Mayhem

by Matthew Thompson

  I do not seek forgiveness or sympathy by any but only to remind others that I too am human.

  I shall enter back into the community one day as a member of society and hopefully a productive member in the workforce. I have done wrong and have paid the ultimate price with the loss of my liberty, amongst other things, but surely I don’t need to suffer to this extent at the hands of my keepers and to be treated far worse than an animal, being trussed up and placed in chains in this day and age.

  55. THE BANALITY OF SUPERMAX

  1995: Barwon Prison diary

  CHRIS: DAY 1

  8:40 AM.

  Strip search. Refuse to turn sox inside out when requested. Stated if so much desired to do it themselves! SPO F, PO B, PO H present. Alleged incident occurring as a result of my response to their attitude and conduct. Officers leave cell, leaving me locked in cell and informed me no exercise.

  8:45 AM.

  SPO F and Gov M arrive; open cell conduct another strip search, SPO F orders me to visualise and keep my sight focused on outstretched hands while engaging in strip search. I voiced my protest as no such regulations or rules exist of that nature. He threatened to have me charged as a result of my refusal to comply with his ‘visual’ instructions.

  8:50 AM.

  Strip search completed. Advised to go out in exercise yard while cell searched. In doing so advised SPO G I had requests to be processed and recorded. His reply: ‘I’ll get back to you very shortly.’

  9:10 AM.

  Let out to use phone. Not able to get in contact with solicitor.

  9:15 AM.

  Let out to go back to exercise. Notice SPO F in possession of legal folders removed from my cell, in company of PO H. I confronted F on why he had removed items.

  He replied, ‘They’re John Lindrea’s and not yours.’

  I said that he lent them to me to hold the vast volumes of paperwork I hold.

  He said, ‘Bad luck, you can’t have them.’

  I said, ‘You’re kidding.’ He had also removed 1 pkt of gum and quantity of rice – opened bag.

  I had not been informed of this.

  9:20 AM.

  Notified officer whilst in yard I desperately needed to go to the toilet and informed him I had weak bladder!

  9:45 AM.

  Again asked what the delay was. No reply from officer so I relieved myself on the spot. To my surprise SPO F was present during whole episode and informed me I was to be charged as a result of my actions of relieving myself. I stated I had given adequate warning and could no longer suppress nature’s demands and he was a party to such outcomes.

  10:20 AM.

  Notify need to use phone at 10.30. Important call required at this time by expecting party at receiving end.

  10:30 AM.

  Again informed SPO G I had requests to be submitted. Reply ‘Soon.’

  10:40 AM.

  Finally given access to phone room.

  10:50 AM.

  Finish phone and informed to go directly back into cell, that my exercise period had been reduced by Gov M. F instructed me of this, yet it was not the case, but done so he could avoid coming back ten minutes later to let me out of exercise yard to cell: ‘avoid unnecessary movements to him’.

  11:00 AM.

  Requested to G per requests which we had done and registered in senior’s request book – done from my cell doorway.

  11:50 AM.

  Meals arrive in unit [not the cell, but a small section around which a number of solitary cells are clustered, Chris’ being one].

  12:04 PM.

  Meals issued cold.

  12:05 PM.

  Notified and advised staff via intercom of the state of meals. Response: ‘Bad luck.’

  I suggested there was a microwave available to reheat meals.

  Reply ‘No: that’s the way they arrived; that’s the way you get ’em.’

  I then stated via intercom that the microwave was present for just such occasions.

  Female officer then buzzed off from intercom.

  12:30 PM.

  Via intercom enquired as to when I would receive access to typewriter. Female officer replied, ‘When staff become available.’

  I stressed it was an urgent and important matter to complete and forward on, and why do I have to face working my case at the staff’s convenience?

  Buzzed off once again no reply.

  1:20 PM.

  Via intercom asked once again for typewriter.

  1:40 PM.

  Cell door opens and handed typewriter.

  1:41 PM.

