White Shirt Rage
When I transferred prison I had to undergo some routine health checks and screening. At that time, my blood pressure was off the charts with a reading of 150/100. I had never had an issue with high blood pressure and when I spoke to the nurse I surmised that the spike might be due to the stress of moving prison and 4 hours in a sweat box. It seemed plausible, but the nurse scheduled another appointment for 3 days later just to be sure.
Well on that day I had been required to move wings so I was pretty stressed having to pack everything up again, just as I was finding my bearings. My blood pressure was still 150/100 – stage II hypertension territory. Once again the nurse listened to my reasoning and agreed to one more check before I would have to see the doctor to discuss medication. I was to return 3 days later.
On that day I sat in the waiting room of the healthcare unit. I was pretty nervous. It was nothing to do with the motley crew of lads screaming abuse because they weren’t getting the medication that they wanted – that was just normal business. No, my stress was at the thought of having to take medication for high blood pressure – was I really getting that old. The more I thought about it – the more stressed I became. When the nurse called me in I was wound up like a top and sure enough my blood pressure had lowered slightly, but was still way too high. I was perplexed. I think the nurse got it because she suggested that I might be suffering from white coat blood pressure. Just as the symptoms of a toothache fade as you wait in the dentist office, the prospect of seeing a doctor (hence white coat) can cause stress. It turns out that she was right – I gave myself high blood pressure because I had been so concerned about having high blood pressure!
I went back to the waiting room and chilled them for a while, now I knew what was wrong I figured I could get a grip on it. When I came back into the wee room I was relaxed and my blood pressure was a tippity-top 120/80.
Just recently I think I may have identified a variation of this white coat blood pressure. It is a sudden occurrence, but is certainly not isolated. I have christened this phenomenon White Shirt Rage.
A while ago one of the education department managers mentioned that they would be looking for a new mentor, somebody that could help other prisoners to improve their basic reading skills. While I was too busy to take on any other work, I was asked to think about possible candidates that might be suitable. One guy came to mind immediately. He was just so sound. He was smiley, cheerful and respectful -I hadn’t heard anybody say a bad word about him. He was in his 20s, fairly articulate and generally I thought he fit the bill.
The manager took the guy’s name down, thanked me, and said they would look into the man’s record. A week or so later I ran into the manager again and asked how they had gotten on with my recommendation. I got a strange look in return – raised eyebrow and turned head. The kind of look the suggested, ‘are you kidding me?’.
But I was earnest and the manager finally told me that security had pretty much laughed down the phone when she had asked about my recommendation. I think my own face showed enough surprise to reassure them that I had not been taking the piss when I put the guy’s name forward. But I left, accepting that there was no point in arguing with security and their Stasi style secret files – but I couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with my smiley mentor friend. It took another couple of weeks till I saw for myself.
It was a sunny day, so I had opted to stretch my legs outside education during our 15-minute break. The bell rang to call us back inside and I started to wander back to the stairs. My pick was chatting to 3 of his mates and just as the Kanga was walking past this little group he said, “finish up there for me please lads.”
I was shocked when I saw my pick spin on his heel and launch into a tirade of accusations and abuse at the Kanga. I saw why the guy who was so chatty and friendly to me had a dodgy security file – White Shirt Rage.
I can’t tell you the number of times that a group of prisoners will be chatting about something or other. It could be football, the news, general gossip or it might even be the evolution of the European Union and the potential impact of Brexit. The chat will be chilled and respectful – questions asked openly and answers debated. There will be laughs and jokes all will be well – until Kanga turns up. It still staggers me sometimes to see how a percentage of the lads react when they are faced with the prison guards uniform. Just the uniform is enough – the Kanga doesn’t even need to do or say anything. The transition from smiley with peers to frothing with rage at staff is quicker than the acceleration of Wiley E Coyote ass on an Acme rocket.
For some people authority is just a trigger – an irritant like pollen to hay-fever sufferers. This serves to highlight the importance of peer-to-peer support. Both through sentences and upon release back into the community. I started a Prisoner Information Desk (PID) in my local prison with the support of staff and governors. Almost instantly there was a reduction in violence and the need for control and restraint actions by prison staff. Why? Well when I answered questions starting with “Unfortunately, we can’t….”, men generally accepted that this was something that was a policy that applied to all prisoners. It gave a sense of fairness or equality – a feeling of ‘we are all in this together’.
When a Kanga answers a question with “Unfortunately you can’t….”, some men take it as a personal denial, that ‘Other prisoners can have it – just not you!’
This phenomenon is not restricted to prisoners. Just before the Covid lockdown, the prison’s governors were discussing an amendment to the family day protocols in the prison. It was suggested that the prison officers that staff family days in the future would be encouraged to wear their civilian clothes rather than their uniforms. It is believed that this will create a more conducive environment for the men and their families to spend a little bit of extra time together without the usual tension and stigma associated with prison visits.
As for White Shirt Rage, well it’s a serious issue – and not just inside prison. I have seen the effect of white shirt rage upon members of the police services, shop assistants and bus drivers. It’s alarming that a person in a uniform can be perceived as fair game; that wearing a shirt all of a sudden transforms the wearer into a moral and verbal punch-bag.
