Prison terms are meant to serve as punishment for serious crimes and as deterrents against repeat offences. In India, the prison system is failing on both counts. A Jharkhand government initiative is promising to offer a new model of incarceration, and all of India must pay heed. The state is giving voice to its prisoners, publishing their poems, writings and art for public consumption. In a country where prisoners are largely shamed and treated as outcasts even after they have served their sentences, Jharkhand’s attempts to humanize them is creditworthy. That a government — whose lawyers are the ones who sent the prisoners to jail — is leading this initiative is particularly impressive. This is not just a sensitive and modern approach to the treatment of prisoners: ultimately, Jharkhand’s effort goes to the heart of justice itself.

More than 60 per cent of India’s prisoners are undertrials, often languishing in jail for several years even before they get to defend themselves in court. They are innocent under law, until they are proven guilty. Yet, they are victims of a process that moves at a glacial pace, with a backlog of cases overburdening courts. Giving them an opportunity to express themselves and communicate with the outside world is the least that the country’s judicial system owes them. Governments — including Jharkhand’s — must not stop there. Country after country is revisiting its prison policies, instituting reforms. Uganda, Tanzania and Kenya are addressing the problem of overcrowded jails by asking those convicted of smaller offences to perform social service instead. Others are adopting even more radical methods: a set of Brazilian prisons offers inmates keys to their cells. No one chooses to leave.

It is legitimate to ask why governments and societies should invest resources and ideas into making lives better for prisoners — especially those who have been convicted. But if the aim of jails is to eventually reduce crime, the answer is clear. Seven out of every 100 Indian convicts return to prison for fresh crimes, a clear indication that something is not working as it should. The good news? Reforms can dramatically alter that equation. A path-breaking cognitive psychologist, Beena Chintalapuri, for instance, holds four-week programmes where she trains inmates in cognitive behavioural psychology. Once trained, the prisoners, in turn, serve as therapists for cellmates. The result? Ms Chintalapuri’s intervention has brought recidivism rates down from 80 per cent to 1 per cent in some Telangana jails. Meanwhile, 7,000 kilometres away in Norway, Bastoy is a prison island that houses murderers and rapists, among others. But each inmate has access to television and computers; in their free time, they can swim, catch fish or simply lounge on deck chairs. Bastoy’s model, which has resulted in the lowest recidivism rate in Scandinavia, might be too ambitious for India right away. Jharkhand’s example is not. To be tough against crime, Indian governments must learn to be softer towards prisoners. It works.