Aisto® is a new, patented, blockchain enabled service from meshIP®. More than just the underlying technology for Bitcoin or other crypto tokens used to facilitate transactions, the blockchain has many practical uses, including within the corrections industry.

A blockchain definition: A blockchain is a database that is distributed among multiple computing devices. A blockchain is formed from blocks, with each block having information related to a transaction and linking the block to a prior block in the chain. The computing devices can each have respective copies of the blockchain, so that no centralized or official copy of the blockchain exists and no computing device is trusted more than any other computing device. When a user initiates a transaction, some or all of the computing devices can verify the transaction. After verifying the transaction, the computing devices can include information related to the transaction into the respective copies of the blockchain. This can be more robust and secure than many other approaches. At a high level, blockchain technology allows a network of computers to agree at regular intervals on the true state of a distributed ledger. The ledger is distributed across many participants in the network — it doesn’t exist in one place. Instead, copies exist and are simultaneously updated with every fully participating node in the ecosystem. A block could represent transactions and data of many types.

To learn more about Aisto, visit https://www.prisoncellphones.com/aisto/

To read about how our blockchain wireless patents enable and protect Aisto®, visit here, here, here and here.

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As states continue to deal with unprecedented fiscal strain, most are taking steps to reduce their inmate populations and costs while protecting public safety and holding offenders accountable. In the current fiscal climate, states are increasingly forced to do more with less and make difficult decisions about competing priorities. The National Conference of State Legislatures recently reported that corrections and public safety spending were above budgeted levels in seven states, including Alaska, where corrections spending exceed the state’s $258 million corrections budget by $9 million.

While funds to manage expensive prison systems have lessened, so too have resources for services such as treatment for substance abuse and mental health. For example, Minnesota lawmakers recently considered a significant reduction of funding for a model in-prison treatment program that has been shown to reduce recidivism by 25 percent. Thus, the viability of alternatives to incarceration programs and reentry services may be compromised in the current environment.

One out of every one hundred adults in America is incarcerated, a total population of approximately 2.3 million. By contrast, according to a report published in The Economist, the number of imprisoned adults in America in 1970 was only one out of every 400. The United States has 5% of the world’s population, but 23% of the world’s reported prisoners. It is not clear, however, that these high rates of imprisonment are leading to safer communities. One study by two professors at Purdue University and Rutgers University has estimated that were we to increase incarceration by another ten percent, the subsequent reduction in crime would be only 0.5%. The state of Florida provides a useful example. Over the past thirteen years, the proportion of prisoners who were incarcerated for committing non-violent crimes rose by 189%. By contrast, the proportion of inmates who committed violent crimes dropped by 28%. For this benefit, Americans are paying dearly – between $18,000 and $50,000 per prisoner per year depending upon the state. The nation is also reaching a point where it simply does not have the capacity for so much incarceration. In 2009, the number of federal inmates rose by 3.4%, and federal prisons are now 60% over capacity. (Source)

A pair of reports filed with Congress in recent months say the federal prison system isn’t keeping pace with the influx of inmates. A January 22 report by the Congressional Research Service found that overall “the federal prison system was 39% over its rated capacity in FY2011” and that medium security male facilities are even more crowded – 55 percent over capacity. A General Accounting Office report filed late last year made the reached the same conclusions. However, it also revealed a federal Bureau of Prisons (BOP) “staffing shortage in excess of 3,200.” Those are thousands of jobs that aren’t being filled because of federal budget cuts. (Source)

State taxpayers pay, on average, 14 percent more on prisons than corrections department budgets reflect. the aggregate cost of prisons in FY2010 was $39 billion, $5.4 billion more than their corrections budgets reflected. When all costs are considered, the annual average taxpayer cost in these states was $31,286 per inmate. (Source)

Costing $2 billion annually, the Michigan Department of Corrections continues to take a big bite out of Michigan’s budget. Today, 43,365 prisoners are in the Michigan system. That’s roughly 15 percent fewer than the 51,500 who were in the system in 2006. The MDOC budget for 2006 was about $1.9 billion, roughly $100 million less than the $2 billion Gov. Rick Snyder is recommending for the upcoming fiscal year. Despite fewer prisoners and employees, the budget has increased — mostly because of increased employee costs. (Source)

Budget woes have impacted state corrections departments in large and small ways. For instance, state budget cuts have eliminated the positions of the five individuals who handled the Illinois Department of Corrections canine unit. While the workers landed other jobs within the state’s sprawling prison system, the dogs were let go. (Source)

