For six years – since the suicides of Katie Allan, 21, and William Lindsay, 16, in 2018 – justice secretary after justice secretary has promised effective action. There has been: a mental health review, an audit of in-cell ligature points, a review of the response to deaths in prison custody, and a succession of Fatal Accident Inquiries (FAIs), along with changes in legislation – the adoption of the UNCRC and the Children’s (Care and Justice) (Scotland) Act – designed to stop any more under-18s being sent to Polmont.
But far from achieving that goal, the number of under-18s being housed there has risen: from just two in November to nine earlier this month, and the suicides have continued. Scotland is a country steeped in the Kilbrandon ethos of treating children according to their “needs rather than their deeds,” a country that cleaves to its Children’s Hearings System as evidence of its more enlightened approach. And yet our most troubled young people are being failed again and again.
An in-depth insight into these failures can be gained from attending the mandatory FAIs. In the fortnight prior to Jonathan’s death, I listened to witnesses describe the events leading up to the death of Jack McKenzie who hanged himself in his cell in September 2021, while the Covid regime was still in place. It was a profoundly shocking experience.
In common with many young people in Polmont, Jack, 20, had a traumatic childhood. His mother and father had died in tragic circumstances by the time he was eight. His grandmother, who had looked after him most of his life, died of cancer when he was 11 after which he transferred to the care of his aunt. He had been diagnosed with ADHD.
Jack was accused of rape and sexual offences, which he denied. Because of the pandemic backlog, he had been held on remand for seven months.
At the Falkirk inquiry, Sheriff Simon Collins heard how – on September 1, 2021 – he had become agitated over a missed court appearance. He became aggressive and refused to go back to his cell when told to do so. Suspicions he may have taken the drug spice led to him being put on the Management of Offender at Risk due to any Substance policy (MORS) and hourly observations. He was also put on a disciplinary measure known as Rule 95.
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The fact he was on MORS and Rule 95 meant he was not allowed to meet his solicitor on September 2. Later, he was taken off MORS, but kept on Rule 95. The inquiry heard this meant he would have been confined to his cell for all but 20 minutes of the day. Just after 6.30am on September 3, a night shift officer, tasked with carrying out a welfare hatch check, saw Jack’s cell had been trashed, but couldn’t see him.
Having discovered Jack was on Rule 95, the officer wrongly assumed he had been moved to the segregation unit and did not organise for the cell to be opened. Shortly after 7.30am, a prison officer who had come in on the day shift found Jack hanging.
The FAI heard the prison officer who assumed Jack had been moved was not disciplined or retrained, and that subsequently the 6.30am Polmont hatch check had been scrapped because it was not standard procedure across the SPS estate. It also emerged that Jack had been placed on MORS 14 times in seven months. He had never been placed on the SPS’s suicide prevention strategy Talk To Me (TTM).
There were similarly shocking revelations earlier in the year at the joint FAI into the deaths of Katie and William.
The job of a prison officer is tough. I’m sure most of those responsible for looking after vulnerable young people at Polmont are doing their best. Many of those who made mistakes have expressed regret; they will have to live with the consequences for the rest of their lives.
But, institutionally, the picture that has emerged has been one of lackadaisical information-sharing, high staff turnover, computer systems that don’t communicate with one another and an acceptance that some suicides are inevitable.
There has also been a lack of urgency. Though TTM expired in 2021, a review is ongoing with no date for the publication of the revised strategy. Though William hanged himself from a bunk bed in a single occupancy cell, Polmont did not begin to remove bunk beds from its wings until mid-way through the FAI into his death.
The lack of urgency extends to the Scottish Government which has not yet secured the removal of all under-18s from Polmont. It will argue the new Act had to become law (as it did on June 4, though it has not yet been enforced). Others insist that, had the two remaining children been moved out in November, and the under-18s wing closed down: “It would have been a brave sheriff who would have forced it to open again.”
Perhaps this inaction is cultural. Young people who have come into contact with the criminal justice system – particularly those accused or convicted of serious offences – are often regarded as disposable. The fact 19-year-old Jay Slater was once on the periphery of a machete attack was seized on as a licence to turn his disappearance and death in Tenerife into a national joke, with memes and TikToks poking fun at his plight.
American philosopher Judith Butler talks about “grievability” – the idea that some lives are considered more worthy of mourning than others. Butler uses it in the context of war but it is also relevant to young offenders.
As Fergus McNeil, Professor of Criminology at Glasgow University, put it to me recently: “What’s so frustrating is the false dichotomy of victims and offenders: the way we only seem to be able to hold one facet of a young person in our minds, so either they are vulnerable and in need of protection, or else they are feral youths who threaten the fabric of our civilisation. And the way that switch is flicked for the same young person when they move from being 14-15 and troubled to 19-20 and troublesome.”
Jonathan had pleaded guilty to a charge of acting in a disorderly manner and being in possession of weapons with intent to “assault and murder” a 16-year-old girl. But he was also a boy with his own traumas. He was well-liked within Polmont and was a valued member of the jail-based theatre group.
A community sentence was probably not appropriate. But, as the new law recognises, all under-18s who require to be detained ought to be sent to secure units which provide a more therapeutic environment. And no-one should be considered irredeemable.
The question of perceived worthiness is at the heart of everything that is pernicious in the criminal justice system. It is no coincidence politicians only sat up and took notice of the high number of suicides within Scottish prisons when Katie’s parents Linda and Stuart Allan – both professional people living in East Renfrewshire – embarked on their campaign.
It is to the Allans’ credit they have raised awareness not just on behalf of Katie but on behalf of all those who have no voice or whose voices have previously been ignored. But the loss of each and every young person cared for by the state damns the state. It shouldn’t take a bereaved family – however articulate – to force accountability.
And forcing accountability is the key. Later this year, Sheriff Collins will publish his determination on both FAIs. It seems likely they will contain recommendations for change. But, as the law stands, there is no mechanism to make the SPS act on them.
More broadly, a legal anomaly means – unlike the police and NHS – prisons are considered an arm of the state and so are immune from prosecution under the Health and Safety Act. The Health and Safety Act is reserved. This anomaly is something the new Labour government should immediately address.
I’ve said it so many times, I scarcely dare repeat it: but let this tragedy be the one that finally galvanises the system into action. Please, let Jonathan’s be the last Polmont suicide.
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