  Via intercom notified staff the ribbon had been removed and not able to use it as a result. Informed SPO G of such. ‘Highly unusual ribbon removed as was okay the other day,’ was his reply. Yeah, right. Funny that, isn’t it, give me it finally – in the end rendered useless.

  1:50 PM.

  Notified Gov M of the act of missing ribbon from typewriter. Suggested would have arrangements for a replacement ribbon.

  3:32 PM.

  Meals arrive in unit.

  3:56 PM.

  Meals delivered yet microwaved beforehand to reheat.

  3:56 PM.

  Requested plastic tea spoon in order to consume Weet-Bix, as mine was removed from cell earlier in the day. F responsible and states not allowed.

  I said, ‘Bullshit, who said so?’

  He replied, ‘You have two hours to consume breakfast once issued, then return spoon.’

  I told him I ate cereal at night during the evening when I became hungry – which he was well aware of – and nobody’s removed spoon before, yet he leaves plastic bowl intact!

  4:50 PM.

  Buzz up via intercom PO C ask for Panadol and plastic spoon. ‘No probs.’ Receive soon afterwards.

  END OF DAY

  DAY 2

  BREAKFAST ISSUED.

  Requests conducted, consisted of: phone balance check, typewriter, canteen account printout – never received previous day!

  11:40 AM.

  Buzzed up and asked when would we receive newspaper, which are delivered each morning. Reply: ‘not yet arrived,’ highly unlikely event as are delivered on a daily basis with no delays.

  11:45 AM.

  Meals issued, I then proceed to produce faeces on newspaper and inform them this is a symbol of the times. When is all this shit going to stop? Placed newspaper in centre of dayroom area in unit.

  12:30 PM.

  SPO G comes to cell and orders me to clean up and remove newspaper – if not be removed to unit 4 as a result: LOP, or loss of privileges unit.

  2:30 PM.

  Gov S speaks to me on what’s the problem. I advise him of certain officers inciting and provoking incidents – F – and the current atmosphere and attitudes shall in. It’s only fitting to represent a symbol of the times in the unit as a monument.

  Once again advised to clean up or go to unit 4.

  I refused.

  3:10 PM.

  EMU [Emergency Management Unit] officers arrived. Handcuffed, hobbles, removed to LOP [Loss of Privileges] section – unit 4.

  3:30 PM.

  Receive meal and limited writing material and reading items.

  END OF DAY

  DAY 3

  BREAKFAST ISSUED.

  Request to SPO G consists of: clothing, food items, legal papers and documents in cell and typewriter, legal call.

  Soon afterwards SPO G and PO L deliver meagre rations and clothing, court documents. I noticed missing canteen items as I had packed up the day before anticipating the movement to unit 4.

  He said, ‘I’ll see you later.’

  1:20 PM.

  Buzz up and enquire into the missing canteen item, being Weet-Bix, advised he would speak to me later about it.

  2:20 PM.

  Buzzed up and pursued into what’s going on with canteen items being denied me? Advised G would see me later about it.

  3:05 PM.

  Let out of cell for legal call and indicated I wanted to s
ee G about being denied access to canteen items, Weet-Bix and cereals issued to me!

  3:30 PM.

  Finish phone call, in process of returning to cell, notice G in Chief’s office and proceed in this direction. Met by him in doorway where I confront him on why I am not allowed Weet-Bix, as I had previously purchased these items while in unit the week prior and I am not on any regime where it states I’m not allowed such items. I said I starve at night, I have very little in my possession due to the restrictions on items available and limits placed on money spent. These were the only items of canteen in my cell apart from some chocolates.

  He said, ‘You’re issued cereals in the morning.’

  I said, ‘Yes, but what has that got to do with my canteen purchases?’

  He said, ‘I let you have your chocolates.’

  I said, ‘How kind of you. Where does it say you can’t?’ I then said that the chocolates do not satisfy or quell the hunger at night like the Weet-Bix do.