Today, the government of the city of Philadelphia spends seven cents out of every tax dollar on holding people in its jails. That is more than it spends on any other function besides police and human services and as much as it spends on the streets and health departments combined. Its spending on jails is nearly as high as that of Cook County, Illinois, even though Cook County, which includes the city of Chicago, has more than three times as many residents as Philadelphia. Over the last 10 years, the departmental budget has more than doubled, reaching $240 million in the current fiscal year. That figure, however, understates the true cost of prison operations, as it does not include employee benefits. With benefits, the number is about $290 million. (Source)

The budget challenges impacts counties as well as states. The crisis in jail funding that racked up a $5 million shortfall is sapping the Pierce County, WA budget this year and into 2014. The Pierce County Council is to decide whether to lay off 16 corrections deputies as part of a $3 million cut in the county jail’s budget for 2013. County Executive Pat McCarthy recommends filling the rest of that gap with $2 million from reserves and increased sales tax revenue. At the same meeting, McCarthy will present her proposed budget for 2014. It would add another $2 million from increased property and sales tax dollars to offset the jail’s shortfall for next year. Her new budget isn’t expected to require laying off more corrections deputies next year as long as the jail’s budget is cut this year. The jail’s deficit outlook turned even bleaker last week. Undersheriff Eileen Bisson said the Sheriff’s Department expects jail contract revenue to drop next year by $706,000 more than previously projected. (Source)

The strategy of closing prison facilities to cust costs brings challenges of its own. Governor Quinn’s decision to close Illinois prisons has raised overcrowding problems to epic proportions. It all began In December 2009 when the Associated Press reported that IDOC had released about 2,000 prisoners early through a program called MGT (Mandatory Good Time) Push. At least one inmate released early committed murder after his release. As a result Governor Quinn stopped MGT Push and all other prisoner early release programs. In February 2012, Governor Quinn presented a remedy to Illinois budget issues by closing 14 prisons and juvenile justice facilities. The closings, according to Quinn’s budget office, will result on saving the state nearly $62 million. The Illinois prison system, originally built to handle approximately 33,000 inmates (before closings), is currently housing over 48,000 inmates. The legislature had previously sent Quinn a budget that included enough money to run the prisons and other health facilities, but the governor vetoed that money. In December 2012, an Alexander county judge lifted an injunction which gave the governor the go ahead to begin the prison closures. Unions that represent the prison guards as well as civil liberty watch dog groups stated that the judge disregarded obvious safety concerns that will arise from added overcrowding due to closures. (Source)

To help address these funding shortfalls, prisons can no longer count on federal grant programs. The federal grant funds are shrinking, however. Overall funding for Department of Justice grant programs has dropped by 43 percent since 2010.

As a result, prison systems large and small are looking for new sources of funding. One traditional source of funding has been prison payphone commissions. However, due to a recent FCC decision, this source of funds is expected to shrink, with further cuts expected to come as the FCC targets other calling types beyond the long distance rates targeted in this order.

Increasingly prisons are to offering “optional” services to prisoners and their families such as email service and mp3 players to help generate revenue. Only those who can afford the service will purchase. However, the revenue to the prison can be significant and reoccurring given the ongoing nature of these service offerings. The meshDETECT secure prison cell phone solution is another such optional service that can offered to raise revenue. In addition to reducing the value of contraband cell phones in prison, commission earnings can be an alternative to the burden of imposed fees on those least likely to be able to pay.

The post Prison Budget Blues appeared first on meshDETECT® Blog.

Recent statistics show that, on average, a day in state prison costs nearly $80

Cash-strapped states have increasingly turned to user fees to fund their criminal justice systems, as well as to provide general budgetary support. States now charge defendants for everything from probation supervision, to jail stays, to the use of a constitutionally-required public defender. Every stage of the criminal justice process, it seems, has become ripe for a surcharge.

These “user fees” differ from other kinds of court-imposed financial obligations. Unlike fines, whose purpose is to punish, and restitution, whose purpose is to compensate victims, user fees are explicitly intended to raise revenue. Sometimes deployed as an eleventh hour maneuver to close a state budget gap, the decision to raise or create new user fees is rarely made with much deliberation or thought about the consequences. (source)

How did these fees come to be such an important part of funding prison operations?

History of Inmate Fees

In 1982, Michigan passes the first law in the nation, allowing inmates to be charged a medical co-payment.

By 1997, 41 states had been authorized to collect inmate fees in four major categories:
1. Medical services,
2. Per diem,
3. Non-program functions, and
4. Program participation.

By 2004, according to an article by Institute for Southern Studies, approximately one-third of county jails and more than 50% of state correctional systems had instituted “pay-to-stay” fees, charging inmates for their own incarceration.

