We Asked Prison Inmates How to Deal with a Lengthy Crisis

Help (Picture by Evan Vucci AP/Press Association Images)

With Brexit, the rise of increasingly popular and organised far right movements across Europe, and, of course, the coronation of President Donald Trump, it seems likely that the world is in for a bumpy ride over the course of the next decade or so.

I teach at a prison, and this means that every day I spend time with men whose primary objective amounts to little more than getting through one day at a time until they've served their sentence. In the hope that some of their techniques could be transferrable to us on the outside as we embark on our dystopian journey – one that realistically isn't going to be over any time soon – I sought advice from some of my students, asking them how they handle long stretches being in a situation they wish they weren't in.

Dion, 30, has got nine months left of an eight year stretch for his role in a drugs conspiracy; despite some issues at the start of his sentence, he's kept his nose clean for some time and is optimistic of an imminent transfer to an open prison.

"Listen, man," he says, "first thing you need to realise is that the screws, the governor, they know they have total power over you. I was acting like a wild man on wing, chatting bare shit to screws. No problem, here's a write up. Wanna iron a man out on the yard? No problem, here's a week down basic with no munch and no TV." So what changed? "I realised it was going to be a long eight years is what happened… an eight years that could easily turn into ten, 11, 12."

I ask Dion how he set about making the time pass without feeling the need to abuse officers or punch other prisoners in the face. "Basically, yeah, I learnt to pick my battles and chill the fuck out. I was two-ed up with this man who was into his meditation; he got me into it and left me his books when he was released. It took bare time to do it properly, but it helped. I don't go out onto the wing much during association – too noisy, people gassin'. I keep myself to myself, read, cell workout, meditate."

This sounds a little like cutting yourself off from the world, I suggest. "Nah, it's cutting myself off from idiots. I keep it close, two or three boys maximum. Only positive energy for me."

Marcus, 27, pleaded guilty to aggravated robbery. For his lesser role and early admission of guilt, he has been told to expect seven years – however he won't be officially sentenced until his co-defendants, all of whom are pleading not guilty, complete their trial. I've spent a little bit of time with Marcus and he's always struck me as being very calm about his sentence, so I'm not surprised when he tells me that his father served 11 years for manslaughter and has imparted some wisdom based on his own experience.

"Yeah, he's given me the full list of what to do, what not to do. It's not about counting the days, ticking off days on a calendar. Any of that shit will drive you mad. It's definitely not about getting into any Spice [powerful synthetic cannabis currently rife in UK prisons] or drug shit."

So what did Marcus' dad recommend?

"Have a laugh when you can, keep in touch with family and friends, stay in shape, basically do everything you can so that when you come out the other side you're healthy in body and mind." Marcus laughs. "That's so fucking cheesy… but I'm already seeing boys cracking up on the wing, only been here a few months. You start getting into drugs early on a sentence and it's a long, long way back for you, bro. You can't hide from your sentence, you have to know how to ride it."

Ricky, 44, is coming to the end of a seven-year-sentence for GBH. "A bit of bother with some dribbler from the local. Probably should have walked away, like," he says, laughing. A decade earlier he served a similar amount of time for a drug offence.

"That first stretch was no fucking joke," Ricky says, shaking his head. "Long story short, it was always going to go tits up for me selling gear. I got caught and ended up in the shit. I'd done a couple of weeks inside as a kid, but this was something else. A few months in and I couldn't see an end to it. Proper suicidal, all that. Luckily a screw kept an eye on me, sorted me out with a job, made sure the boys looked after me."

I ask him whether he was any more prepared for doing the time on his second sentence. "Yeah, definitely. I knew all the shit that was likely coming my way. Narcy screws, little pricks on the wings, awful food, all that. Came down to getting into a routine as quick as I could. Find a job I could stomach [Ricky spent the majority of his sentence working in the library], and try and educate myself," he says. Educate himself on what exactly? "Well, anything and everything. I spent a bit of time on basic prisoner rights. My solicitor was fucking useless – they often are when you've got no money, so if I wanted to make sure I wasn't getting mugged off I had to take the initiative."

Education is quite a big theme for Ricky. During his first sentence he worked to get GCSEs in English and Maths and is likely to finish his Open University degree before being released from this sentence. "What's happening out there now with Brexit and all that other shit, I don't think your man on the street has a fucking clue what's coming his way. The very least you can do in the middle of a shitstorm is know what's going on around you. Either that or find a good hobby to keep you occupied until it all blows over."

It's heartening to listen to the prisoners being so positive and clear in their ideas for seeing through a hefty sentence, but what's quite noticeable is that all of their plans are focused on the individual. Understandable maybe, given the environment, but I wonder whether this would be their approach outside of prison.

"Mate, look after your family, then it's every man for themselves." Ricky says. "Community, all in it together… those days are long gone, if they ever even existed in the first place."