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Family & Corrections Network |
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October 10-12, 1993 Quebec City, Quebec, Canada JOYCE AND DAVID MILGAARD/JOYCE ET DAVID MILGAARD The introduction by/La presentation par Graham Reddoch, Executive Director, John Howard Society of Manitoba, 583 Ellice, Winnipeg, MAN R3B 1Z7 (204)775-1514 M. Reddoch commence par dire que les Milgaard ne sont pas meconnus aux canadiens meme si ils le sont a plusieurs des participants americains et internationaux. Ils ont paru dans tous les medias, et depuis deux ans, ils ont recu une attention nationale favorable. Mais ceci, il remarque, est nouveau, car David en 1969 fut arrete pour une meurtre pour lequel il s'est toujours dit non coupable. En 1970, a l'age de 16 ans, il fut condamne a une sentence vie. Il a passe vingt-deux ans et demi en prison avant d'etre libere par la Cour supreme du Canada. Joyce a toujours eu confiance dans sons fils, David et l'a toujours soutenu toutes c2es longues annees difficiles. M. Reddoch raconte comment Joyce l'a persuade que l'agence John Howard du Manitoba devrait inaugure un fonds special pour aider la cause de David. Plus de 40 000 $ fut collectionne. M. Reddochsouligne l'importance du fait que Joyce et David parlent du coeur, comme mere et fils, de leur vaste experience de ce qui se rapporte aux familles et le systeme correctionnel. While many of our American and International friends may not know our luncheon speakers, to our Canadian friends they need no introduction. In April of 1992, they appeared on the cover of McLean's Magazine, the Canadian equivalent of Time Magazine. They have been the subject of books and movies, and during the past couple of years have received favorable, wide national media attention. But it wasn't always that way. In January of 1969, David was arrested for the brutal murder of a nursing assistant in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. He was 16 years old and was passing through Saskatoon with some friends at the time. Despite his pleas of innocence, David was convicted in 1970 and spent the next 222 years in a number of Canada's federal penitentiaries. Finally, following precedent-setting hearings by the Supreme Court of Canada, David was released on April 16, 1992. We've asked David's mom, Joyce, to come with him and to share a bit about how their family experienced the criminal justice process. Joyce believed in and supported her son over those many difficult years. It wasn't easy for her when he was moved from institution to institution. But she's a very tenacious woman, and if you don't know that now, you will, when she's finished. She came into my office a few years back and persuaded me that our agency should set up a support fund to assist in the investigation of David's case. By the time he was released we had processed over $40,000 in donations through our office, mostly in $10-$20 amounts - so that's a lot of people Joyce persuaded to get behind his case! For me, the most important thing today is that they speak from the heart, as a mother and son with lots of first hand experience related to the Family and Corrections. As we continue to Explore the Family Side of Justice, please join me in welcoming to our conference, a couple of family members with hearts of gold: Joyce and David Milgaard. Joyce et David Milgaard Joyce fut demandee de parler specifiquement de ses experiences vis a vis les prisons comme membre d'une famille aux prises avec le systeme correctionnel. Elle se dit etre heureuse de pouvoir se presenter avec son fils. Pendant si longtemps, ce n'etait pas possible. Elle parle de ses sensibilites envers les autres meres qui frequentaient les memes prisons qu'elle et, du manque de sensibilite du systeme carceral. Elle parle de ses luttes, petites et majeures, pour ameliorer la situation des familles qui souffrent terriblement, elles aussi, de l'incarcerartion, mais a l'exterieur des murs. Joyce parle aussi de la reconnaissance de sa famille envers toutes ces personnes et organismes communautaires qui les ont appuyees financierement et moralement pendant la longue demarche pour liberer David. David a son tour exprime sa reconnaissance a Graham Reddoch qui a fait son possible afin que lui et sa mere puissent se presenter a la conference. Il parle de ses presque 23 ans en prison depuis l'age de 16 ans pour un meurtre qu'il n'a pas commis. Il decrit le poison de la drogue dans les prisons et son effet devastateur sur les familles que lui meme a vu en prison, et implore tous ceux et celles qui assistent a travailler davantage pour que ce mal soit extirper le plus tot possible. Il termine en insistant sur la grande valeur de la vie en communaute et decrit la lutte comme etant honorable. Bonjour! Je m'appele Jocelyn Milgaard, and before everyone reaches for their little translators, that's the last of the French, but I did want to at