A policy of banning all sex in prison will not work

A blanket ban on sex in prison leads to prisoners failing to report rape or sexual assault for fear of punishment.

The challenge currently facing prisons with regards sexual health and public opinion is not dissimilar to that faced by Edinburgh in the 1980s in the face of the HIV crisis. That was the chilling warning heard by the Howard League Commission on sex in prisons. The Commission’s first briefing, on consensual sex in male prisons, is published today. In the 1980s, Edinburgh saw a police crackdown on heroin use that was successful in cutting the number of available syringes and equipment at the very same time as HIV was introduced into the local drug scene. The result was that drug users shared needles and HIV spread, so that the city was briefly the aids capital of europe. The crisis was eventually eased by a public health approach that included needle exchanges and the distribution of methadone. The balance between crackdowns that play to punitive public sentiment and a public health approach that will actually reduce harm and prove most effective in protecting communities is one Chris Grayling should bear in mind, as he considers a crackdown on sex in prison.

The statistics on consensual sex in men’s prisons are limited and vague – a Home Office study back in 1994/5 reported that between 1.6 and 3.4 per cent of their sample adult male prisoners admitted to being engaged in consensual sex with an inmate. However, the true figure is thought to be higher. The British Association of Sexual Health and HIV told us that while female prisoners were likely to be open about sex with each other, male prisoners were not. According to the Terrence Higgins Trust male prisons tend to be more homophobic than the wider community, making honest reporting harder. Indeed, far from being ‘cosy’ for LGBT prisoners, all the evidence suggests that they are at greater risk of discrimination and most vulnerable to sexual abuse while inside.

The prison service instruction manual states: ‘there is no rule specifically prohibiting sexual acts between prisoners, but if they are observed by someone who finds (or could potentially find) their behaviour offensive, a charge…may
be appropriate.’ in practice this results in an inconsistent approach and a system ripe for abuse. Some prisoners have reported being left alone as long as they were discreet, while others reported staff trying to catch them out in order to issue them with a warning. It has also been suggested that separation and being written up can be used as a means of discriminating against openly gay prisoners, while policies preventing sex in prisons can be seen to ‘legitimise’ homophobic attitudes.

There is no denying that the issue of consensual sex in prison is a tricky one. The National Offender Management Service argued, in their evidence to us, that it is virtually impossible for staff to tell whether a relationship is consensual or coercive. It can be further complicated by the fact that what starts as consensual can later become coercive.

On a trip to the US I met Troy Isaak, a member of Just Detention International Survivors’ Council. He told me that during one period of incarceration in a Los Angeles jail he entered into a consensual relationship with another inmate but then when the relationship broke down he was repeatedly raped. Staff refused to do anything as he’d originally consented. Sex is banned in US jails.

However we must be careful not to learn the wrong lesson from cases such as this, which call for greater action in tackling the complexities of sexual abuse behind bars, not making the system more punitive for those who engage in consensual sex. A blanket ban on sex in prison leads to prisoners failing to report rape or sexual assault for fear of punishment. While a 2005 report (pdf) from the Prison Reform Trust and National Aids Trust expressed concern that ‘if sexual activity is subject to punitive sanctions, or stigmatised, the likelihood is that people will be less likely to take precautions.’ Most respondents to the Home Office study admitted they did not practice safe sex.

The Department of Health states that prisoners are more likely to be affected by blood-borne diseases, more likely to have engaged in high-risk behaviours and as a result are at higher risk of sexually transmitted infections. To ignore this and then ignore calls for help in practicing safe sex is, according to the Terrence Higgins Trust, ‘highly irresponsible and unethical.’

Her Majesty’s Prison Inspectorate, the Terrence Higgins Trust and National Aids Trust all raised concerns with the Commission about the variable access to condoms within prisons. We heard a range of approaches. Some prisons offer advice and make barrier protection, dental dams and lubrication freely available. However, in at least one privately run prison prisoners are only issued with a condom if they then return it used before being issued with another. Other prisons refuse to issue barrier protection. We received evidence from one HIV-positive prisoner who was refused protection and, as a result, went on to have unprotected sex with another inmate. We heard that some prisoners are sanctioned for requesting too many condoms. One prison governor even said they had no need to issue barrier protection as his prison contained no homosexuals. The National Aids Trust said, ‘attempts to control consensual sexual activity between prisoners risk undermining efforts to promote HIV prevention and improved sexual health in prison populations.’

What Chris Grayling and others need to remember is that this is not merely a health crisis confined to prisons: all of these prisoners will eventually return to their communities and will pass on any infections to the wider community. A policy of banning all sex in prison will not work: it will further legitimise homophobia within prisons, its implementation will result in a system ripe for abuse as well as discrimination against LGBT prisoners; it will discourage prisoners from reporting rape and sexual assault and divert attention from the real law and order issue – which is the correct management and response to occurrences of coercive sex in custody. Most importantly of all, it does nothing to address the fact that prisoners will continue to have sex and an even more punitive system will worsen the risky practices causing this public health crisis.

In the US, Just Detention International successfully showed that prison rape was not only inhumane but also cost the community far more – financially as well as socially – than successfully preventing rape behind bars. Similarly, the cost to us all will be greater in dealing with the spread of STIs than a pragmatic policy to ensure safe sex in our prison system.

