“What I find hard to deal with here is that everything is so arbitrary and nothing is explained.”

This sentence came in a letter I received while was waiting for my sentencing from a guy I had met in a support group who was now in a federal prison. I didn’t understand. How can a prison be an arbitrary place? 

It did not take long after my imprisonment began for me to understand very clearly. Prisons run on endless rules, governing every aspect of life in these institutions. Nor is there any manual or orientation for new prisoners. Nobody tells you what the rules are; you learn them either from other prisoners or by getting in trouble for breaking one you did not know existed. 

This happened to me many times. For example, in the assessment unit, with its long corridor between the cells, any time the guards came into the area (the “range”) prisoners were expected to go into the nearest cell even if it was not yours. At any other time, you could not to go into any cell other than your own unless specifically invited. On one of my first days there, I heard shouts of “on the range” and saw prisoners ducking into cells but I wasn’t near my own. Within seconds a guard was swearing at me to “get into a f … ing cell.” 

In addition to the prison rules, prisoners also have rules. Don’t look into anyone else’s cell. Don’t whistle. Pay your debts — or else. Don’t be too interested in anyone else’s business. Don’t be friendly with guards. And above all, don’t rat on another prisoner under any circumstances. And again, new prisoners often learn these rules the hard way.

But back to the official prison rules. When that other prisoner said everything was arbitrary, what he meant, I soon learned, was that you could not predict when any rule would actually be enforced. There are many examples:

• In the provincial jail I was supposed to get yard time and a shower every second day. Yet in 19 days I got four showers and was in the yard only three times. 
• I was supposed to be transported out of there within a week but it was actually 19 days.
• You had to take medication when the nurse brought them (so the nurse could watch and make sure you took them) even if that was entirely the wrong time of day for the medication.
• In the assessment unit mail was supposed to be delivered Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Because mail was so important to me, I kept track. MWF delivery happened three times in 11 weeks. The rest of the time mail came on some other schedule — presumably whenever the guards felt like distributing it.
• There were set times for us to be unlocked in the morning and then locked up again in our cells but in practice these times varied from one day to the next. Sometimes we would be sent back to our cells before we had time to finish our “evening” meal — which came at around 4:30 p.m.
• In assessment all requests from prisoners — for example to see a doctor or use the library or talk to a parole officer — had to be made in writing on a “request form.” But most requests never got a reply of any kind; they just vanished.
• In the minimum security prison you were not allowed to take any food you had made yourself into the visiting centre, but quite often the guards didn’t look or care — though sometimes they did and what you brought was confiscated.
• Which areas of the prison were considered out of bounds for prisoners depended on individual guards. Another prisoner and I were yelled at and threatened for walking in an area where we had walked dozens of other times.
• Some drugs were easily available through the prison health service whereas others, even if prescribed by your doctor, were not available and you had to accept a substitute as determined by the prison.
• The items available at the grocery store for prisoners to purchase seemed quite arbitrary. Some everyday fruit and vegetables but not others. Apples and bananas but not grapes, for example. Some things were only sold in quantities far too large for a single person to use. Then the menu was changed several times in ways that had no apparent rationale. For example, pancake mix and frozen salmon were removed but cookie dough and cake mixes were added. At this point it is superfluous to say that these changes were never explained to prisoners. 
• Shortly after I arrived in minimum the dress code was changed. For many years in minimum prisoners had been allowed to wear our own clothes in preference to those issued by the prison (jeans and T-shirts), but then suddenly it was compulsory to wear prison-issue clothing weekdays during “work hours” (8 a.m. to 4 p.m.). Within a few weeks the prison also had to issue a number of follow-up clarifications around just what this rule meant — for example that you couldn’t wear other clothes under or over your jail issue clothes. 
• What could or could not be included in mail, incoming or outgoing, was never clear. Sometimes letters were rejected if they had any enclosures (such as newspaper clippings or photos) but other times they would be delivered with enclosures. In provincial jails you could never count on letters being delivered to you — or from you — at all; many simply vanished.

All of these may seem rather trivial, and indeed none of them individually had a large effect on anyone’s life in prison. What does matter is living in a world which has an endless number of rules yet where you can never be sure when any rule will be enforced. That constant uncertainty is psychologically wearing. As it is when the rules were changed often without any input from or explanation to prisoners as to why. 

The net effect is to remind you constantly that as a prisoner you have no rights, and you are of no consequence. Others are completely able to shape your life without any need to ask your views or take into account any effects of their decisions on you. You are in a world without agency, and that is a hard way for anyone to live.

David Dorson is the pen name of someone who went through arrest, case disposition, imprisonment and parole in Ontario a few years ago. The Lawyer’s Daily has granted anonymity because he offers a unique perspective on a subject that matters deeply to many readers, and revealing the author’s identity would make re-establishment in the community after serving his sentence much more difficult than it already is.

The opinions expressed are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the views of the author's firm, its clients, The Lawyer’s Daily, LexisNexis Canada, or any of its or their respective affiliates. This article is for general information purposes and is not intended to be and should not be taken as legal advice.

Interested in writing for us? To learn more about how you can add your voice to The Lawyer’s Daily, contact Analysis Editor Peter Carter at peter.carter@lexisnexis.ca or call 647-776-6740.