What are facilities currently charging for?
1. Medical services;
2. Per diem – includes “pay-to-stay,” food, and basic programs;
3. Other non-program functions – includes services such as telephone usage, haircuts, release/parole escort, and drug testing; and
4. Program participation – includes work release, electronic monitoring, substance abuse treatment, and medical costs. (source)

In more detail, these fees can include:

Booking
Release escort
Drug testing
Telephones
Haircuts
Bonding
Clothing
Commissary (general)
Commissary (debit card transaction fee)
Detoxification
Laundry
Meals
Notary service
Property damage
Recreational clothing/gear
Sheriff’s fee, criminal court clerk
Transportation
Vending machines
Work release (room and board)
Weekender programs
Medical Co-pays

New Revenue Sources

As state budgets continue to contract, prison systems across the country are getting more creative in their fee sources. For example, inmate visits in Arizona now require a $25 fee. New legislation allows the department to impose a $25 fee on adults who wish to visit inmates at any of the 15 prison complexes that house state prisoners. The one-time “background check fee” for visitors is believed to be the first of its kind in the nation.

The New Hampshire Department of Corrections has gone into business with a St. Louis-based company to provide inmates with access to email and downloadable music. It sells see-through MP3 players and other devices to the inmates directly for as much as $130 — 10 percent of which goes into the NHDOC’s recreation fund to pay for other inmate activities.

And in Ohio, criminals sentenced to the Franklin County jail will be charged $40 for the pleasure, starting next year.

Sheriff Zach Scott proposed the fee after commissioners asked him to find ways to generate revenue. The one-time charge will apply to criminals sentenced to either the medium- or maximum-security jail.

“We need the money,” said Scott, who has been fighting with the county over his 2012 budget.

Dave Masterson, Scott’s finance director, predicted that the fee will generate between $106,000 and $200,000 annually for Scott’s operating budget. Chief Deputy Mark Barrett said the $40 fee is based on the cost of labor to book a prisoner into the jail.

In Wichita, KS, the City Council has given initial approval to charge a housing fee for municipal offenders.

Right now the city pays millions to the county to house the inmates, and city officials say the tab is getting too big. Since 2008, the county has charged the city $2.09 per hour to house municipal offenders. That amounts to millions of dollars the city pays each year.

To cut back on that bill, the city wants to shift the cost to convicted offenders. The city is proposing is a $2 per hour fee attached with a ten dollar booking fee.

The Impact Of Mandatory Fees

For prisons, detainees and their families, the impact of mandatory fees can be significant. Fees and other criminal justice debt are typically levied on a population uniquely unable to make payments. Criminal defendants are overwhelmingly poor. It is estimated that 80-90 percent of those charged with criminal offenses qualify for indigent defense. Nearly 65 percent of those incarcerated in the U.S. did not receive a high school diploma; 70 percent of prisoners function at the lowest literacy levels. African-Americans face a particularly severe burden: Nationally, African-Americans comprise 13 percent of the population but 28 percent of those arrested and 40 percent of those incarcerated, and African-Americans are almost five times more likely than white defendants to rely on indigent defense counsel.

Individuals emerging from prison often face significant challenges meeting basic needs. Many are unable to find stable housing – it is estimated that 15 to 27 percent of prisoners expect to go to homeless shelters upon their release. Many used drugs or alcohol regularly before going to prison and may need treatment upon release.

Employment rates for those coming out of prison are also notoriously low – up to 60 percent of former inmates are unemployed one year after release. Obstacles to finding a job are even greater now, as the unemployment rate in the general population hovers at just under 10 percent, and is as high as 16 percent for industries such as construction that have traditionally been sources of jobs for persons with criminal convictions.

Against this backdrop, criminal justice debt adds yet one more barrier to getting on one’s feet. What at first glance appears to be easy money for the state can carry significant hidden costs – both human and financial – for individuals, for the government, and for the community at large. When persons with convictions are unable to pay their debts, they face a cascade of consequences. Late fees, interest, and other “poverty penalties” accrue. In many states, driver’s licenses are suspended for missed payments, thereby stripping individuals of a legal means of traveling to work. Damaged credit can make it difficult to find employment or housing.

Worse yet, in many ways, when states impose debt that cannot be paid they are charting a path back to prison. Debt-related mandatory court appearances and probation and parole conditions leave debtors vulnerable for violations that result in a new form of debtors’ prison. Suspended driver’s licenses lead to criminal sanctions if debtors continue to drive. Aggressive collection tactics can disrupt employment, make it difficult to meet other obligations such as child support, and lead to financial insecurity – all of which can lead to recidivism. (source)

A Fairer Alternative?