Michael Amherst is on the board of Just Detention International and the Howard League Commission on Sex in Prisons

A prison guard at HMP Pentonville. Photo: Getty
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Barb Jungr’s diary: Apart-hotels, scattered families and bringing the Liver Birds back to Liverpool

My Liver Birds reboot, set in the present day with new music and a new story, is coming to life at the Royal Court Theatre.

For the last three years I’ve been writing a musical. Based on Carla Lane and Myra Taylor’s Liver Birds characters Beryl and Sandra, but set in the present day with new music and a new story, it is coming to life at the Royal Court Theatre – in Liverpool, appropriately. Amazingly, the sun shines as the train ambles into Lime Street, where Ken Dodd’s statue has recently been customised with a feather duster tickling stick and some garlands of orange and lime green. Outside the station, composer Mike Lindup and I buy a Big Issue. We have a scene opening Act Two with a Big Issue seller and we are superstitious. We check into our “apart-hotel”. Apart-hotel is a new word and means a hotel room with a kitchen area you will never, ever use.

At the theatre everyone hugs as though their lives depend on it; we are all aware we are heading into a battle the outcome of which is unknown. There will be no more hugging after this point till opening night as stress levels increase day by day. I buy chocolate on the way back as there’s a fridge in my apart-hotel and I ought to use it for something.

Ships in the night

There’s no point in being in Liverpool without running by the river, so I leap up (in geriatric fashion) and head out into the rain. You’d think, since I grew up in the north-west and cannot ever remember experiencing any period of consecutive sunny days here, that I’d have brought a waterproof jacket with me. I didn’t. It springs from optimism. Misplaced in this case, as it happens. I return soaking but with a coconut latte. Every cloud.

We have been in the theatre for seven hours. Everything has been delayed. The cast are amusing themselves by singing old television themes. They have just made short shrift of Bonanza and have moved on to The Magic Roundabout. We may all be going very slightly mad.

As hours dwindle away with nothing being achieved, Mike and I pop to the theatre next door to enjoy someone else’s musical. In this case, Sting’s. It’s wonderfully palate-cleansing and I finally manage to go to sleep with different ear worms about ships and men, rather than our own, about Liverpool and women.

Wood for the trees

This morning “tech” begins (during which every single move of the cast and set, plus lighting, costume, prop and sound cues must be decided and logged on a computer). Problems loom around every piece of scenery. Our smiles and patience wear thin.

By the end of the 12-hour session we know we have the most patient, professional cast in the known cosmos. I, on the other hand, am a lost cause. I fret and eat, nervously, doubting every decision, every line, every lyric. Wondering how easy it would be to start over, in forestry perhaps? There is a drug deal going on across the road in the street outside the hotel. My apart-hotel kitchen remains as new.

First preview

I slept like a log. (All those years of working with Julian Clary make it impossible not to add, “I woke up in the fireplace”.) At the crack of dawn we’re cutting scenes in the Royal Court café like hairdressers on coke. Today is ladies’ day at Aintree, which feels apropos; tonight we open Liver Birds Flying Home, here.

The spirit of Carla Lane, who died in 2016, always dances around our consciousness when we are writing. She was very good to us when we began this project, and she was incredibly important to my teenage self, gazing out for role models across the cobblestones.

I grew up in Rochdale, a first-generation Brit. My parents had come here after the war, and what family we had was scattered to the four winds, some lost for ever and some found much later on, after the Velvet Revolution. I had a coterie of non-related “aunties” who felt sorry for us. Ladies with blue rinses, wearing mothball-smelling fur coats in cold houses with Our Lady of Fátima statues lit by votive candles in every conceivable alcove. To this day, the smell of incense brings it all back. Yet the northern matriarchy is a tough breed and I’m happy to carry some of that legacy with pride.

Seeing the theatre fill with people is terrifying and exciting in equal measure. We’ve had to accept that the finale isn’t in tonight’s show because of lack of technical time. I’m far from thrilled. The show, however, has a life of its own and the actors surf every change with aplomb. The audience cheers, even without the finale. Nonetheless, I slouch home in despair. Is it too late to change my name?

Matinee day

The fire alarm is going off. I know that because I’m awake and it’s 4am. As I stand in reception among the pyjama-clad flotsam and jetsam of the apart-hotel, I suspect I’m not the only one thinking: if only they’d had alarms this annoyingly loud in Grenfell. I don’t go back to sleep. I rewrite the last scene and discuss remaining changes for the morning production meeting with my co-writer, George.

The Saturday afternoon performance (which now includes the finale) receives a standing ovation in the circle. The ratio of women to men in the audience is roughly five to one. In the evening performance it is 50/50, so I’m curious to see how Beryl and Sandra’s story plays to the chaps who’ve been dragged out on a Saturday night with their wives. In the pub after the show a man tells Lesley, the actress playing present-day Beryl, how moved he had been by what he’d seen and heard.

A few years ago I stood behind Miriam Margolyes as we were about to go on stage at the Royal Festival Hall in a Christmas show. She turned to me, saying, “Why do we do this to ourselves?” We agreed: “Because we can’t do anything else!” I suspect forestry is out of the question at this juncture. 

“Liver Birds Flying Home” is at the Royal Court, Liverpool, until 12 May.

Barb Jungr is an English singer, songwriter, composer and writer.

This article first appeared in the 18 April 2018 issue of the New Statesman, Enoch Powell’s revenge