Urban superjail: the best way to release land?
Tales of prison life on Alcatraz, in the US, have been immortalised by such Hollywood stars as Burt Lancaster and Clint Eastwood, while Robben Island, in South Africa, has been assured its place in history by the detention there of Nelson Mandela. The gruesome convict life on Norfolk Island, east of Australia, in the 19th century has been documented in most harrowing terms by Robert Hughes in The Fatal Shore.
None of those isles is used any longer as a prison. But in Hong Kong, the concept of the island penitentiary is still very much alive, at least in government circles, where there continues to be a hankering for a 'superjail' on Hei Ling Chau, off Lantau.
Opposition to this project has been voiced not only on account of the likely huge expense, but also for environmental reasons and, in the case of some local residents, who would be affected by the development and its access routes, for more obvious reasons of self-interest. Yet there is a broader strategic question which also deserves attention.
In the 21st century, is it either necessary or sensible to put a prison in as inaccessible a location as possible? Rehabilitation is nowadays acknowledged as the eventual goal of detention; and rehabilitation variously involves specialist staff, family visits, controlled outings into the community and so on, all of which can be facilitated more by reasonable proximity to the rest of civilisation. Most other governments seem to have concluded that modern building methods and surveillance systems can provide all the physical security necessary for a prison. Other than perhaps as protection from a terrorist assault - for which a prison full of copyright pirates or prostitutes is unlikely to be a target - a surround of water is surely no longer required.
The idea of a superjail has obvious appeal for providing modern facilities and projected savings in running costs. It also holds out the prospect of some existing sites being freed up for other use. This is a significant consideration, given that criminals appear to enjoy a disproportionate share of the best Hong Kong locations. For instance, the Correctional Services Department oversees not only the three existing seaside establishments on Hei Ling Chau, but also delightful coastal sites at Shek Pik, Tong Fuk and Chi Ma Wan on Lantau, the cliff tops at Cape Collinson, prime sites on the Stanley peninsula and at Ma Hang, a peaceful valley location at Tai Lam and an elevated site with spectacular sea views at Siu Lam. All these could be enviable residential locations. Why should law-abiding citizens live sandwiched between busy roads, while convicts enjoy the best views and fresh air?
And so, if there are good reasons for consolidating much of the jail population into one large, state-of-the-art facility, why should this not be in the urban areas, in place of crumbling old flats or disused industrial or commercial premises? Of course, local people will always complain at the prospect of a nearby jail, but there are already examples in Hong Kong of jails adjacent to sought-after residential locations where the two co-exist very satisfactorily.
The recent holiday season has served as a reminder yet again of the dearth of resort-style hotel and recreational facilities in Hong Kong. People have already pointed to the potential of Hei Ling Chau in this regard. Whatever the merits of that proposal, or others, they would almost certainly be more appealing than a jail. Anyway, it appears that the forces of public opinion, common sense and financial considerations may kill off the idea of an island superjail. At that point, we may be asking why and how it was that the proposal could ever have reached such an advanced stage of consideration before being dumped. Perhaps it is because our visionary planners had been spending too much time at the movies.
Tony Latter is a visiting professor at the University of Hong Kong