One alternative is to offer “optional” services such as the email service and mp3 players mentioned above. Only those who can afford the service will purchase. However, the revenue to the prison can be significant and reoccurring given the ongoing nature of these service offerings. The meshDETECT secure prison cell phone solution is another such optional service that can offered to raise revenue. In addition to reducing the value of contraband cell phones in prison, commission earnings can be an alternative to the burden of imposed fees on those least likely to be able to pay.

The post Prisons Seeking New Sources Of Revenue appeared first on meshDETECT® Blog.

An interesting look at prison life in Massachusetts. The article states that there are only three inmate phones for over 800 prisoners. By providing a secure cell phone solution such as meshDETECT, the prison can significantly increase detainee access to their families while limiting the safety risks of the prisoner movement necessary to get the prisoners to the pay phones.

It’s where no one wants to go.

The shower floors are scarred from the blades of sharpened shanks. There are no televisions, radios, or hotpots allowed, and no access to the canteen. Pay phones on wheels are rolled to cells for brief calls, and some prisoners play chess by calling out their moves on separate boards in separate cells, where prisoners are required to spend 23 hours a day.

Pedro Tapia, 30, of Hyde Park, who was serving up to 15 years for armed robbery, was in the segregation unit – or hole – at MCI-Shirley medium-security prison for his third time after being accused of verbally assaulting a staff member.

“Everything is hard about being in here; you have to be mentally strong,” he said while in a cage-like outdoor space for his hour of fresh air. “I read so much that my eyes start to twitch to the point that tears come out.”

Unlike at minimum-security prisons, where inmates have much more freedom and are on a glide path to release, the vast majority of the state’s 11,500 prisoners live in a world bounded by monotony, violence, and strict routines, where barred doors and barbed wire etch the horizon and the purpose is punishment.

My visit to the hole was one stop on a three-day tour of the state’s prison system, including a period during which, with my permission, the state Department of Correction stripped me of my regular clothes and locked me in chains, to let me experience incarceration in a more personal, first-hand personal way. (Everyone interviewed knew I was a journalist.)

Over three days, I saw from an inmate’s perspective the stark difference between the bleak, highly controlled world of medium and maximum security — from which no one has escaped since 1990 — compared to the relative freedom of minimum-security prisons.

Our journey began at MCI-Cedar Junction in Walpole, a former maximum-security prison surrounded by 20-foot-high walls, eight observation towers, and five strands of electrical wire that has become the gateway to prison life in Massachusetts. Most inmates stay in this sprawling 56-year-old facility, which smells like formaldehyde on hot days, for two to four months while awaiting a permanent assignment.

New inmates are strip searched – with every orifice checked – scanned for metal objects and other contraband, fingerprinted, and given starchy gray scrubs, ill-fitting canvas shoes without laces, and a paper bag with essentials, including a dull razor, seven pairs of underwear, and a special pen designed so it can’t be used as a weapon. Any possessions, including their street clothes, are either destroyed or mailed home.

Correction officers and other staff check newbies for gang symbols, conduct medical and psychological evaluations, and advise them that bad behavior could affect whether they are classified to a maximum-security prison or a lower-security facility.

Cedar Junction is far less tense since it became a reception center in 2009 and assaults against other prisoners and staff have dropped more than 50 percent. Still, many of the 800 prisoners — 300 more than it was designed for — are on edge, especially when it’s hot. The food is marginally edible and most live in cramped cells with another prisoner, sharing a toilet and standing for six inmate counts a day.

“The yard is despicable, they don’t allow you anything to cook with, and nobody can get on the phone, because there are only three,” said Keith Cousin, 24, of Dorchester, who was convicted of illegally possessing a gun in June.

As he sat in his cell on a sweltering summer day, he said he was adapting to life behind bars. “It’s a very, very depressing place to be,” he said. “But I understand this isn’t a hotel.”

My department guides told me to remove my street clothes – sparing me the strip search – and don the polyester gray scrubs and shoes, which felt like vices on my feet. Then, they locked my ankles and wrists in double locked cuffs, with my hands linked to a waist chain to limit mobility.

That’s how I dressed for my visit to a holding cell at Cedar Junction, a sallow, fluorescent-lighted space with concrete walls and steel bars, where they served a lunch of what they described as “seafood surprise,” with something that loosely resembled apple pudding in a Styrofoam cup. I could muster only a few nibbles.

Afterward, they escorted me to a waiting transport van, a jaunt that made me appreciate the pain of moving too quickly in ankle cuffs. They locked me in a backseat with little legroom, behind grated windows, with doors that don’t unlock from the inside, and drove us to Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center, the maximum-security prison in Shirley.

