EVERY now and then we hear good news from Corrective Services.
Rehabilitation programmes are beginning to have a positive effect at various jails around the country.
Millions are being poured into the rehabilitation of jails throughout the country.
Juveniles in some prisons will be separated from hard core adults and will have their own accommodation.
We applaud each and every one of these initiatives and many others that are reported from time to time.
But nothing can take away from the stream of escapees from jails all over the country.
Literally hundreds of pri­soners have escaped from our jails over the past two years. Some have been recaptured.
While zero tolerance of jail escapees might be ideal, we in common with most of the public would probably settle for a sharp reduction in those who appear to be able to depart their cells at will.
It’s no joke.
Women are understandably afraid of jail escapees.
They’re even more so when those convicts are serving sentences for aggravated assault, gang-rape or murder.
A rape victim, or a witness to a murder who can identify the criminals concerned are terrified when they read the news that these people have found their way out of jail.
We are told, over and over again, that there are grand plans for rebuilding impossibly overcrowded jails.
High security prisons are also allegedly on the books.
We know full well that the budget of a developing country needs to be composed of high quality elastic if all the obvious needs are to be met and met quickly.
But we also know that PNG has had the singular good fortune to possess a diversity of raw materials, many of which can currently achieve almost unbelievable prices on the world market.
The consequent improvement in available funds has meant that many projects that have been sitting on the shelf can now be revived.
In the context of that improvement people are entitled to ask how the present situation on Manus can have deve­loped and how much longer it will continue.
Through years of neglect the Manus cells reached the point where their further use became impossible.
All that was left was a small cell block attached to the police station.
The jail has now been closed for most of this year, despite promises at that time that it would be reconstructed and soon back in operation.
The reality is very different.
While waiting for the jail construction blitzkrieg to begin, those found guilty of crimes for which a custodial sentence has been handed down are supposed to have been sent to Kerevat prison.
During a recent court sitting on Manus, the judge convicted 20 men of a variety of charges, including manslaughter, rape, armed robbery and sexual pe­netration of a minor.
All the prisoners concerned have been sentenced to at least five years in jail; others have longer sentences to serve.
The judge ordered the pri­soners to be transferred to Kerevat but it seems the police force is still waiting for tickets from the Correctional Services headquarters.
The Manus police station cells are designed to hold no more than 18 prisoners – and even that figure leads to overcrowding.
But at the moment there are reportedly 50 people crammed into those cells while other prisoners supposedly en route to Kerevat roam freely.
Assuming that story to be correct, there are some obvious concerns.
First, the people of Manus must not be exposed to criminals who may choose to take revenge on innocent citizens.
The public is not responsible for housing convicts but the Corrective Service and the Police Force are jointly responsible for protecting the same public.
And second, PNG is breaking United Nations conventions by holding 50 people in a space designed for no more than 18, a situation reminiscent of the notorious black hole of Calcutta of the 19th century.
Prisoners must be treated with humanity and not with “cruel and unusual punishment.”
While there may be some delay in funding the new Manus jail, there can be no excuse whatever for not finding the fares for 20 men to be transferred from Lorengau to Kerevat.
The people of Manus rightly demand immediate action.