The dark side of prisons has been much in the news of late. A week ago, we learnt of Iraqi captives suffering at British hands. Yesterday we were debating the merits of tagging or bugging terrorism suspects or their families, or placing them under house arrest. Four Britons have been released from the American camp at Guantلnamo Bay, alleging extreme forms of mistreatment.

Freedom of movement is part of our adulthood. To curtail it is to imply that we are at best naughty children. The ensuing humiliation, particularly among those who are convinces of their innocence, can bring immense distress, even psychological illness.

Muslims, Christians and Jews all remember one particular prisoner, wrongly accused in ancient times, who became a symbol of God's power to deliver, and the victory of hope. That figure is the Prophet Joseph. He was thrown into a hole by his brothers; and later, in Egypt, was imprisoned again, on false charges of sexual harassment. Both the Book of Genesis and the Koran stress how his confidence in God's justice and compassion helped him to bear the darkness of his cell.

The medieval Muslim poet Rumi adds his own story, which explores how Joseph, exiled and imprisoned by his brothers, refused to take refuge in hate. He wrote this:

'For ten years Joseph never slept at night. That prince kept praying to
God for the sake of his brothers:
O God, if you forgive them, so be it. But if not, then I shall fill the
whole world with my tears.
Punish them not, O Lord, for they are full of guilt for the sin tha
suddenly overtook them!
Josehp's feet became blistered from his night vigils; his eyes full o
pain from weeping and wailing.'

Rumi continues as follows:

'The lamentation spread to the celestial spheres and the angels, and the
Sea of God's Gentleness overflowed, and broke his chains.
Fourteen robes of honour arrived, and God spoke to Joseph, Jacob, and the
brothers:
"All fourteen of you are prophets, messengers, and chiefs among My
servants."
Such is the effort of the saints day and night, in order to deliver
creatures from torment and corruption.'

In this poem, Rumi explains how faith enables the imprisoned to put their time to good use. Their freedom is gone; but prayer cannot be taken from them. And what prayer could be more strange, and more powerful, than that which pleads for God's forgiveness of the envier, or the bureaucrat?

This is not an alternative to justice. Wrongful imprisonment is a great evil, and the law must provide for redress against those responsible. Yet the cry for justice is very different from a passion for revenge. Faith urges us to oppose cruelty, but it also has a voice, a poetic, more difficult, more troubling voice, which insists that we find ways in which justice can coexist with forgiveness.

SOURCE: BBC
30/01/2005