The
scene is a remand wing at a Young Offenders Institution in the North
of England, June 2000. I came on to the main wing office to find a
keen young landing officer and an experienced probation officer in
debate about an inmate. They both stopped in their tracks to ask me,
a Prison Chaplain to go and see a lad of 16 who they were sure was
going to try and kill himself.
I
did not waste time and within a minute I was walking along the landing
to check out the situation. I reach the cell door, open the flap to
see the young man with his head in his hands. I enter and lightly
ask ‘what’s wrong?’
This
guy does not really want to talk, but my befriending skills are quiet
advanced and I get him to talk a bit about himself and his situation.
He has just come in again, not yet sentenced; he had been on heroin,
his family has given up on him, nobody cares for him, he has got a
history of self harm and he wants a die.
I
then give him all the one liners I know about: the value of life;
small sentence, big life; you’re worth more than this, surely
someone must care; Is there anything you want? This kid is not buying
what I am selling.
I
tell him I care, the reason I do this job is because I care. He said
you get paid for it. And of course he is right. I explain a worker
deserves his pay. He is not interested in me. The conversation goes
on and he explains that he has taken four days to decide that he is
going to take his own life. And that was that.
I
tell him that I care because God cares and God made me care. He responds
‘That’s your opinion, I don’t believe in God. I
have my rights and I want you to leave my cell, I want to die.’
At
this I might have left, somehow I could not. I told him that I don’t
want him to die, that I was bothered about him and just could not
leave like that. We stay in silence for a while. I was silently praying
for the right thing to do. I was convinced he was going to try and
kill himself.
‘I
don’t believe in God, I believe in the devil and want to go
to hell’, he said. This stirred me to pray out loud. ‘Lord
God, I pray for Jimmy and I ask you would show him your goodness,
that you would help him and let him know your love.’
I
found myself backing towards the cell door. I was longing for a change
in behaviour, but he still wanted to die. I looked outside. The P.O.
(Principle Officer) in charge of the wing was along the landing. I
called him over and explained the situation. He gave his all to try
and help. At the end of it he told the young man that he was not going
to die on his wing.
We
left 20 minutes later having informed the staff to watch Jimmy like
a hawk, every few minutes. A little later the officers caught Jimmy
trying to hang himself. He was relocated in the hospital.
The
most important point is that for now young Jimmy is still alive. But
for how long? He still wants to die. He believes he has a right to
die. His first 16 years have taught him that. He is on the edge of
life and the life support system called the prison service is doing
it’s best. But it is inevitable that many will succeed in acting
out on their desires to finish off the job.
Trying
to save Jimmy this far over the edge is defying gravity. The saving
actions and words must come much earlier in their lives to give
him and us a better chance. The weight of the years brings the decision,
trying to alter this is too often hard indeed. For me seeing young
men die, or trying to die, fuels my anger to do something about
it, to try to give some hope back, by some miracle of grace.
How
do we deal with the stark reality of some people’s despair?
How do you decide when to try to give answers or stay silently alongside
someone? Who do you turn to for help? How do you prevent some young
people ending up with stories like this? Where do you get your support
when you are worn down by the dejection and gloom that seems to overwhelm
some of the young people that we work with?
Paul
Hobbs
(Frontier Youth Trust Networker in the North East)