least say hello in French. Some specific guidelines were given to me regarding my talk and they were to speak about our experiences in relation to prisons and prisoner families. Should any of you have any questions on any aspect of the Milgaard story, when we are finished, please feel free to ask those questions. It is a pleasure to be here today and to have my son with me. I have had to speak alone for a long time. Many of you here, families of prisoners, know that feeling of being alone, of being ostracized by society, being dumped on, being classed as second class citizens. You are treated as if you have committed a crime, as if you were a criminal. My heart used to ache as I would watch young mothers, carrying their babies in their arms, struggling through the snow and cold biting wind, perhaps there would be a couple of toddlers trudging along behind them. Often they weren't dressed very warmly. Somehow, shortage of money is often a problem for prisoner's families. They would have to walk well over a block, through that bitter cold. They walked by many empty parking stalls that were used by the prison staff. I tried to be objective. The staff came to work every day. The prisoners families maybe once or twice a week. It was right that the prison staff have stalls near the prison. But what about at night, on the weekends when those stalls were empty. Through the system I tried to get permission for the families to have the use of those stalls. I didn't care about myself, but my request was turned down with no reason given. Somehow, that was the worst part of all. They didn't have to give a reason. They could do anything they wanted. There seemed to be no sense of caring there for the families of prisoners. It even extended to the visitors of organizations. My son started a group inside called the Justice Group. One of the coordinators told me about an evening when a number of them struggled through a blizzard and the cold. They got up inside the prison doors only to be turned back. Their meeting had been canceled by the guard at the door. These people out of caring and concern were coming up to spend a few hours of fellowship with the prison members. They even had a guest speaker with them. They were all turned back. When they asked a supervisor, the supervisor said they did not have to give a reason. It makes it very difficult to get people in the community to help them when they receive this kind of treatment. Is it because they don't want the prisoners to be helped? A member of the John Howard Society told me about an incident where a guard told her, "a good prisoner is a depressed prisoner and we try to keep them as depressed as possible." Isn't that sad? Do you know the saddest part of it all, that particular guard didn't even realize there was anything wrong with what he was saying. What about distance? Where are the prisons located? Not very often where there is easy access for people to visit. It just makes things so hard for families. Our youngest daughter Maureen, when she was little, used to think David lived in castles and she could never understand why the guards would not let him go home with her. When other people were going to the beach for their holidays, we were going to visit our son all across Canada in the various prisons. We couldn't see him very often when they put him so far away. He was growing up without us, in a jail cell, away from us all. We tried to communicate by letters, infrequent phone calls, but it tore us apart. I can remember the first time David escaped. It was from Dorchester, New Brunswick. Afterwards, he said it was because he was so far away from home and he felt so alone. I remember it very well. It was late at night, I was reading the newspaper and all of a sudden I saw this article on a prison break in Dorchester. David's name leapt off the page at me. It was winter and they told how they were searching for these prisoners with dogs. I was so scared. No one had called to tell us. I wasn't able to find out any information until the following Monday. David had been caught, meanwhile, and he was back in custody. He was safe. I hadn't told the rest of the family because I didn't want them to be going through the agony that I was in not knowing what was happening. When the prisoner has done something wrong it affects the entire family. I know I don't have to tell some of you what it's like to visit a loved one when you can't touch them or hold them, or give them a hug; when you are separated by glass, have to speak into a phone or into a hole cut into a screen. My daughters sometimes could just not bear, when those circumstances prevailed, to go and visit. It was so degrading, so dehumanizing. But you can't not visit. They need you. Even though it is so painful, you must go. Many of you could probably tell of the horrific experiences that you have undergone. I remember one time going through the system for permission for