  His reply was that it was his decision due to his belief and it was designed to slow down my bowel movements.

  I stated: ‘What’s next, deny me my meals? I shit every day as it is and this bullshit would not affect it.’

  He said, ‘Enough’s enough. Bad luck.’

  I then spat the dummy – ‘spit’.

  I was then placed back in cell with handcuffs still intact.

  3:44 PM.

  Buzzed up to see when or if handcuffs to be removed. Reply Gov has been advised and will get back to you.

  4 PM.

  Gov M arrives, informed me that I am no longer able to make legal calls or use typewriter and I’ll be charged as a result of my actions against SPO G.

  END OF DAY

  DAY 4

  BREAKFAST ISSUED.

  9:45 AM.

  Gov K arrives to cell. Informs me of the procedures of handcuffs during exercise and shower periods.

  I stated: ‘You got to be joking.’

  Gov K said, ‘I am not – I am serious.’

  I then brought up my legal position and I relied upon access to my solicitor via phone and required access to typewriter in preparing documents for defence and a private prosecution against certain parties and this decision of terminating access to solicitor and typewriter is unjust and illegal in my circumstances, interfering in communicating and receiving advice and instructions on various matters currently at hand.

  His reply was: ‘Bad luck and no calls – nothing.’

  10 AM.

  Exercising in cuffs – one hour period.

  11:02 AM.

  Shower in cuffs. Finish shower.

  11:10 AM.

  Reverse procedure.

  11:40 AM.

  Meals arrive in unit.

  11:42 AM.

  Meals issued.

  3:14 PM.

  Meals arrive in unit.

  3:20 PM.

  Meals issued.

  END OF DAY

  56. EXTRADITION

  9 OCTOBER 1996: TRANSFER TO NSW

  CHRIS:

  New South Wales is seeking my extradition over outstanding arrest warrants and charges.

  Yet, it seems like it’s gotten personal down here: head office doesn’t want me going anywhere if the conditions I’ll face will be less harsh than in Victoria.

  For NSW to get their man, they have to agree to keep me under the spartan isolation regime that Victoria has imposed.

  I have never heard of this happening before, nor would I hear of it again.

  The extradition is approved and I’m told to have my bags packed and be ready to move.

  Weeks go by, however, until the night after my 26th birthday when the Barwon security squad arrives at my cell.

  Rustled from sleep at a quarter to midnight, I say my goodbyes to those in the unit and ask to wear my civilian clothes for the transfer. Permission denied; I am to remain in red. The squad makes me kneel, fits me with leg-irons, the body belt and cuffs, and takes me to the squad van.

  A four-car high-security escort accompanies my transport van through the dead of night to the police hangar at Essendon Airport.

  Shackled up and left in the rear of the prison security van, hours go by as we wait for the NSW State Protection Group to fly in. They’re to be my hosts and hostesses for the flight north.

  I tell the prison officers that I need to have a piss. ‘Let me out or I’ll piss in the rear of the van – it’s simple,’ I tell them.

  ‘Hang on.’

  They wait while the chartered twin-engine ten-seater taxies in from the runway and State Protection Group officers then secure the area. Now Barwon security officers and dogs walk me to the grass edge of the runway, hands and feet still chained to the body belt.

  When I pull down my track pants, red dots light me up like a Christmas tree: I’m covered with the State Protection Group’s laser gunsights. They’re not fucking taking any chances. Let’s just say this is a nervy piss indeed.

  In flight to Sydney, the heavily armed police don’t really play the host role. No movies, either.

  Arriving at Mascot airport the security is even greater than at Essendon. The hordes of State Protection Group officers securing the area seems to alarm the NSW prison security personnel who are picking me up. They’ve never seen anything like it; the president of America would be jealous.

  Surrounded by a six-car security escort, we drive south. Now in NSW custody, I deem the order to remain in red no longer applies and set to work tearing off my clown clothes. The screw watching me via the rear perspex must have thought ‘What the fuck?’, as I struggled in my chains, cuffs and irons, throwing shreds of the despised garments on the van floor.

