A letter from Sam G
Insights into being a prisoner in the UK
I first met “Sam G” in April 2023. I was following Just Stop Oil, a British direct action group demanding the end to all new oil, coal and gas licences in the UK. That day in April Sam was part of a slow march training exercise. The group were preparing for a 13 week campaign where they planned to slow march down the roads of London in protest over the government’s inaction on the climate crisis. At the time, this form of protest was legal. If you do it today, you could quickly find yourself under ‘Section 7’ conditions and at risk of arrest and a prison sentence. They had chosen “slow marching” as an approach because in 2022 with the introduction of The Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Act, further limitations had been put on our rights for nonviolent peaceful protest. Slow marching was one route that remained open to them and one that had some prospect of getting headlines. I was drawn to Sam, and to tell his story in the film, because he was ordinary. I don’t mean that in a pejorative sense, his ordinariness stood in stark contrast to the depictions in the media of who these activists were. Sam was a 48 year old married man with a son. His day job was as a graphic designer. He came over as a humble, kind and intelligent man. His journey into climate activism began in the summer of 2022 when London hit 40 degrees. On that day in April 2023 if you had asked Sam or I what we thought we would be doing right now, our answer would not have been that we would be writing letters to each other while Sam served out a long prison sentence in Scotland.
Sam in action in The Line We Crossed
I’ve written extensively about the silencing and criminalisation of environmental defenders in the UK and you can watch it happening in the documentary; Sam’s journey from ordinary (but extra-ordinary) man to political prisoner is one of the story arcs in the film. But for this article today, I want to focus on what it is like being in prison in the UK. Until Sam found himself behind bars I had had no insight into what it is like to be inside. It has been eye-opening and thought provoking hearing first hand from him about his experiences. In a recent letter exchange the idea came up that he would write about that for my Substack, and yesterday I received it in the post. So for the rest of this article I am going to hand over to Sam so that you too can hear from him first hand. I have not edited a word of what he has written.
What is it like in Prison? In the words of Sam G.
“This is the most natural question about prison people want to know. But the truth is there is no one answer except that on some level most people are going to say it’s rubbish. There are different grades of rubbish though (I know because I am working in Waste Management here at HMP Polmont) and your experience of the same jail can be very different depending on your mental state, where you are in the prison and who you get locked up with.
I now have experience of three prisons (thank you Suella Braverman) and two prison systems - English and Scottish. I’m going to tell you a bit about what I know, but if you end up following me to one of these places please be aware that no two prison experiences are alike!
In November 2023 I was remanded to HMP Wandsworth for walking slowly in the road for 20 minutes. I was there for 21 days. My Trip Advisor review would be scored negative in stars if that’s possible. The place is 170 years old and it shows its age. The Victorians who built it designed the cells for single occupancy - today they all hold two prisoners. On my first night, while still processing the reality of the situation, I was taken to my cell on the induction wing with a guy called Dave who would be my cell mate for the next week and a bit. This was after being booked in and interviewed. The only question I remember - and it will never leave me - was, “have you ever set light to another human being?”. The cell Dave and I were taken to was filthy, there wasn’t a curtain or anything around the loo to give privacy (we were then given a curtain that we stretched across chairs to create a screen) and it was small. Just as I was thinking, “how do we fit in here?”, the door was closed and locked and we just had to get on with it. The induction wing in Wandsworth is pretty wild, people are scared or aggressive or both and I always felt that violence was a possibility. I was not a victim of violence, but fights were going off all over. After 4 or 5 days Dave and I were transferred to a quieter wing - it was a relief and a lot easier to sleep. In the induction wing doors were being kicked to the early hours every night. It wasn’t until we moved to this calmer wing that I got out for exercise. This was stressful in a different way because I felt vulnerable being out of my cell and in the open with a lot of other people. But I’d learnt already that if I can stay calm, things will be okay - that’s by no means a guarantee, but it seemed to work for me. This is where it helps to be middle-aged and anonymous looking. Younger guys have a much harder time of it because other younger guys are generally more volatile, but they pretty much ignore the older fellas. I was 48 at the time.
That morning was transformative for me as I walked round and round the exercise yard. I was very on edge but focused on my breathing - longer out-breaths than in-breaths. I then started to list, in my head, all the things I am grateful for. I started with my wife and son, stroking the ears of my dog, hot toast and marmite with a good cup of tea… After 20 minutes of this a calm came down on me that felt like a blessing and I found it difficult not to beam. From that point on I knew I’d be able to cope and I really got my head round the situation. But please be left in no doubt that HMP Wandsworth is a disgrace. Human beings should not be locked up 23 hours a day in cramped conditions with shit food and little to do. It’s a massive waste of life and everybody deserves better, especially if we want to leave people in better physical, emotional and moral shape than when they arrived.
I’m glad I experienced Wandsworth first because everything since has been so much better. But, all Victorian prisons have similar issues and they are not fit for purpose.
In March this year I was sentenced to 16 months in prison for being part of an action at INEOS Grangemouth. In the summer of ‘23 I, along with others, gained access to the site and chained myself to a gantry 20-30 feet above the ground. On that occasion we stopped the flow of oil on site for eight hours. Normally a full tanker leaves Grangemouth every five minutes, day and night, such is our thirst for oil. I took the action to prevent greater harms that the flow of oil continues to inflict. There’s the local pollution and contamination of Grangemouth and the carbon pollution when the oil is burned that continues to push temperatures higher, pushing us closer, or by now beyond, irreversible climate tipping points. I took action because I have a son, he was 13 at the time, and I desperately want to protect him and his future. I will continue to do all that I can - and right now that means being a political prisoner.