No one has ever escaped from Souza-Baranowski, the state’s newest prison, which is not surprising, given all the special fences, motion-detection sensors, nine guard towers, and 372 cameras recording 24 hours a day. Just to get inside, we had to go through two separate gates and the driver had to step out of the van to show guards he isn’t being held hostage.

It was there, waiting between the two gates, that the guards decided I should change back to street clothes. Even though everyone had been told that a reporter was in the vehicle, guards were still startled when I climbed out of the van to stretch.

Prisoners are not supposed to exit the vehicle, I learned.

Upon arrival, new inmates must go through another full strip search — inmates have been found hiding razors and paper clips beneath their tongue and cell phones and lighters in their rectum. They are allowed televisions, typewriters, fans, and portable radios, but they all have to be a specially designed see-through, tamper-resistant brand only available through the prison’s canteen.

For better-behaved prisoners, the next step may be a short trip down the hill to MCI-Shirley’s medium-security prison, which like Souza-Baranowski is surrounded by a double ring of tall fences and microwave detection devices.

At orientation, new prisoners learn the rules: Sneakers must be all white to avoid gang colors. Windows of cells can’t be covered. Pictures of families are allowed but naked women aren’t. They have to stand for count four times a day and obey directions from correction officers.

They also learn about the greater number of programs available in medium security: Some prisoners study to be line cooks and others to become barbers. They have more free time, too, to play board games, cards, and rap with other inmates.

In the chow hall, a tinderbox where sitting in the wrong place can be a provocation, there are separate tables where Latin Kings, Boston and Springfield gangs, Muslims, and sex offenders, among others, segregate themselves.

When I arrived with a photographer at the medium-security prison, our presence seemed to be known by every inmate within moments of our arrival. Inmates were eager to talk to us, and we interviewed whomever we chose – aging brothers serving a life sentence for a joint-venture murder, a repentant father of four convicted of dealing drugs, a couple during visiting hours who described how they maintained a relationship through his three decades in prison.

Our escorts refused to allow us to interview just one inmate, a prisoner who said he had been in the same dorm room as Tamik Kirkland, who had escaped from the nearby minimum-security prison a few months before and allegedly shot a man to death. They claimed it was for legal reasons.

Among the inmates we met in medium security was Joseph Labriola, 66, one of the few who succeeded in escaping from a Massachusetts prison. A decade after he was incarcerated for killing a drug dealer in 1973, he spent 93 days on the lam, before the FBI captured him living with a stripper in Nevada.

He impressed upon us the deprivation and danger of life behind bars, the monotony of the constant routine, and the sense that many inmates, despite their anger, appreciated why they were there and the need for their punishment.

But if he could, Labriola insisted, he would run again.

“I would rather be outside that fence and die in a snowstorm than die in this prison warm,” he said.

Author: David Abel
Source

The post An Inside Look At Prison Life appeared first on meshDETECT® Blog.

Despite the many sensationalist press accounts of prisoners using smuggled contraband cell phones to plot crimes or run criminal enterprises from within jail, the vast majority of prison cell phone use is detainees talking to loved ones.

It has been shown that increased communications between detainees and loved ones helps to keep families together during incarceration and reduces recidivism. Incarceration is a strain on all involved, as this article demonstrates, and leads to the smuggling of cell phones in an attempt to keep a marriage intact.

A prisoner who hid a mobile phone up his bottom claimed he was using it in a desperate last-ditch attempt to save his troubled marriage.

Drug dealer Paul Nolan was found with the phone clenched between his buttocks after a period of home leave was granted by Castle Huntly prison.

Nolan, 45, arrived back at the jail after seven days at home with his wife, who told him that she was planning to bring their marriage to an end.

He handed prison officers an iPhone that he claimed he had accidentally brought back with him and was sent to his cell.

However, a short time later a search of his cell was carried out and a second phone was found.

Nolan, who is serving more than six years in jail after a raid on his Cambuslang home netted £300,000 worth of drugs, had secreted the phone in his bottom.

But he was unable to clench his buttocks tight enough to hold it in place and it fell to the ground when he stood up during the search on September 14 this year.

Fiscal depute Carol Whyte told Perth Sheriff Court on Wednesday: “The accused returned from a seven-day period of home leave. He spoke to members of staff and told them he had accidentally brought an iPhone with him.

“A routine search of his cell was then carried out at 9pm. At that time he was lying on his bed. Officers gave him a full search. They spotted a Samsung phone on the ground which fell from his buttocks.”

