Fraternising with the inmates

It was the scariest day in Albie Smit’s new career – the day he lost his job as a youth care worker – and got it back again.

Albie was two weeks into his new job. He had been sitting with young Henk who had actually been sent to the State Youth Center because of his part in a group assault case. The boy knew he had been wrong to run with that crowd, but had neverthess taken part in an ugly fight in which another kid had been injured. “Six months and a further six probation,” the judge had said.

Henk had been resentful to start with, and kept to himself. But after classes one day he had bumped into Albie Smit. Albie was reading a newspaper which was open to the sports pages. Albie smiled at the boy and asked “Do you follow football?” Henk spun around to see if the man had been speaking to someone else, but there was nobody else there. He mumbled something and went on his way. Albie was a relatively new staff member, he thought, and no adult in the place had ever said anything remotely friendly to him. But this man had seemed to be friendly – and football certainly was one of his interests.

Next day Henk was further surprised when Albie came up to him outside the gym and pushed the day’s paper towards him, pointed at a story and said: “Read what happened in last night’s match – let me have the paper back when you’re finished.” It was the beginning of a tentative friendship. The two of them shared an interest in the local team, talked about it a couple of times, and soon chatted about other things.

Two days later Albie’s senior unexpectedly called him in. “You’re in deep trouble, Smit,” he said. “The unit supervisor wants to see you. He’s in his office with the staff review panel ...”

* * *

Albie entered the office. It had been rearranged like a courtroom! One lone chair in the middle of the room, and three people (one of whom he recognised as the unit supervisor) behind a table a little way off. “Sit down, please, Mr Smit.”

Albie was baffled. The formality of the room was intimidating enough, but the three panel members looked at him as though he was the fox who had stolen all the chickens.

“The respondent has been fraternising with the inmates,” said the middle person severely. “What do you have to say?” All three looked at him.

After an awkward minute’s silence, Albie spoke.

"I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t understand one word in your sentence.”

The chairman (or judge, whatever he was) sighed impatiently. “You have been observed in situations of unseemly over-familiarity with your charges.”

Albie stood up, to everyone’s surprise, mostly his own.

"I’m sorry, sir. I seem to have come into the wrong room, or else you were wanting someone else. I’m Albie Smit, and I just work with the kids here.” He waited for the light to dawn on their faces that they had made a mistake, and to be dismissed.

The chairman, a big man, also stood up. He glanced quickly at his two panelists and said: “Listen carefully, Mr Smit. You have been seen being friendly with one of the boys here, sitting with him, talking, laughing, exchanging books and things. Are you guilty of this – yes or no?”

Albie felt that it was important to remain standing. He was beginning to understand – and the understanding disturbed him. He spoke with some emotion.

"No, sir. I have not been friendly, sitting, talking, laughing and exchanging things with one boy. I have been doing all these things with twelve boys – the twelve boys in the group I work with on my shifts. I have not seen anyone else talk with them, let alone sit and laugh with them. And this has surprised me. I know that these young people have come here through the court, and I know that none of them is an angel. But your advertisement for this post said that you wanted someone who could be a “positive influence” on them, and I cannot see how I could be a positive influence on them if I didn’t get to know them, talk with them, learn their interests, share their hopes – and their laughs.”

The three men behind their big table were silent. Albie Smit couldn’t tell whether they were silent with rage and were preparing a new attack – or whether they were thinking ...

The thought crossed his mind that if were about to lose his job, he might as well lose it in noble battle:

"I thought that the other staff members were just a bad-tempered and hostile lot. But if they are treating the boys with disrespect and unkindness because you want them to ... then it is you who are guilty of an injustice, not I. I have two children at home, a girl of sixteen and a boy of twelve. My wife and I love those kids and they know we do. We thought that we could share something of that experience with other young people who needed it.” A pause, during which nobody said a word. “If you want me to work with these boys on that basis, well, I am here. If you want anything less, then you must rephrase your advertisement.”

"You know where to find me. If you want to fire me or discipline me or intimidate me into your way of “looking after” young people, then you may find me with my twelve kids – who must be wondering where I am.”

* * *

Albie Smit was shaking like a leaf when he left the room. He had never ever been in a situation which required such talk and such honesty. And such courage! It led to a dramatic change in the three men. And in the place. All three of the men were fathers, and had somehow drawn a black line separating their family life and their work at the Youth Center. No doubt there had been people before them – supervisors, team leaders, administrators – who had passed on these punitive traditions, and even maintained them because they thought they “were the right way” to do things. You got a promotion because you bought into the system!

Well, all this was in 1993. If you visit the Youth Center today you will find a group of people who think differently – people who realise that whether you work in the best high schools or in the humblest youth centres, you are responsible for preparing kids to live in the same world that you do. The lawns are not mown as a punishment, but because they are used for ball games (and for fun and skills-building) – and for sitting and talking.

And you will find a group of kids who recognise that the adults who work with them are wanting to put behind them the crimes that brought them here, and to find better ways forward that build them as people, workers, husbands, fathers, who can find fulfilment, love and meaning in the common world that awaits them.

And the Director is a man called Albie Smit – no, you won’t find him in the office; you will find him in the student cafeteria (not the inmates' “mess hall”!) sharing a meat pie and salad lunch with young Mike Meyer, who is here for a rather ugly gang fight in which another kid was injured ...　　