I was sentenced to 16 months, my co-defendants received community orders of 200 hours - quite a big discrepancy! And it’s one I’m appealing - I’m not holding my breath that sense will prevail though.
I was sent to HMP Low Moss near Bishopbriggs. Once there the check-in process took some time but the vibe was very different to Wandsworth. There some of the staff looked to humiliate you on the way in but there was nothing like that here at Low Moss. I had a good chat with the officer who interviewed me (no alarming questions) and I was very calm knowing pretty much what the worst was, and this was not it. We must have got on quite well, or he took pity on me, because he assigned me to the old man section. This is one level of one wing where calmer, older prisoners end up. As soon as I was there the guys on the section let me know how lucky I’d been, saying the rest of the prison is wild. Why? Drugs and lots of them. There’s a real epidemic and it’s costing people their lives. One of them is a legal high, a tranquilizer used on fish so they can be transported live. It knocks people out for days on end and makes them very unpredictable. People collapse on it, have psychotic episodes and the trade itself is a source of violence. There was the odd guy on our section using it, but on other sections it and other drugs were rife. Life on our section was pretty good and I have no complaints of the three weeks I spent there. I have a lot of respect for the prisoners and guards I got to know a bit but you always felt a bit of tension in the air, especially walking to and from places in the prison.
After those three weeks I was transferred to HMP Polmont, a lower category prison. That’s where I am writing this from. I have a cell to myself here, everyone does, and I have time out of it. Low Moss wasn’t that bad for time out of cell too, but this is better. From my window here I can see the Ockle Hills in the distance - I am determined to walk those hills when I’m out. While at Low Moss I’d had some really good chats with a guy called Paul and I was transferred with him and another fella, Mark. It really helped us settle here at Polmont, knowing each other already. We’re all of a similar age but very different backgrounds. Mark works on the rigs so we’ve had some good chats about oil. And now we’re all working together too, in Gardens and Waste Management, we enjoy chatting and taking the piss out of each other at work or when we have meals or recreation. Paul has asked me quite a lot of really good questions about why I’m here and why I take the kind of action that could result in prison time. It’s been great trying to give good answers to those questions and the whole set of conversations has spurred me on to try and capture the questions and answers in writing and ultimately as a short book - let’s see!
There’s a good gym here, and there’s a mini-gym at the end of the section, so I’ve been getting a little bit fitter. The thing I’m doing most of is playing Pickleball - it’s fast and fun and it may well be the death of me. I’ve always left limping. First it was my knees, then my hips, them my neck and shoulders - I’m playing tomorrow and would love to be able to walk away unaided! I’m 49 now and not very fit, so all this is a bit of a shock to the system.
Another opportunity that this spell in prison has given me is to have time to read and write - what a profound blessing it is - both give space for reflection and thought too. It was very busy before getting locked up so I’m trying to make the most of this. With reading I’m balancing some great serious books with some out and out trash - it’s working for me so far! And writing-wise, I’m loving having the time to write letters and to reply to emails as well as chipping away at the book project.
That all said, I am a long way from home and I miss my wife, son and dog a great deal. Today it’s my wife’s birthday and I’d give an awful lot to be with her in person. I’ve sent a homemade card and will speak to them both this evening. They’ve made it up to see me here and in Low Moss the legends that they are, and on those occasions I’ve been able to arrange a double visit - otherwise it’s a hell of a long way to come (London to Polmonth) for 45 minutes. My mum and sisters are in and around Newcastle and Whitley Bay, so are a good bit nearer and I’m getting to see them a bit too which is lovely. I’ve also been very lucky to be visited by some friends here in Scotland too. I’ve also been doing the odd virtual visit - a video call - and have loved seeing my wife, dog and son all there on the sofa.
Prison is one thing for those inside, but quite another for loved ones on the outside. My wife is having to deal with an awful lot including financial insecurity with only one wage coming in. She’s a fighter and has incredible powers of perserverance and ingenuity but it’s so unfair that she and my son are bearing the brunt of this punishment. I feel guilty for that. And angry at a system that locks up the people who are most committed to raise the alarm - and a system that leaves the rich and powerful free to rape the earth and fuck us over.
So there is anger there - at the stupid system we live in, and guilt for making my wife and son’s lives harder right now but do I regret taking the action that landed me here? No, I don’t. I’m proud I stood up for what is right and that I followed my conscience. I acted to protect my son’s future and I remain resolutely committed to that. Two of us got into Grangemouth that night and proved that ordinary people can stop the flow of oil - it’s in our power. I’m a very ordinary, middle of the road, fairly normal bloke, if I can do something like this, anyone can! I’ll have at least another two and a bit months to think on this before I become even eligible to be released on tag. If that happens, I’ll be on home curfew 7pm to 7am each day and will have to wear a tag on my ankle that monitors my location.
In summary, prison is not a great place to be, but it can be somewhere where you learn about yourself and others. Gender, age, sexuality and race all play a big role in how things will go. If you are considering taking nonviolent direct action that could lead to prison, think carefully about it and weigh up the pros and cons. The biggest pro is that the bell you rang with your action is sustained and maybe even amplified by being jailed for it. Your sacrifice continues to resonate.
Sending love from cell 557, Iona 1, HMP Polmont
Sam G x
If you would like to send a message to Sam in prison click here to find out his details.
If you would like to watch the documentary The Line We Crossed visit the website to find out about screenings or petition your local screen.