A charger was also found connected to a games system.

The accused has been moved to HMP Addiewell in West Calder.

Solicitor Linda Clark, defending, said: “He enjoyed privileges in Castle Huntly and part of that was home leave. During his period at home his wife indicated she had initiated divorce proceedings.

“During the seven days he made attempts to try and dissuade her. He surrendered the iPhone when he got back. When he got to his cell an offer was made to him regarding another mobile phone.

“Stupidly, he purchased that solely with the intention of keeping up contact with his wife in the hope he could dissuade her from proceeding with the divorce action.”

Ms Clark told the court that Nolan’s efforts had failed as his wife was carrying on with her divorce bid and she said he accepted he breached the trust placed in him by prison chiefs.

Nolan admitted having an illicit mobile phone in prison and he had a further 20 days added to his sentence.

He had been moved to the low security open prison just over a year ago after being jailed in March 2010 for drug dealing.

Source

The post Prisoner Hid Cell Phone Up Bottom ‘To Save Troubled Marriage’ appeared first on meshDETECT® Blog.

This article looks at the impact incarceration and separation has on the children of prisoners. The article states, “Sending a copy of the school report to the prison, for example, or arranging a phone call with a jailed parent, can help prisoners remain engaged with their child’s progress at school.” One of the great features of the meshDETECT secure prison cell phone service is the ability for prisoners to receive inbound phone calls in jail. This allows a child to reach out to his incarcerated parent when he or she feels the need to talk. This ability to proactively share good news or discuss a school problem, will help keep the prisoner engaged in parenting and the child connected to the parent. This reduces recidivism, keeps families together and improves detainee behavior

A little over 12 months ago, Charlie’s school attendance started on what became a dramatic slide. Admittedly, he was never the most punctilious 10-year-old, but at the beginning of last year his absence record grew noticeably worse.

From having an attendance rate in the mid-90s, he now hovers at just over 80 per cent. Such a drastic change has not gone unnoticed by his teachers. Letters have gone home and his mother has been summoned to school for a meeting. All, however, to no avail. He has continued to miss an average of almost a day a week of school. Mostly, that day is a Wednesday.

Today is a Wednesday and Wednesday is the day Charlie sees his father. But today is a special day. Instead of sticking to normal visiting hours, Charlie is watching his father perform on stage, alongside other inmates of Belmarsh prison.

Belmarsh, in south-east London, is one of a handful of maximum-security prisons in the country. As well as prisoners remanded or convicted by local courts, it also houses Category A prisoners, those whose escape would pose the biggest risk to the public. Among these are many of those convicted of terrorist offences.

Charlie is one of around 160,000 children in the UK with a parent in prison. In any one year, more children have a close relative in prison than have parents who are getting divorced. But while schools often provide help and support for pupils who are going through the break-up of their home, few take into account the effect that having a parent in prison can have on a child.

The stigma and fear of being bullied or ostracised means many children do not tell friends or teachers that their parent is in prison. Even when they do, schools are often unsure how to respond and, as a result, make no allowances. Charlie’s teachers know his father is in prison but have still not cut him any slack over his attendance.

But, today, all that seems forgotten, as Charlie beams with joy at the chance to spend time with his dad. His father is one of 15 prisoners taking part in a series of sketches, songs and poems, for the benefit of their wives and children.

The TES Magazine has been granted rare access to Belmarsh to watch a performance that is the culmination of a nine-week course, Family Man, designed to maintain and strengthen relationships between prisoners and their families. The course involves encouraging inmates to think about the effect their incarceration has on their loved ones and how they can continue to play a role in their children’s lives, even from behind bars.

“These are very vulnerable children,” says Jo Mandell, training and development co-ordinator for the charity Kids VIP, which works to improve contact between children and their imprisoned relatives. “It is very important to encourage bonding between children and their parents in prison.”

Kids VIP, which this year merged with Pact, the Prison Advice and Care Trust, is aiming to raise awareness among teachers of the impact of prison on children.

Children of prisoners are at risk from a host of factors. Studies have shown that they are more likely than their peers to suffer from mental illness, they have a higher rate of truancy and are more likely to engage in anti-social behaviour. For many, having a parent in prison is the start of their own spiral into offending. Almost two-thirds of boys who have a convicted parent themselves go on to offend.

A government review of the children of offenders, carried out in 2007, found that they were “an ‘invisible’ group: there is no shared, robust information on who they are, little awareness of their needs and no systematic support”.

This includes schools. Even when teachers are aware that a pupil has a parent in prison, which is far from always being the case, the help they provide is patchy.

