Latvia's fierce youth

  • 2000-09-28
  • Nick Coleman
A joint meeting of Latvian and European Union MPs added to criticism of the country's justice system last week. Its treatment of under-18s is a symptom of an "incredibly weak" court system, says one researcher. Nick Coleman reports.

I don't know where my parents are, I don't know anything about them now. They used to send me parcels," says Sasha, a nineteen-year-old inmate in the juvenile section of Brasas prison in Riga. After two years and ten months in prison his appeal against his conviction for burglary and vandalism has still not been heard.

Sasha's situation is not unusual in Latvia, where 65 percent of juvenile prisoners are in "pre-trial" detention, waiting while their cases are investigated and heard in court, says Vitolds Zahars, director general of Latvia's prison administration.

"The average period of pre-trial detention in Latvia is seven to eight months. But it's often longer," he says.

One juvenile has been in prison awaiting trial since June 1996, says Angelita Kamenska, director of the Soros Foundation's Prison and Police Reform Program.

Such delays violate Latvia's Law on Protection of Children's Rights, amended last April, which requires that juvenile cases be given priority, says Kamenska.

The European Union-Latvia Joint Parliamentary Committee, which met in Riga from Sept. 18-19, was similarly critical.

"Long delays in court hearings and enforcement of decisions are not compatible with acquis (EU accession requirements), human rights or the rule of law," read the committee's closing declaration.

Inadequate training of judges and prosecutors is partly to blame, says Kamenska.

"They're unwilling to take on these cases, which are rather difficult. There should be more judges and prosecutors who specialize in juvenile cases and have psychological training," she said.

Current practices also violate the United Nations Convention on Children's Rights, which Latvia ratified in 1991, Kamenska says, noting that sentencing laws are particularly at fault.

"Latvia has minimum sentences which apply equally to adults and minors. There is a minimum prison term of six months, so judges don't have much discretion," she said.

Community service is rarely used, despite it being cheaper than imprisonment, Kamenska adds.

For those in pre-trial detention conditions are worse than for those who are finally convicted and sentenced, says Zahars.

"Pre-trial prisoners have no rights even though they're not guilty," he says.

"They're living like animals."

With help from the Soros Foundation one cell in Brasas was last year converted into a makeshift classroom where some of the prison's 174 juvenile inmates watch religious videos. But otherwise the boys, some as young as 14, spend 23 hours a day in their cells and have one hour in a yard which, measuring a few square meters, is surrounded by high walls and topped with netting.

Pre-trial prisoners are not allowed visits from their parents without permission from prosecutors. Currently about one third of pre-trial juveniles have such permission, says Kamenska.

No teachers have been assigned to Brasas' pre-trial detainees so any education they receive is likely to come from visiting chaplains.

"Chaplains have been good partners so far, they've introduced significant changes," said Kamenska.

"Mostly it's religious organizations who work with prisoners after their release. Non-governmental organizations are not lining up at prison gates to help. I think the Ministry of Education may not know that youths in Brasas are legally entitled to education."

But Sasha compares Brasas favorably with Riga Central Prison, from where he was transferred.

"The food is better here, but it would be more interesting to have teachers, so we could get new ideas," he said.

Teachers do work in some prisons, however, among them Ilguciems women's prison, where the juvenile block consists of a group of small rooms and a grassless garden.

"Prison can succeed in rehabilitating people," says psychologist Alexandra Kiselova, who works there. "I worked for a year with one girl who used to break furniture when she got angry. After she was released she started a new life and continued her education. She got a job and now helps parents of young offenders."

The idea of starting a new life seems popular among the girls at Ilguciems, among them 17-year-old Nastya, in prison for eight months so far and due to serve another one and half years for repeated shoplifting. She has written four letters appealing against her conviction but has received no response.

"I don't know when I will get a reply," she says. "I want to finish school. Then I'd like to do a nursing course and start my own cosmetology firm."

Nastya holds out one arm to show there are no marks. But several of those she lives with bear numerous scars from self-inflicted knife wounds.

While agreeing that prison can be "degrading" Kiselova emphasizes the girls' own characters when explaining their behavior, rather than prison conditions.

"The juveniles don't know what they want and don't want to change themselves," she said.

"They are often very aggressive. They quarrel and hit each other."

The price for such aggression can be round-the-clock confinement in a punishment cell, described by 16-year-old Katya as "cold and boring," for between three and 10 days. Such measures are only taken in "very extreme situations in response to very fierce, bad behavior," said Zahars.

But two of Ilguciems' 12 juveniles are frequently put in punishment cells, says Kiselova. Katya, halfway through a three-year sentence for robbery, has been confined in a punishment cell on 12 occasions for breaking furniture.

"I was sick the last time I came back," she said.

But such confinement may not have been the best solution in Katya's case, says Kiselova.

"We're trying to do something new, to speak to her. When she received a bad letter from home a few days ago she couldn't control herself and started breaking furniture. We wrote a letter together on the computer."

Ilguciems careworker Aneta Rakovsko is keen to help the young people in her care, but says she is hampered by bureaucracy and underfunding.

"To get anything we have to go through awful form-filling. My husband asks me where my money is because I pay for equipment myself," she said.

Young people should only be imprisoned as a last resort, says Kamenska. Poor or abusive conditions at home or on the streets do not justify imprisonment, she says. Creation of a West European-style probation service is therefore essential.

"All possible options to keep juveniles out of prison should be developed. This includes using shelters and foster families," she said. "There should be probation officers to evaluate the offender's background and then suggest measures, alcohol treatment for example, or a basic skills program. At the moment a juvenile can't demonstrate willingness to undergo rehabilitation before his or her trial because there are no programs."

But there are signs of progress. A probation service is likely to be established in the town of Cesis with assistance from the Soros Foundation and the Canadian Criminal Justice Reform Program, says Kamenska.

A government working group has been formed to examine alternative sentencing options. It has sought expert advice from the United Nations Development Program, according to a report by Andrejs Berzins, of the Canadian Criminal Justice Reform Program.

Justice Minister Ingrida Labucka accepts some criticism of the length of pre-trial detention in Latvia but says things are changing as judges and prosecutors are trained, with the help of Swedish, Norwegian and German prison officers.

"Lengthy pre-trial detention is a particular problem in Riga," she said. "We want the criminal process to be quicker, but pre-trial detention periods in Latvia as a whole are normal, despite certain well-publicized cases."

But Kamenska denies that excessively long pre-trial detention is an exception to the norm. A recent report on Brasas prison by Zahars demonstrates the scale of the problem, she says. In February, 40 juveniles in Brasas had been awaiting trial for six months to one year, 50 had been waiting for one to two years, and 28 had been awaiting trial for more than two years.

Labucka's claims that the problem is confined to Riga is also undermined by the fact that many prisoners come from homes away from the capital.

One person under few illusions about the present system's inadequacy is Ainars Laitans, deputy governor of Brasas.

"We need something new for juveniles," he said. "I don't want former prisoners to say I did something wrong, if I meet one on the trolley bus, for example. They're our citizens. It's our responsibility to give justice to all, including those on the inside."