There is life inside: thoughts from prisoner BE8941

Swedish ploughshares activist Ann-Britt Sternfeldt is currently on remand in Risley women's prison in the north of England, awaiting trial for attempting to disarm one of Britain's Trident submarines (see the October PN). Here she reflects on life in prison.

Ann-Britt Sternfeldt

Someone is turning on my light. An eye in the hole above my bed, looking at me. It's morning. I'm tired, I would like to sleep a little more, but there is no chance. If you're still in bed when they open the door, you get in trouble -- if it's the wrong staff: "Up! Up! Come on you lazy cows! Move your sweaty asses!"

The first time I heard that officer (a woman) shouting, I wondered what was going on. I felt insulted. Today I don't bother. I don't really listen.

I miss the scent of wet leaves

It's raining and raining. That makes it easier to be in here. I miss nature. I miss walking in the forest, feeling the fresh air, all the scents. I try to imagine the scent of wet leaves on the ground, but I can't.

I look at the picture of Mordechai Vanunu on my wall. I wonder what it's like to be isolated for more than eleven years. I will never understand.

Contact in writing

It's time for "education". We have the opportunity to use computers 3 to 4 hours a day. It's great to get away to another place for a while, like going to work. I use the computers for some of my own written work -- that makes me feel that a part of my ordinary life still goes on. I sometimes have a very strange feeling that the reality "out there" doesn't have any connection with us in here. It's like we are cut off from the world and forgotten. That's why I really appreciate all the postcards and letters we get from people who support us. It helps me feel that I still belong to "ongoing" life.

I think of Mordechai Vanunu again. When the staff refused him his mail for a long time, he must have felt that he didn't exist.

We have lunch and then we get locked up in our cells for an hour or so. I read my mail for the day. There is a letter from a woman who has read an article I wrote in a newspaper back home in Sweden. It aroused her interest and she wants to know more about civil disobedience. When I get such letters, I feel that it's well worth being here. To know that I inspire others gives me energy. That's the best support I can get.

Dreams of freedom

Back at education in the afternoon, one of the prisoners gives me some poems that she has written. They tell about dreams, about freedom, about missing those who are not here. Tears come to my eyes. I'm not sad, it's just that the poems are so beautiful. So much love in the words. I'm happy about the poems, I'm happy to get to know this woman.

In the evening, my neighbour is knocking on my wall. "Good night Ann!" she shouts. My neighbour is a girl -- 19 years old -- who is looking for a mother. Sometimes she sits on my knee and I hold her like a little child. Every night at ten o'clock we knock on the wall and wish each other good night.

Amid all the miseries here, there is so much love. I'm grateful that I've got the chance to experience this.