What is the last thing that you would give convicts jailed for offences such as murder, mugging, theft and drug-dealing? A bicycle and an invitation to pedal off, perhaps. In that case you would be out of tune with the aspirations of the French Prison Service, which has released almost 200 criminals to cycle around the country on what is officially called the Penitentiary Tour de France 2009.
The initiative is part of a plan to empty France’s overcrowded and under-financed jails — although not, it has to be stressed, by encouraging a mass break-out. No, the cyclists are expected to return to their cells enriched by the values of team sport and self-responsibility and ready for early release.
It is a bold scheme — especially since it appears to fly in the face of President Sarkozy’s tough law-and-order policies — but prison service officials were visibly delighted as the race got underway in Villeneuve d’Ascq in northern France last week. For once, they were not having to fend off questions about suicides, violence or strikes. Instead, the talk was all about personal achievement, companionship, calf muscles and saddles.
Amid the emotion generated by the penal version of France’s greatest annual sporting event, no one mentioned the crimes that had landed the cyclists in jail. Indeed, we had all signed a French Government form stipulating that their criminal records should not be evoqu?s”. And the inmates themselves seemed more concerned with the challenge ahead than the temptation to escape during the 14 days on the road.
If you ignored the Ministry of Justice sweatbands, it could almost have been the real Tour de France. Les coureurs cyclistes were dressed in tight, white shorts and shirts bearing the names of their sponsors, which include the French national lottery. They had lost their prison pallor after weeks of outdoor training, and they were surrounded by all the paraphernalia of Le Tour, as it is commonly known — medical vans, gendarmerie outriders and an inflatable arch to mark the start and finish of each leg.
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A total of 196 inmates have been given permission by a judge to leave their cells and take part in the event, which will cover 2,200km from the start in Villeneuve d’Ascq to the finish in Paris on June 19. An official described them as “representative” of the prison population as a whole, having between them convictions for murder, assault, robbery, theft and drug-dealing. They face sentences ranging from six months to 15 years and release dates extending until 2013. Many more wanted to join the race, but were refused authorisation because they were deemed unfit, unmotivated or untrustworthy A total of 190 or so guards, sports instructors and other prison workers will also be pedalling along: as team-mates, they say, and not as a security force to stop the convicts from getting away. That would be contrary to the spirit of an initiative that is being touted as a pathway to social reintegration for those taking part and an example for those left behind.
“The whole idea is to show the inmates that we trust them,” says Alain J?go, the director of the penitentiary services in northern France. “Of course, there is a small risk, but if you don’t take risks you can never hope to reintegrate any prisoners in society.”
Between the 15 legs, for instance, the cyclists are being lodged in tourist hotels. “They’ll be able to go out in the evening if they want,” says Jean Salom?, a sports instructor at Arras prison near Villeneuve d’Ascq. “We’re not going to put a policeman outside their bedrooms.”
Even the six gendarmes following the tour on their motorbikes say that their role is to protect the prisoners from tractors, lorries and the other hazards of French country roads rather than controlling them. “For us, the job is just as same as on the real Tour,” a spokesman for the gendarmerie says.
There are, however, differences from the professional Tour de France, which starts next month. For one thing, the penal version will not attract 15 million spectators; more like a few dozen family members happy to see loved ones outside a prison visiting room. For another, only 18 of the competitors — of whom 12 are guards and six are inmates — have been allowed to complete the full course. The rest will undertake two legs each before a return to jail.
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It is not really a race either, since no one is permitted to sprint out of le peloton — the leading group of riders. Officially, the rule has been laid down to foster harmony and cohesion. But it is difficult to avoid the suspicion that it may also be designed to stop a Lance Armstrong-inspired burst for freedom.
The setting for the launch of Le Tour de France Cycliste P?nitentiaire 2009 was appropriately incongruous — being held at a leisure complex built by the Decathlon chain of sports shops, which is sponsoring the event to the tune of €135,000. As parents pushed trolley-loads of tennis rackets, swimwear and running shoes out of the Decathlon store, the convicts were called into a reception room to listen to speeches about the uplifting importance of sport.
In many ways, the prison guards were even more enthusiastic than their charges. Eric, who works at Bapaume prison and has been training with Nouredine, a 45-year-old inmate serving a three-year sentence, says: “I have shown Nouredine all around the battlefields of the Somme. It’s very rewarding for me to get to know a prisoner as a person and not just as a number.” The contrast with his usual routine is stark. Last month, Eric joined 4,000 guards in nationwide demonstrations in favour of better funding for the country’s prisons.
They were backed by Markus Jaeger, the deputy director for human rights at the Council of Europe, who told a symposium in Paris that French jails were the worst he had seen outside Moldavia. (A total of 115 prisoners committed suicide last year; 59 have already done so this year.) Not only are they run-down, they are also overcrowded, with 63,351 inmates in establishments designed for a maximum of 52,535 — largely as a result of the 24 law-and-order Bills introduced by Sarkozy during his tenure as Interior Minister and more recently as President.
No wonder, then, that governors have been trying to ease the strain. They allow prisoners to buy food in jail shops and cook it themselves on stoves in their cells, for instance. Increasingly, they turn a blind eye to sex during visits under a policy of tolerance highlighted by the regular arrival of b?b?s parloirs, as the babies conceived in such circumstances are known.
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Televisions have become common in cells. In Arras prison, inmates even have a subscription to Canal Plus, the channel that provides football, films and pornography. Courtyard walkabouts have also been extended — they are now from 9am to 11am and 2pm to 5pm. One prisoner says: “We go out to talk about anything and everything whatever the weather.” Early release schemes are flourishing, too: 11.8 per cent of inmates’ prison terms were commuted into sentences to be served in the community last year — twice as many as in 2006.
As the race got underway, there was no way of telling the guards from the guarded: in his red headscarf, Mr Salome looks more like a convict than his charge Ch?rif, 38, who is three quarters of the way through a two-year sentence in Arras. After ten day-long outings during training for the tour, the prisoner had acquired a healthy tan, a happy-go-lucky demeanour and an infectious enthusiasm for riding a bicycle.
“It’s a gift for me to me able to go out and do some sport,” he told me before the ride started. “Usually at this time of day, I’d be walking around the prison courtyard looking at the prison walls. Today, I’m going off to see the countryside. How could anyone not appreciate that?”
Ch?rif was confident of completing the initial leg of 56.2km, but more worried about the second, of 187.8km. “It’s more than I’ve ever done in one go,” he said. “But I’ll do my best. It’s a personal challenge for me to finish it.”
Whatever the outcome, he will be back on the saddle as soon as he got the chance. “I used to think that cycling was for pansies in nappies,” he said. “Now I know that it’s a sport for real men.”
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And indeed real women. Among the 23 prisoners participating in the first two legs were three female inmates, including Florence, who is serving four years in Sequedin jail, just outside Lille. The tall, thin 26-year-old, who cut an unlikely figure with her red hair rinse and black nail varnish, said that for her the event was more than just an opportunity to get away from the prison laundry where she works from Monday to Friday. It was a chance to prove to herself, to her family and to her seven-year-old son that “I am capable of achieving something.
“My son said he’d be proud of me for doing it. This is something to remember, something worthwhile.”