Research in Prison

Abstract

After the guard had led me through a series of locked doors, we were inside the cell block. The guard and I sat in the guardroom in the Oslo Prison and went through the lists. Pakistanis, Somalis, Iraqis or Norwegians, I said, between the age of 16 and 26. Are there any? No, there weren’t any more informants in that category. We had interviewed the last ones yesterday. I noticed a name on the list and I gasped, “Usman Mohammed. What about him?” “No, he’s too dangerous.” “Dangerous?” I asked, picturing a charming, shy little four-year-old boy in a rural village in Pakistan. That was twenty years ago. Could it be him? The son of Samina? A quiet, shy little fellow. Good-looking, with an open expression. They lived in a village in Eastern Norway, but he had been living in Pakistan a full year when I met him there. I told the guard that I wanted to talk with this young man. It’s not safe, was the answer I got. The man had knocked down a guard the week before. Nevertheless one of the female guards tried to arrange a meeting. “He’s so depressed. He has no visitors. Maybe she could make contact with him.”