my son to use an eight track player that he had used in another federal prison. It seemed a simple thing, but the rule in this particular prison was that only cassette players could be used. I couldn't really get a satisfactory answer out of anyone as to why it made any difference. We didn't have the money to purchase him another one, why couldn't he use it. Finally, going through the ranks I made it to the warden's office. I will never forget that day. He listened as I explained why I was there and then he stood up and picked up a piece of paper and he pointed at it. He said, "Do you know what this is, Mrs. Milgaard?" and I said, "No." He said, "This little piece of paper, if I put my signature on it, will send your son back to New Brunswick. Is that what you want? I said, "No." He said, "Then let's not hear another word about a cassette player. Is that clear? Good day, Madam." I felt as if I had been kicked in the stomach. I walked out of that office and at the first washroom I was physically sick. I felt so helpless. They had all the power, and I knew that if I tried to do anything about it, it would only hurt my son. It taught me a lesson though, that I never forgot, and that is, if I ever wanted to get anything done, I would have to have other people with me, people that would stand beside me. That's what we did when David wanted to start the Justice Group. The only way we were able to get outside people in, to get permission for a newsletter to be published, was to have other people and other organizations that supported the idea come in and talk with the warden. Second class citizens by themselves wouldn't have been effective. Yesterday was Thanksgiving Day and David and I spent it together. It reminded me, somewhat, of a Thanksgiving Day in 1980 when my son was unlawfully at large in Toronto. We spent that day together too, but under very different circumstances. I was trying desperately to get him to turn himself in. He was telling me how he just could not go back there. He'd rather be dead. The reason he escaped was because the parole board kept saying he was not rehabilitated because he had not admitted to his guilt. How can you admit to something you have not done. It was a vicious circle. I always have been a law abiding person and yet in just that short time that David had been out I could see such a change in him. He was so alive. I could not be the one to send him back to that horrible place. We had a wonderful time. We attended church together and had a beautiful Thanksgiving dinner. We went shopping for clothes for him and for an apartment. I loved being able to buy him things. We took long walks together. We probably looked pretty funny because I was disguised in a red wig and David had this horrible colored orange hair. He had tried to become a blond and it didn't take. Soon, it was time for me to leave and it was with such a heavy heart that I headed home. Again, through the newspapers I found out news about my son. This time he was not safe. He had been shot in the back by the police, in Toronto. He was unarmed. He was not engaged in any criminal activity. He was in the hospital. They were not sure whether he would ever be able to walk again. I blamed myself, for not turning him in. His sister blamed herself because she'd helped him escape. (Strange as it may seem I never knew about Maureen having helped David until I saw a film clip from the documentary). There is a lot that family members hide from each other when someone is in prison, because everyone is in pain. I prayed in that hospital as I sat at the foot of David's bed, prayed for a answer as to what I could do to help him. The horror was going to start all over again. The thought came to offer a reward as to who was the real killer. That is just what we did. I had an RRSP, that's a pension plan (for you Americans here today), it was for $10,000 and we offered this reward. We plastered Saskatoon with posters. The rest is a very long story. It took almost another 13 years. But you all know what happened. Dav2id is now free and we are so grateful. Sure we wish things were different, that we didn't still have to sue the government to have them compensate him. We would like them to admit their blame. We would like there to be an inquiry into what happened in 1970. The Supreme Court of Canada said there was information about a serial rapist, that if given to the jury, could have resulted in a different verdict. Who had that information? Who covered it up? It would be great if it were all finished, but I have faith that it will be completed and properly someday. We are certainly not going to go away, as Graham has told you. In fact, I am actively involved in the setting up of an Association in Toronto in Defense of the Wrongly Convicted, so other people will not have to go through what we had to. David would never have been set free. It could never have happened if it hadn't been for the