Second in a two-part series: Part 1: First-time offender opens up about mental health and addiction issues, and psychiatric practices at Clarenville women’s prison
Karen (not her real name) says she broke down crying when she heard Skye Martin had died.
During Karen’s six months in the Correctional Centre for Women in Clarenville,
Martin, 27, was one of the women she got to know well. Martin died April 21 after reportedly choking on food in her cell.
“Skye was a beautiful girl, but she was in her own world,” Karen said. “She’d go around doing things that weren’t allowed to do in there, like wandering in and out of other people’s cells, asking for people’s food. She’d always ask to borrow my shampoo. She was so lovable, you couldn’t say no to her …
“Then they’d lock her up all by herself. It’s like she was totally unaware of where she was. I used to say to the guards, ‘What the hell is that young girl doing here?’ She was like a child, too. How does somebody like that fit the criteria for Clarenville? That’s what bothered me.”
There was another inmate, she said, who heard voices.
“I used to say to the guards, ‘What the hell is that young girl doing here?’” — Karen, former inmate
Karen served her time in 2016 after being sentenced to a year in jail for a white-collar crime that she doesn’t wish to talk about publicly.
As good as corrections officers were at Clarenville, she said, there was no way they were equipped to deal with such complex mental health issues.
The prison was overcrowded for a time when Karen was there, with four in a cell, forcing staff to transfer some inmates to Her Majesty’s Penitentiary.
“When you’ve got women who are stressing like crazy, you’re asking for serious trouble,” Karen said.
She says she was surprised at the lack of programs at the institution. Besides basic adult education, she said there was little to give the inmates life skills and help them prepare to return to life outside prison.
She said many female inmates want federal time for that reason, so that they have access to better supports and resources.
“I don’t know where the corrections part comes in, because there’s nothing there — no (Alcoholics Anonymous) or (Narcotics Anonymous),” said Karen, who praised Stella Burry staff, who would sometimes bring projects and crafts for the women.
“You might have a chore in the morning if you’re lucky, but after that there’s nothing to do.”
She was also shocked by the lack of resources available for inmates once they are released. When she was freed in April 2017, she needed financial help to get her through the month until her living allowance took effect, but she was offered only $16 by social assistance, she said. With nothing but $568 from her husband’s Canada pension to live on for the month, she was stuck until family members stepped in.
“But many of these women don’t have that kind of family support. They’re left to fend for themselves. The system really needs to be looked at because many of these women have nothing,” she said, adding, that’s why a lot of them end up back committing crime.
Karen said she got along with most of the women during her stay, and tried to be as kind to them as possible. Using wool donated to the prison, she knit eight scarves and gave them to fellow inmates. She always shared her dinner with others.
“Addicts love sweets,” she said, smiling. “So, if I had a brownie on my tray, they’d beg me for it and would offer their whole dinner for it.”
Many women, she said, were there just to have a roof over their head and three meals a day, although she said the quality of the food in the prison was terrible.
She said the prisoners often got excited when court coverage was aired on television.
“And they all seemed to know when someone was coming in or going to be shown on the evening news,” Karen said. “It was like a big reunion a lot of times.”
Karen is relieved to be out.
She went back to community college and finished her education and is working full-time, thanks to an understanding boss.
She’s determined to take good care of herself and enjoy life.
Her time behind bars gave opened her eyes to many things, she said, including the importance of freedom and family.
“I would never go back to Clarenville,” she said. “I’d hang myself before going back there.”
But she knows plenty of those other women will be back, finding themselves in the same situation.
“Look, if they don’t do something about (treatment for) addiction and mental health (in this province), it’s only going to get worse and worse and worse,” she said.
“It’s an epidemic and I can tell you this — if you want to see (these prisoners rehabilitated), don’t be sending them in Clarenville. It’s not solving anything.”
Twitter: TelyRosie