“There are pockets of support, but there is no consistency at all,” says Ms Mandell. One of the major obstacles is the stigma of jail. Some schools find it hard to believe one of their pupils has a parent in prison, she says, while others make little effort to find out.

“I have spoken to schools who say they haven’t got a child with a parent in prison, but how do they know?” she says. Many children are reluctant to tell anyone that they have a parent in jail. “They’re often worried that if people find out they won’t get invited to parties or they will end up being bullied,” Ms Mandell adds.

None of Lucy’s five children – one girl and four boys – has chosen to tell their schoolfriends that their father is in jail. But all of them have been deeply affected by his imprisonment, and all in different ways.

Their teachers do know – a necessity brought about by taking the children to Belmarsh for weekday visits, although Lucy has now switched to taking them only at weekends.

Her youngest, a boy of eight, has withdrawn into himself. While he still does his schoolwork, he has become noticeably less outgoing. “It broke his heart,” Lucy says. “He would cry every night for his dad. He hasn’t told anyone at school because he is afraid people will pick on him and say his dad is a bad man. There are a lot of people out there who can be really nasty.”

She says her second youngest, a boy of 10, has taken it the worst. He finds it difficult to concentrate and “is all over the place”, says Lucy, his emotions heightened by the thought of his father missing the end-of- year plays and his transition to secondary school in September.

The eldest boy, a 15-year-old, has become depressed and refuses to go to school altogether, while the middle child, a boy of 12, has started to get into trouble at school as his frustrations boil over.

“The other day I had a phone call saying Mikey had pinned a boy up against the wall and pasted him up and down the corridor,” says Lucy. “He was in isolation for two days and had a two-hour detention. It is hard for the kids, because they don’t know how to express themselves.”

Although his school is aware of Mikey’s situation, Lucy says there has been no offer of support. “They are very judgmental and they’re more worried about making the school look good,” she says.

“The kids get the impression the school isn’t interested and that is where Mikey’s anger comes from. He is so frustrated and he finds it really hard to tell anyone what is going on.”

Even when children find it hard to open up, Ms Mandell says schools can do more to encourage pupils to seek help. A simple option could be a poster, where having a parent in prison is listed alongside issues such as family breakdown or bereavement as a reason to ask for support. “It is such a simple thing to flag up that there is somebody they can talk to,” she says.

Where schools are aware of what is happening, one measure teachers can take is to encourage imprisoned parents to remain involved in their child’s school life.

Sending a copy of the school report to the prison, for example, or arranging a phone call with a jailed parent, can help prisoners remain engaged with their child’s progress at school, Ms Mandell says. This, in turn, can encourage children to maintain an interest in school despite their domestic circumstances.

Pact, Kids VIP’s parent body, has developed a one-day course for teachers and other professionals, in conjunction with the charity Action for Prisoners’ Families. The Hidden Sentence course aims to raise awareness of some of the issues facing prisoners’ children.

Strengthening the relationship between prisoners and their children is one of the core themes of the Family Man course. The course, run by prison officers, looks at families and how they can be affected by imprisonment, as well as ways of remaining involved in their children’s lives.

“We always ask whether you can be a good dad from inside a prison,” says Clive Ludlow, one of the officers who runs the course at Belmarsh. “They start off saying no but by the end they realise that yes, you can.”

At the end of the course, the prisoners take to the stage to express some of their thoughts about their families. They always begin by performing a play based on the Oscar Wilde play The Selfish Giant, following it up with their own sketches and poems.

There is something slightly surreal about sitting in a visiting room, having negotiated a set of elaborate security measures, including fingerprint scans, airlock doors and German shepherds, and watching a group of prisoners – including one of the country’s most notorious inmates – hold up cardboard props and don mop heads for wigs, to the occasional shout of “Come on, daddy” from the audience.

In one sketch, the men role-play an unsuccessful prison visit, when those playing an inmate and his wife argue over their son, who is going off the rails. In another, inmates perform monologues looking at imprisonment from the perspectives of a father, mother and son.

One prisoner has devised an acrostic, using a pledge to support his own family to spell out “Family Man”, while two others recite a poem on the seven stages of life. It is hard not to have a tear in your eye when you watch men opening up with their feelings about their families, when a few weeks earlier they would not even stand up to talk in front of each other.

But while their dads do what they can to assure their children of support, on the outside it is a different matter, according to Charlotte Weinberg, chief executive of Safe Ground, the charity that sponsors the Family Man courses. “Often, no one knows who those children are, so they’re not getting any extra attention,” she says.

“The result is their education may suffer and they can be seen as aggressive or withdrawn or bullying, when really it’s because of a situation that they don’t feel they can tell anybody about.”

