Go To Jail

Ever played Junior Monopoly?

For children, it’s a great introduction to the famous game: properties have become themepark rides, but you still have the fun of building houses / hotels and awaiting reluctant guests, albeit in a simplified way.

Money remains paramount - the aim is still to secure a monopoly by crushing all others. You soon know which children will be foolish public sector workhorses and which have the financial incompetence / dastardliness to become bankers!

It’s not quite the real deal though. Coloured plastic counters replace the metal dog, car, iron (what’s the fun without squabbling over who gets the boot?). You can no longer win second prize in a beauty contest.

Worst of all, there is no GO TO JAIL bombshell, replaced with a harmless visit to the restrooms!

Back in Cambodia, a world away from benign boardgames, I spent this afternoon in a very real jail – the provincial penitentiary in my nearest town of Sisophon. It was quite an experience.

It all came about thanks to Mary, a VSO education volunteer who just doesn’t understand that when the schools break for summer that’s the cue to swan off on holiday.

Rather, she stayed behind to dash round with the energy of a seven year old rolling the dice (she’s nearer seventy), trying to cajole and persuade anyone who will listen that they need to help improve the lot of women prisoners.

It’s a hard task. There’s not much in the way of a Community Chest, and I don’t detect much sympathy for prisoners here. Perhaps people have enough to worry about. There certainly seems to be a great deal of shame and lost face if a friend or family member is jailed. And maybe people think criminals get what they deserve: as a victim of a few petty crimes myself I have some sympathy with this view.

But things aren’t quite like that here. Most inmates are young and uneducated. Many are convicted of smuggling drugs from nearby Thailand (they are the ‘mules’ of course, those in charge don’t generally end up in prison). It’s not right, but it’s pretty clear to me they were driven to it through poverty and helplessness, for the lack of any other way to make a living. Or they may be completely innocent - framed, or taking the rap for someone else - but if they are poor they’ll get banged up just the same.

And they are all poor, by definition: in a country which ranks 154th out of 178 in Transparency International’s latest corruption perceptions index, you can be sure that the only people in prison are those who can’t afford to bribe their way out of the so-called ‘justice’ system.

The prison itself is a series of low yellowy concrete buildings on the edge of town. The buildings themselves are fairly new, and on first sight it could have been a school or hospital (two other hotels with generally reluctant guests!).

But inside it’s pretty desperate. There are 12 cells holding a total of 123 women (you can do the maths). Each prisoner has even less than the paltry 2 square metres minimum demanded by international law. The walls and floors are bare concrete, with a shared toilet and sink in the corner. A hose pipe is as near as they get to a shower.

We were kept waiting for half an hour before being allowed to see the prisoners – apparently for them to be searched ‘for your safety’. I’m not convinced we were in much danger from the shy, innocent-looking girls who crammed into the corridor to gaze at us - though like zoo animals in tiny cages I guess such cramped conditions are bound to lead to stress.

We had come so Katja could talk with the women about health, particularly how to avoid sexually transmitted diseases. The session was actually really good fun - as we appeared they gave us an impromptu round of applause, and we got big laughs as we put condoms onto cucumbers and I produced a phallic carrot for the demonstration.

But behind the smiles I’m sure were heaps of sadness. The guards were charm itself, but I couldn’t help thinking of stories of brutality once our backs were turned.

Perhaps worst of all was the sight of children in prison - 17 in all. Whatever their mums may have done, they are innocent and seeing them grow up in a prison is heartbreaking.

Their life is a long way from the fun of a Monopoly game. I hope, through the good work of Mary and those like her, they may get out of jail and take a chance at a better life.