2 January 2000
Jailed for doing her job
The sentencing to prison of two charity
workers has shocked and scandalised Cambridge
By Nick Cohen
On 17 December at King's Lynn Crown Court, a representative
section of the Cambridge intelligentsia was pushed as close as its good
manners and quiet temperament permitted to riot. Judge Jonathan Haworth,
a new beak who has been delivering stern sentences from the moment his
bottom hit the bench, put Ruth Wyner and John Brock on the casualty list
of the unwinnable war on drugs.
Their punishment was commonplace, but their offence
was distinctive. No one suggested they were heroin dealers or users. The
prosecution didn't allege that they were money launderers, racketeers taking
protection money, or Channel Island bankers wary of inquiring too closely
about the provenance of the large piles of notes that passed through entrepreneurs'
accounts. The hapless couple didn't look like gangsters; to be frank, no
drug baron would have been seen dead in their mousy clothes.
By the standards of what used to be conventional
morality, Wyner and Brock were admirable people who had followed the instructions
of Tony Blair and Louise Casey, his Homelessness Tsarina, and got beggars
off the streets and in to Wintercomfort, an acclaimed network of refuges
in Cambridge that supplied hot food, tea, washing machines, baths, GPs,
advice on finding homes and jobs and, indeed, rehabilitation from drug
addiction.
Haworth was unimpressed. The jury had found them
guilty of allowing the sale of heroin at their day centres and they had
to be punished for their 'deliberately obstructive' behaviour. As he wound
himself up with ever more chilling descriptions of their 'perverse' refusal
to show remorse and the 'dreadful circumstances' at Wintercomfort, spectators
didn't need Mystic Meg to predict the sequel. One fraught woman interrupted
his harangue with a shout of: 'I was on drugs for 20 years until Wintercomfort
helped me.' She was silenced. The judge gave Ruth Wyner five years and
John Brock four - harsher punishments than he had imposed on the heroin
dealers who had been netted in their hostels.
They gripped the dock rail. Catcalls and sobs filled
the courtroom. Wyner's 21-year-old son, Joel, bellowed at the judge: 'You
scum. You ought to be arrested.' But it was the young man who was arrested
and ordered to apologise or be sent to join his mother in the cells for
contempt of court. The hard-man act over, Haworth made a characteristically
modern switch from brutalism to sentimentality and cooed his best wishes
to the charity's appalled volunteers and patrons. 'Finally, I wish to say
a word to those who so selflessly give of their time and money to aid the
work of Wintercomfort. I hope they will emerge from this unhappy episode
strengthened in the knowledge that their purposes are laudable.'
His Pecksniffery was intolerable. The public in the
gallery stood up before he was half way through his peroration and walked
out. Gordon Wyner, Ruth's husband, tried to lunge at a policeman in the
corridor and had to be held back by his friends. The next night, 100 people
protested outside Parkside police station in Cambridge, where Wyner was
being held before being transported to Holloway, and picked an action committee
to organise an appeal.
Peter Bottomley, a Conservative MP with liberal leanings,
has put down questions in Parliament. The answers should make interesting
reading. The undercover police operation at Wintercomfort has not only
brought misfortune to the Wyner and Brock families but shown that the national
fad for zero tolerance not only encourages the hounding of the destitute
but also the persecution of those who help them.
In The Observer a few weeks ago, Louise Casey instructed
us to recognise that the greedy homeless were sponging off 'well-meaning
people' whose charity 'perpetuated the problem'. The metropolis, with its
anodyne culture, tacky domes, cigar bars and beguiling cuisines from all
over the globe, doesn't like its business disturbed by ragged bundles in
doorways. The smug orthodoxy of the comfortable is not to blame for poverty
but the Salvation Army and the Big Issue, which pretend to want to clean
up the mess.
In many respects, Cambridge has been a better example
of the theme-park city than the capital. Its medieval architecture blends
with businesses in the vanguard of the new economy. The wealthier students
and silicon fenlanders have produced fantastically high house prices and
an atmosphere of hip propriety. Like London, it has attracted tramps, in
part because there are generous tourists to tap; in part because the poor,
like everyone else, prefer pleasant scenery to a slum.