Unlike the participants in the Family Man course, fathers who go to prison sometimes cut off contact with their families, believing they are protecting their children. Others channel their own frustration at being deprived of their freedom into aggression towards their own families. In either scenario, lack of contact with their parent can have a detrimental effect on a child’s attendance and performance at school.

Safe Ground is working with Kids VIP and Pact to look at ways of encouraging teachers to be more effective in helping children with parents in prison. These could include more open discussions on crime and punishment, improving relationships with parents so they are more likely to talk, and making sure teachers know which, if any, specialist services are available.

“Teachers can help to create an environment where the stigma of having a parent in prison is challenged,” says Ms Weinberg. “They need to know who to talk to and who they can refer people to.”

Some of this work can include allaying children’s fears about what is happening to their imprisoned parent, says Kathy Joyce, senior practitioner with the Ormiston Children and Families Trust, a charity operating in the East of England. Some children, particularly young children, worry that their parent is not being fed or could be hurt, she says, while older children can have a heightened sense of the risks of depression and suicide.

Sometimes these fears come from a misconception over what prison is. “I had one little girl who told me her dad was in a tiny, tiny place and couldn’t move,” says Ms Joyce. “She had heard ‘banged up’ and imagined him chained to the wall.”

The Ormiston Trust works with schools to ensure they have mechanisms in place to support children with a parent in prison. This ranges from using specially designed resources about the effects of prison, to making sure there is a designated person for affected children to talk to. The trust has also produced a guide for teachers and other education professionals about working with the children of prisoners.

An additional worry for the children is whether anything about their parent will appear in the newspapers, providing fuel for taunts and bullying.

“The stigma is huge,” says Ms Joyce. “It is not the only situation where a dad might not be around, but the stigma makes it worse and children are often afraid to even speak to anybody at school about it.”

One 11-year-old boy interviewed by the trust said other children had been told by their parents not to talk to him. Children with fathers in prison can also find themselves excluded from parties.

It is no wonder that some children are told not to tell anybody what has happened to their absent parent, even though this leaves them feeling isolated and afraid to ask for help.

Often schools have no idea that a child’s parent has been jailed, and it is only when the pupil starts behaving badly that they realise anything is wrong, she says. Some children manage to hide it so well that the first time the teachers realise what has happened is when the father is released and turns up at school again.

Sometimes, the children themselves do not know where their father is. Kelly has decided not to tell her five-year-old son her dad is in prison, even though she takes him on visits. Instead, she tells him his dad has to work in this building “for quite a long time”.

“He gets a bit upset sometimes, wanting to know when daddy is coming home,” she says. “But when he visits that helps him quite a lot.”

She also decided not to tell her son’s teachers – “I just felt it was something private”, she says – even though this leads to awkwardness in explaining her husband’s absence. She believes that so far her son’s schoolwork has not been affected by his dad’s imprisonment.

“So far they (the teachers) haven’t asked, because there haven’t been any issues, but things can be pretty difficult,” Kelly says. “I try to make sure things are as normal as possible for him and he has never missed a day of school because of it.”

While Kelly’s children – she also has a one-year-old daughter – are too young to understand what is happening, some children also have to battle with the knowledge that their parent has done something wrong. “Your parents are your moral guardians,” says Ms Joyce. “If one of them has done something so bad that they’re locked away, that can be really difficult to get your head around.”

While prison visits are an important way of maintaining contact, they can also be traumatic for children, particularly in jails where the security is tight.

She says one of the key steps for schools is to become aware of the issues involved and how it might affect their pupils. “We all have our own views about prison, but if you look at it from the point of view of a child with a parent in prison, it can be an eye-opener,” she says.

“We’re not talking about criminals, we’re talking about innocent children. It is not about what their parents have done; it is about supporting children who have done absolutely nothing wrong.”

The Family Man performance at Belmarsh is winding down. Children go to stand with their fathers for “Pie in the Eye”, a mock gameshow in which the dads answer questions and get a shaving-foam pie in their faces if they get the answer wrong. Or even on the rare occasions they get it right. Children squeal with delight at the chance to rub foam in their fathers’ face, encouraged by the watching wives and girlfriends.

Once all the prisoners are covered in foam, it is time for the finale: a version of Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds, with its chorus of “Don’t worry about a thing” given added poignancy within a prison visiting room, even though one of the men is still wearing a mop on his head.

The show over, all that is left is the presentation, as the inmates collect certificates to show they have completed the course. One of the prisoners goes up with his son in his arms and returns, certificate in hand, his son grinning from ear to ear, proud of his dad.

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