"[Once in solitary confinement] you start thinking about what to do now. A false sense of energy and hope seizes hold of you. Wasn't it my friend Laurie who devised about fifty different things you can do in a cell to keep your mind occupied? I can only remember two of them. [I could do] exercises. ... but it doesn't keep you going for long. Oh then, there's the Bible. Why not make up your mind to start reading it from beginning to end? Or make a study of one book? The book of Job? The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. But Job wasn't in solitary confinement. Good God, he wasn't even in prison, the lucky soandso.
You start reading, but you find you can't concentrate. Your mind wanders away to the people outside. I suppose the V.J. [Visiting Judge, who ordered punishments like solitary confinement] is looking forward to sitting down to a nice lunch. Meat and white bread and pastry, I'll bet. I hope it ties knots in his guts. Jesus Maria. How did you ever let yourself get in this position? And you make a resolution then. Never again. If it ever looks that you might get arrested, rather shoot your way out. They took you away, the police did, and locked you up. And now the screws have done it again. Take him away and lock him up. Theme song of all authority for 1,900 years. And getting worse now. Take the derelict away and lock him up.
Outside, in the world which you left behind you ages ago, there are people actually walking about the streets wondering what they'll have for lunch, worrying about some silly business problem, thinking what a time they're going to have that night with some girl. Girls, my God. While you squat here, like some bloody animal in the half-dark.
Or in the country. Actually in the country near birds and trees. Grumbling about having to milk cows. It's almost unbelievable. They ought to throw their arms round the cows' necks and hug them for the privilege of being free to milk them. Of being free to touch them. Of being free.
I'm so tied to my farm, writes one cow-cocky in the paper, that the only difference between it and a concentration camp is the height of the boundary fence.
You damn fool, you crazy bastard, you lying hound. You can go out and eat grass, can't you? You can drink the milk, you can get down on your knees and suck the cow's teats? You can do anything, you fool, you're FREE.
Try sitting in a cell in semi-darkness reading the Book of Job on an empty stomach. Try praying to God for the minutes to go, just a little quicker. Try having the smell of your own pisspot in your nostrils night and day. Try waiting through interminable hours for night to come so as you can steal a little enjoyment from a smoke as thin as the lead in a lead pencil; hoping to God a screw won't pass by and smell you out. Try being a derelict in solitary confinement. Try getting into such a degraded state that a bit of cheese, shoved under the door by a friendly cleaner, seems like one of the miracles of Christ. Try those things just once. Then get down on your knees again, but instead of sucking teats, thank God you're alive and on the right side of the walls."
- Ian Hamilton, Till Human Voices Wake Us. Auckland: Auckland University Press, 1983 (first published by private subscription, 1953). p. 65-66.
[I've read a lot of prison memoirs this year, with many more to come. This may be one of the best. Hamilton was a conscientious objector in New Zealand-Aotearoa during World War 2, a pessimistic socialist humanist, a playwright, and sheep farmer. This may be one of the best, just raw but well-directed anger, utter contempt for polite New Zealand settler society and for what he viewed as a growing bureaucratization and dehumanization of society. I thought this bitter anger directed at people who use metaphors of imprisonment lightly to describe minor incovencies.]