Sooner or later, they heard about Ruth Wyner and
Wintercomfort. By most accounts, she is an inspirational woman. Alexander
Masters, an author who helps out at the charity, spoke for many when he
said: 'I'm absolutely devoted to her, she's marvellous.' Wyner began work
with the homeless when her brother had a breakdown, took to the streets
and ended up diving to his death from the top floor of a hostel. Under
her
leadership, it won £400,000 of lottery money for a new shelter. Cambridge
academics - the vice chancellor of the University, theologians and dons
- gave their support. She became a celebrity who was often in the local
press.
On one occasion, she warned about the spread of drugs
after a man had died of a heroin overdose in a Wintercomfort bathroom.
For all that, she had her enemies. 'Some saw her as a modern saint,' said
a Cambridge lawyer. 'To others, she was a middle-class do-gooder … a pointy
head and ageing hippy who had probably tried drugs herself at some point
and was certainly bringing addicts into the city.' The neighbours of the
new day centre she wanted to open protested noisily and a faction within
Cambridgeshire police's criminal investigation department decided to go
for her.
At first sight, they appeared to have an impossible
task. Homelessness and drug taking go together (if you need to ask why
they search for oblivion, you should try to get out more). The simple division
between drug users and dealers breaks down on the briefest of examinations.
Many desperate people buy drugs, sell half at a small profit and take the
rest themselves. They're scarcely Napoleons of crime. A confusingly named
Inspector Constable sat on the charity's advisory board but never warned
Wyner she faced prosecution. When the police told her that drugs were on
sale, she banned anyone dealing in or suspected of dealing in drugs from
the centres. Constable agreed her policy was sensible and all appeared
well. But Cambridgeshire CID wanted her to take zero tolerance a step further
by giving them the names of the alleged dope peddlers.
At this point, Wyner drew the line. She had to defend
confidentiality. If everyone who took drugs thought that they would be
shopped, trust would evaporate and her lectures on the virtues of detoxification
would play to an empty auditorium. Faced with such an unpromising inquiry,
the authorities' determination to destroy her necessitated weird and expensive
tactics. Two officers, codenamed Ed and Swampy, posed as derelicts and
hung around Wintercomfort as agents provocateurs. They asked to buy heroin
and recorded the transactions on hidden cameras. In all, 300 hours of surveillance
tape were collected.
Buried in the footage were shots of £10 packages
of heroin being exchanged in handshakes. None of the cameras caught Wyner
or any other member of the small staff nodding approvingly in the background.
The case seemed weak and the internal politics of the Cambridgeshire force
muddle-headed. Wyner and Brock's lawyers expected it to be thrown out by
the judge as an abuse of the judicial process. But Judge Haworth and the
prosecutors said dealers were coming from miles to deliver the global smack
market to its customers (one crook, who turned queen's evidence, claimed
to be making £1,000 a week) and concluded that Wyner must, somehow,
have known what was going on.
The judge was so keen to issue draconian punishments
that he allegedly boasted at a soirée about the sentences he was
preparing to hand down. In an affidavit which will be presented to the
Court of Appeal, Karim Khalil, Wyner's barrister, said he was putting his
wig on in the court robing room on the day his client was due to be sentenced
when he was told Haworth, while tucking into his food at a dinner party,
had told fellow diners that he was going to send the charity workers down.
You might say - it is already being said - that Wyner
and Brock have well placed and articulate defenders and the Court of Appeal
will surely let them out of jail. I wouldn't necessarily be confident that
the senior judiciary will slap down Haworth, a judge whose empathy with
the prejudices of these hard times foretells rapid promotion. Even if they
are released, much damage will have been done.
Wyner, as you would expect, is holding up well in
Holloway. In a prison letter to her friends, she says she is 'feeling a
lot more cheerful'. After a 'hellish journey' and a 'difficult couple of
days', she overcame her problems with 'one of the screws' and had 'quickly
developed my prison defences'. John Brock is another matter. He was a signwriter
who gave up his reasonably steady job to work for the charity. He collapsed
after his arrest. When the chaplain at Bedford jail phoned his wife before
Christmas, her first thought was that he had killed himself.
Sceptical journalists - your correspondent included
- tend to mock the tough love of the Prime Minister and his tsars and tsarinas
as mere posturing. It's a little too easy to forget that the wretched and
the few who want to do something about their condition suffer for their
babble.
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