  It’s all drama and fanfare when we reach Goulburn where a section of the prison has been locked down for my reception, four years to the month that I escaped from Parramatta.

  And straight into segro [isolation] I go.

  57. INMATE 219 LUCIFER

  1996–98: GOULBURN

  CHRIS:

  My NSW prisoner number is 219666, or 219 LUCIFER as I enjoy telling the more biblically inclined Christians among the prison staff.

  One senior officer, later to become a governor of Goulburn, is so offended by my official devil status and by my enjoyment of his discomfort, that he seeks to have the number changed.

  My ranking on NSW’s list of High Risk Inmates hits number one (later to be bumped by the infamous Ivan Milat).

  The isolation of Goulburn’s high-security confinement – starting here in the Additional Support Unit (ASU) – is maddening but I decline to buy a TV for the first 22 months. To hell with it. My mind is my freedom.

  They want to reduce us to dependent slugs slumped in our cots on meds watching the telly. They tell the outside world that we’re the ‘worst of the worst’ undergoing ‘corrections’, and they pretend that this isolation is a neutral state, something like a boring dream passing by over many years, but I know that they realise that what they’re doing is not keeping us in suspended animation. They know that isolation like this breeds despair, rage and madness. They know that something profoundly bad is occurring beneath all the telly watching, beneath the pillpopping, beneath the vacant ceiling-staring and obsessive caseworking. They know that while isolation prisoners often appear pale and slack on the surface, deep inside we’re desperate; we’re panicking as we slip out of orbit – as we detach from the gravitational pull of day-to-day life with peers. They know that we are coming undone as communal human beings and they know that we are reforming as lost, atomised, insane souls of a stark universe ruled by an all-powerful god who gives no shit whatsoever for anything but absolute control.

  And one day we’ll be released.

  *

  I hear a fellow inmate, a Koori, complaining about being hungry all the time and having no smokes and no TV, so I have $400 sent to his Spend Account. He can’t believe it – doesn’t know me from a bar of soap.

  LATE 1996

  Barry visits, but instead of our meeting
being held in the usual areas, they have us face each other in the front segregation yards.

  I am in leg-irons and the rest, talking to him through grill bars, in caged yards strewn with litter and in wind of stagnating bowls of green shit.

  Barry is deeply disturbed and doesn’t want to drive eight hours again for this kind of horror.

  *

  Goulburn is horrible, man. Horrible. The officers are brutal; they are nasty. Their whole exercise is to break inmates down and crush their will – destroy them. That is the mentality and that’s how they operate. When you engage with them that’s when the us-and-them thing comes to the fore. They literally turn inmates into their enemies. Hate on hate.

  *

  An old associate arrives in the ASU. I know him well, and he is able to sort out a $500 upfront order I’ve placed for two full-length hacksaws. Word is that I’ll have to wait for them to arrive by escort from Long Bay jail.

  The courier is a protection-classified inmate who is housed in the cell next to me here in ASU. To the staff this bloke’s troublesome and incident plagued. He taps on the wall and calls out to me to pump out the toilet water so we can speak. My order has arrived; it’ll be in the gym yard tomorrow for me to collect.

  But within days I’m getting a lot of attention, the prison officers taking a keen interest in searching my cell. Again and again they tip it upside down, going well beyond the usual inspections done.

  It’s okay. I’ve hidden the blades well.

  But it becomes pretty clear that the courier is lagging me, trying to generate brownie points to get himself out of the unit, knowing that it will bury me in the process.

  After another week of failing to find the blades, the prison staff come up with a bullshit story, claiming that they have intercepted a key hidden in my vegan meal. So back I go on the most restrictive regime they can offer.

  The protection inmate had stolen the key from an officer at Long Bay and it was his way to load me up, the blades having seemingly disappeared. It works for him; he gets moved to greener pastures.