decade of digital technology, so since my release I have not been able to use it to its full potential.
At around the same time another caring Maltese citizen started off a petition. It was entitled, Daniel Holmes does not deserve 10 years for growing weed. It soon gained support and signatures, and spread awareness of my situation. The online petition included not only signatures but wonderful supportive comments from people all around the globe, and in fact almost reached 3,000 signatures.
Copies were printed out in 2013 and a few days before my case was heard in the Court of Appeal, they were handed in to the President of Malta, the Prime Minister, and the Archbishop. To no avail. All we received were acknowledgement letters from the President’s Office and the Office of the Prime Minister, but there was no response from the Archbishop. Yet another attempt to gain justice had fallen on deaf ears.
In fact, when my lawyer tried to present the petition to the judge in court, he said that the court would not be influenced by public opinion or outcry and would not read it let alone consider it. On the other hand, however, I and many others believe that it did influence the court, in a negative way. My sentence was confirmed.
Another petition was started in 2013 by another member of the public, during the time leading up to my Constitutional Court sittings. This petition was called Show Malta Constitutional Court we want justice for Daniel Holmes. Again, this petition was signed by people from all around the world from Mexico to Singapore to Australia. My family would print and send me many pages of comments and sitting in my confined prison cell I would read all of them; all their best wishes, and even dream of those exotic lands so far away at the mere sight of their names. But a large proportion of the signatories were of Maltese citizens who were trying to change their own country’s laws. This petition reached more than 6,250 signatures.
Also, in 2013 the internationally famous Maltese opera singer Joseph Calleja commented on his Facebook page calling for “Good sense” and “True justice to prevail”. He was not condoning cannabis use but calling for a sense of perspective as discrepancies over case sentencing were apparent. Far more serious crimes like rape and serious assaults were treated with much more leniency in Malta.
Over the years my parents and I, family, well-wishers, church members, leaders and priests, have written numerous letters to many influential people asking for help, including both the Maltese and British Prime Ministers and the Department of Justice, the Foreign Office, the Pope, the Queen, my parents’ local MPs and MEPs, two Maltese Presidents, and many others. Again, the standard “Thank you for your letter” response was all that we received, and we collected a rather large pile of those. Although notably, the reply from the Queen and from Pope Benedict XVI, seemed to be more caring and per
sonal and certainly gave my parents some comfort.
Thanks to the Free Daniel Holmes Facebook page, two protest marches in support of my case were organised in Malta, one in 2011 and one in 2013. In October 2013, just before the judgment on the appeal of my sentence was due to be given, around 600 people marched down the main high street in Malta’s capital city, Valletta. They came together outside the courts of law holding huge placards and banners sporting, “Cultivation is not trafficking”, “Justice for Daniel”, “Not in my name”, “Personal use is not trafficking”, “Free Daniel Now”, “Set Him Free”, and so many more slogans.
The people blew whistles, stamped their feet and shouted through megaphones. The crowd of peaceful protesters, disputing the many failings in the processing of my case, was surrounded by journalists and police. My wife and two-year-old daughter were there and I remember phoning them and hearing the crowds as, for a moment, I became part of the atmosphere of the day instead of being alone with my thoughts in my cell with no way to influence decisions made about my life.
Holding a banner, and through choking tears, my wife Marzena was recorded pleading with the Maltese government for compassion while my daughter Rainbow wore a t-shirt saying “Free My Daddy”. Controversial? Yes, of course. Did we try to play on the hearts of a nation? Yes, for they had broken our hearts and shattered our family.
Other forms of protest took form in the shape of posters stuck in shops and on the internet. Metal Free Daniel Holmes pin badges were made, which I hear are still worn today by some of the expat community. Graffiti appeared on public buildings: “Unjust Malta – Free Daniel Holmes”, and there was even a music clip posted on YouTube to background images of “Free Daniel Holmes”. Things my family and I had no idea were happening until we saw them on the news or they were passed on to us.
In 2012, the impressive UK charity Prisoners Abroad used my situation to highlight the problems of Britons being held in overseas prisons and to spread awareness of the plight of Britons who fall foul of the law in foreign countries. The people at this charity have been so supportive to me and my family all through this ordeal. They help so many people in such dire circumstances. Prisoners Abroad organises regional meetings in the UK, where families of those incarcerated abroad can meet each other for mutual support and discuss with the charity’s staff how they and their loved ones may be helped.
Daniel Holmes: A Memoir From Malta's Prison: From a cage, on a rock, in a puddle... Page 10
