Canada: close to ordinary violence

I met James* in 2008. He was diagnosed with schizophrenia in 2006. He was having many psychotic episodes, and his disease was deteriorating. We had lost touch when he was incarcerated. He has been held in a federal prison since his conviction. His sister reached out to me in 2017. She wrote to tell me that James was very lonely and needed someone to speak with who could be there for him. I accepted. I already had a solid understanding of the prison environment, so I was not afraid to visit him there. When I saw James again in 2017, he was still in a hallucination phase. So, to best support him, I researched schizophrenia extensively to understand the illness. I also suggested that he try art therapy, to journal his story and his emotions. He went through several journals each month. They allowed him to express his pain.

I asked him if he was okay with me seeing his psychiatric record, and I saw that I was mentioned throughout. One part read: “Olivia’s arrival is making a difference to the prisoner, we need to make room for her.” The more time passed, the more the psychiatrist acknowledged that writing was good for James. At the time, he was in maximum-security¹ psychiatry services. In early 2020, he was transferred to medium-security psychiatry services in another prison, closer to my home. The last note from the psychiatrist before his transfer read: “Make her a part of your team. She is crucial for the prisoner’s mental health.”

Then the pandemic arrived, and the prison was on lockdown for a year. James was in the psychiatric ward and doubly confined. He could only go out for 30 minutes a day for a coffee and a shower. Instead of taking a shower, he would call me four times a week for half an hour.

I helped James understand the depth of his illness. During this time, we went through his trial documents together so that he could understand what had happened. I also sent him money and recommendations of books on schizophrenia. We read nearly fifteen books together over the phone. His psychiatrist could clearly see that James was recovering rapidly. I called the prison and asked to meet with his psychoeducator. Although the process was difficult, I established contact with his treatment team and parole officer. Eventually, I was able to join the team. I am now part of James’s correctional plan and work with his psychoeducator. Since 2021, we have also been able to have a weekly video call.

To qualify for a private family visit, you must be a partner, a parent of the prisoner’s children, a close relative… I fall into the category of “significant person in the prisoner’s life”. I had to provide extensive documentation explaining the nature of my relationship with James and how I improved his life. However, in prison, there is not really a checkbox for “significant person.” Ultimately, I had to change my status to have any rights. According to the prison administration, I am now considered his partner. That was the only way for me to earn trailer visits¹ with him.

Spending time in prison is interesting because you get to see what happens on the inside. And it’s horrifying. While there is a lot of talk about social reintegration, we are lightyears away from true reintegration. The guards are incredibly judgmental. Prisons are essentially stuck in 1995.

Prisoners don’t have internet access. The only way to interact with them is through handwritten letters, but half of them are illiterate. The cost of phone calls is exorbitant. When James calls his mother for ten minutes, it costs 7 CAD. It’s incredibly inflated. They never see each other: his mother cannot afford to travel seven hours, and she does not have the means to have video calls with him. She has seen him only four times in ten years.

James’ situation is also particularly tricky. In Quebec, there is no minimum –security rating in the psychiatric ward. However, to qualify for parole, your security rating must be lowered. James should have had his rating changed a long time ago because his behavior is impeccable. He should have been in minimum security for the past two years and started the process of conditional release with escorted outings. But we were stuck, because in minimum security, he could no longer be monitored by his nurse and psychoeducator. It was not possible. I decided to go to prison management. I had to make threats and remind them that there needs to be a specific path for mentally ill prisoners, just as there are outside of prisons. I insisted on a solution to lower his rating while he continued to receive care. Prison management finally conceded. James will become the first mentally ill patient in minimum security in Quebec.

Since I became a “partner”, I have been constantly mistreated. The guards - always white men - comment on my body and my clothing; they flirt with me, intimidate me – basically, they piss me off. Sometimes they make me wait unnecessarily because they enjoy eating away at my visitation time.

The staff don’t explain anything to us. For example, my first family visit went terribly. It lasted 72 hours because I did not know that we had the choice between 24 hours and 72 hours. Prison management did not inform me that a 24-hour visit is recommended for first timers. The staff did not call me; they just sent me a letter informing me of the personal items I could bring. James is schizophrenic and unable to give me instructions.

I had a very difficult experience during that visit - I had a severe anxiety attack. The guards forcibly removed me after 48 hours, took my friend out in handcuffs, and revoked my visitation rights. It took me a month and a half of fighting to get them back.

More recently, I had booked a private family visit. I called the prison in the morning to let them know that my friend could not remember the arrival time and forgot to ask. I don’t usually come on Fridays, so I did not know the scheduled arrival time. The guard told me I had to be there at 10:30 a.m. I hurried, but I was running late, so I called again to let them know I would arrive around 10:40 a.m. The same guard told me he was waiting for me. I arrived at the prison entrance, he came to see me and said that it was too late and that I would have to come back at 1 p.m. I was forced to wait and return in the afternoon. There were four other women waiting as well, so I asked them what the arrival time was on Fridays. They told me it was always at 1 p.m. No one comes in on Friday mornings because the staff release those who had private family visits the previous day. These constant micro-aggressions and psychological violence take a toll. The guards are terrible. I often have panic attacks in prison. The worst part is that all the difficulties I face related to the prison have no connection to James’ illness. And I can’t file complaints because he would be the one to suffer the consequences.

I am constantly stigmatised because no one understands why I am interested in, help, and love someone who is disabled and incarcerated. It’s as if a sick person is not allowed to have friends or experience love.