HMP Stocken: My Son Osime Brown Does Not Need to Be a Statistic!

I am writing this latest concern to you as if I am speaking to the HMP Stocken and its prison guards.

What are you trying to do to my son? How long will it be before you listen to him with ears as if you are listening to the cries of a 6-year-old?

Because that’s where his emotional reasoning is. You are shouting at him, but he can’t understand what you are saying because it all sounds like shibboleth, but he only understands ‘Sibboleth’; you are not on the same wavelength, but upon you is the Duty of Care, to care for those in your charge, especially those who have special needs!

When will you see him, not as being insignificant, and as someone to be brushed aside and ignored, but as an autistic with needs for support and understanding?

When will you stop baiting him? I know what you are trying to do. We have seen it all before. You are trying to force reactions out of him, forcing him into a corner, like a frightened adder, where all he can do is lash out or eat his own tail.

Can you not see his body, his stomach, his arms, and other parts of his body where, in desperation, he has self-harmed because he cannot understand why you are treating him so harshly?

What are you waiting for before you attend to his needs? For him to kill himself? Then you can cover up with your crafty rationale, saying that you knew he was not well and he killed himself before you could put all the wonderful plans in place that you have for him?

The latest thing you have done to my son, yesterday, 21st August: he tried to complain to you about the pains he had consistently been experiencing in his stomach – after all, he has been coughing up blood. Instead of listening to and addressing his concerns, you found it easier to command him back into his cell.

When he continued to plead with you to address his pains, instead of obediently going into his cell; you became punitive, ignoring his ‘Sibboleth’, and told him that you are now taking away his job privilege. You forced and compelled him back into his cell, deprived of job privilege and still experiencing excruciating pains in his stomach.

Like that adder, he began to self-harm and so in frustration he punched the iron gate, breaking his arm. In greater pain, he pleaded with you to take him to the doctors.

But he would not be so lucky, for all the lady officer said was, “No, the pain will still be there tomorrow.” My son had to wait until the following day, today, 22nd August to see the Doctor.

Please don’t kill my son and then conveniently make him a statistic and problem solved!

Joan Martin

Mom

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