John Howard Society; their unwavering support and the David Milgaard Support Fund that they established. Graham has told you about it today, and Graham, I'd like to just publicly thank you, from the heart, because it wouldn't have happened without you. We're also grateful to Centurion Ministries from Princeton New Jersey who helped in the investigation of the case. For the many millions of Canadians that held our family in prayer, and wrote the powers that be and said this is wrong. David is out because all these people cared. Canadians are good people and they don't know how badly people fare in prison, but once they do I'm sure it too will be changed. My son has some ideas about what prisons do to people and he is more of an expert that I am. I just visited him there. He lived there for 22 years and 46 weeks. We just loved him through it. Now it is his turn to speak. Thank you. Joyce Milgaard Good afternoon, I'd like to thank Graham Reddoch as well, from John Howard of Winnipeg, Manitoba for being in our corner and for making it possible today for myself and my mother to be here. As my mother has just said, I spent 22 years, almost 23 years inside prison. I went in when I was sixteen years of age. I think that gives me room enough to be honest with all of you and feel comfortable about talking about the realities of prison. Prisons don't work. If you want to have good strong relationships, to grow, "Love" is the key. Prisons work in the opposite way. Prisons are gardens. They are bad gardens. They need love. In truth the supply of love is actually structured out of the existence of prisoners' lives and their families' lives and it shouldn't be. I don't have to tell all of you how ugly prisons can be or how hard it is to be locked down. But what I want to make clear is that prisoners and their families do not have it easy. Life inside prison is dangerous and very stressful. Prisoners and their families must live with this. In order for you to help them you have to know what these realities are, and what they can mean. An example of this I would like to share with you was the poor decision I made when I went unlawfully at large from Stony Mountain penitentiary while out on a temporary absence, on my brothers' birthday. I felt I was dying a little bit every day inside Stony Mountain Penitentiary. Discouragement is one of mankind's worst ills. Despair is something any person inside a penitentiary can just taste in the air. One of the saddest things that I kind of hold in my mind is watching the young people and old alike walking into what I felt were predictable nowhere futures, coming back, going out, coming back, going out. I know that love and trust can grow relationships with prisoners and their families. It has grown with me and my family while I was in prison. I want to be frank with everybody and say it just like it is. If I'm a young man in a North American prison today coming into the joint, the first thing I'm going to notice is people that are the hustlers. They're wheeling and dealing around inside of prison. Who has drugs or at least who sells drugs? I'm going to notice just what is taking place there because what I want is the feel of the joint, what is happening. When men are making drug deals or gambling on credit or borrowing money as a way of life inside a penitentiary, this is where the trouble begins for the family. I want to repeat that to everybody one more time. When men are making drug deals or gambling on credit or borrowing money inside a penitentiary, this is what causes trouble for the family. It makes life miserable for everyone. The living atmosphere of all North American prisons revolves around this. Out of it can come beatings, stabbings, even murders. Anyone seriously concerned about prisoners, their wives, their families and their relationships must tackle this monster head on. It is the enemy. One time while I was doing time, I was living in a cubicle. I was right next to all the institutional telephones. I could hear men treat their wives, girlfriends, and others to the cruelest abuse. There was absolutely nothing they could do right if they couldn't come up with some money or some drugs, or to get up for a visit. They weren't worth "nothing". It was so bad I had to move away from where I was living. It just made me sick. How many peoples lives are being destroyed like this right now. It has to stop. I hope all of you will be able to find a way to stop it. I hope that my few words here today have shown just how important it is to have people like you work hard for prisoners and their families. Everyone here is part of a community and I believe that "community" is one of the highest expressions of love. Your fight is an Honourable one and I admire each one of you here today that is taking part in it. I'm glad I was invited to be here with you. Thank you very much. David Milgaard |
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