Why finland is soft on crime

This violent history hardened Finnish attitudes toward crime and punishment. Long prison sentences in austere conditions were standard. In the s, Finland's incarceration rate was prisoners per , people — a normal rate for East Bloc countries such as Poland and Czechoslovakia where justice systems had been Sovietized, but four times the rate in Sweden, Norway, and Denmark.

In the s, Finland began edging cautiously toward reform, using its Scandinavian neighbors as models. Nils Christie, a renowned Norwegian criminologist, recalls speaking to Finnish judges and criminologists in Helsinki in At the time, Mr. Christie and others were developing the first international comparisons of prison populations, so he was the first to tell the Finns that their incarceration rate was totally unlike that of their Scandinavian neighbors and was "really in the Russian tradition.

Ultimately, says Tapio Lappi-Seppala, the director of the Finnish National Research Institute of Legal Policy, an agreement was reached that "our position was a kind of disgrace. Lappi-Seppala emphasizes. It was a coherent approach. In , the laws allowing repeat criminals to be held indefinitely were changed to apply only to dangerous, violent offenders. The use of conditional sentences in which offenders avoid prison if they obey certain conditions was greatly expanded.

Community service was introduced. Prisoners may be considered for parole after serving just 14 days; even those who violate parole and are returned to prison are eligible for parole again after one month. And for those who aren't paroled, there is early release: All first- time offenders are let out after serving just half their sentences, while other prisoners serve two- thirds. Mediation was also implemented, allowing willing victims and offenders to discuss if the offender can somehow set things right.

Lappi- Seppala, but "in minor crimes, you may escape prosecution or you may get a reduction in your sentence. Juvenile justice was also liberalized.

Criminals aged 15 to 21 can only be imprisoned for extraordinary reasons — and even then, they are released after serving just one-third of their time. Children under the age of 15 cannot be charged with a crime. The most serious crimes can still be punished with life sentences but these are now routinely commuted, and the prisoner released, as early as 10 years into the sentence and no longer than 15 or 16 years.

The Finns retain a power similar to Canada's "dangerous offender" law: persons found to be repeat, serious, violent offenders with a high likelihood of committing new violent crimes can be held until they are determined to no longer be a threat to the public. There are now 80 such offenders in prison and they, like Canada's dangerous offenders, are unlikely to ever be released. One especially critical change was the creation of sentencing guidelines that set shorter norms.

Similar guidelines are used in the United States, but many of those restrict judges' discretion — Finnish judges remain free to sentence outside the norm if they feel that is appropriate.

These guidelines were also the product of extensive discussions among judges and other officials in the justice system, unlike American guidelines which were, in most cases, simply imposed on judges by politicians. Despite the enormous changes in Finnish criminal justice, crime has never been a political issue.

That's still true today. Even Finnish victims of crime seem to be satisfied with that approach. Victims' organizations act as support groups, not political lobbies, says Markku Salminen, the head of prisons. There are so many feelings," he says.

From prisoners per , people in the s, Finland now has 52 per ,, a rate slightly lower than those of Sweden, Norway, and Denmark. Finland's tiny prison population is the result of vigorous efforts to settle criminal cases with anything but jail time. In , there were 64, convictions. These resulted in 36, fines, 30, conditional sentences, and 3, community service orders. There were just 6, actual prison sentences — fewer than 10 percent of the convictions.

By contrast, in the same year, roughly one-third of criminal convictions in Canadian courts resulted in prison sentences. On any given day, there are about 2, prisoners in Finland's prisons. There are incarcerated young offenders between the ages of 18 and 21; there are just eight young offenders aged 15 to 17 behind bars.

Enormous as the change shown by these numbers may be, it represents only half of Finland's experiment in criminal justice policy. The other transformation occurred inside the country's prisons. With the justice revolution launched in the late s, the idea that tough prisons deterred crime was junked. We try to take care of those problems to increase the chance that they will live a life without crime after they are released.

To a traveller passing by on the road, it could easily be mistaken for a community college. Even driving into the prison, you pass no guardhouses, walls or razor wire. It can be a little confusing. Speaking with Mr. Aaltonen in his office, I had to ask the director if we were in fact inside the prison. He assured me we were. Hameenlinna has security, of course. Buried wires in the perimeter detect motion and trigger alarms, but guards are almost never armed.

Only one guard on the night shift carries a pistol, while the prison's remaining armaments — several more pistols — are stored in a safe. Nightsticks are available but, says Mr. Aaltonen with a smile, they too are stored away and "if anybody wants to use one he has to write an application form to the director. Almost one-third of Finland's prisoners are housed in "open institutions," which are essentially halfway houses that allow prisoners to work in the community and to travel as long as they return at night.

Any prisoner, regardless of his crime, can apply for transfer to an open institution when he has fewer than three years remaining on his sentence. Prisons like Hameenlinna can afford to be so open because of Finland's inmate population.

Unlike many countries' prison systems, which are at or above capacity, Finland's prisons use less than three- quarters of their space. The 70 male and 80 female prisoners in Hameenlinna are outnumbered by the prison's staff. The other is that prisoners control themselves.

And I trust this second idea, that criminals have to decide that they don't want a criminal life. Salminen's prisons, staff handle prisoners not with force and physical control, but with a level of familiarity, concern and engagement that is possible only with small prison populations. As we walk through the hallways of Hameenlinna, Merja Toivonen, a study counselor, greets people by name.

Whether they are staff or prisoners isn't clear since both wear civilian clothes. Toivonen seems to know everybody, and treats them with equal decency.

Familiarity builds trust. It's why officials can allow a convicted murderer to attend a hairdressing class without a guard: They know him. Trust permeates the entire system. Salminen says with pride. The previous week he had been alone in a cell with a dangerous offender.

During the day, when prisoners are required to work or study, men and women mix freely. A classroom door swings open and half a dozen prisoners file out — maximum class size in Hameenlinna is eight students.

A prisoner, Ronja Siren, stays behind to talk. A number of prisoners have jobs with local businesses, while the rest perform tasks organised by the prison. Story continues after photo. The idea of self-sufficiency is apparent in every aspect of daily life at Ojoinen. There is no canteen, so the prisoners must shop for and prepare their own food. On the day Yle News visited Ojoinen, a local NGO was holding a cooking class with a group of prisoners - one of whom confessed to having never cooked a meal before coming to the camp.

Once the working day is over and the evening meal has been eaten and cleared away, the prisoners are free to spend their time as they wish. There are exercise areas, television rooms and many prisoners have video game consoles in their cells. Mikko, who served the first part of his sentence at a closed prison, welcomes the freedom of choice and movement that he enjoys at Ojoinen -- and the wider atmosphere it creates -- compared to his earlier prison experience.

They are completely different. I do not have to feel nervous at all," Mikko says. He is spending the final year of his 15 year sentence for murder at Ojoinen, and sees his time at the camp as a crucial step before he re-enters society. Since coming to Ojoinen Teemu has been able to kick his drug addiction and has also enrolled in a cookery course, from which he hopes to graduate at about the same time he is released from prison.

Although he knows getting a job in the outside world might be tough because of his criminal record, he is optimistic about his chances because of the education he has received and the many years of work experience he has accumulated while in prison.

Tammi-Moilanen acknowledges criticisms of the open prison system — that it is too lenient on criminals and too soft on crime — but she says her counter-argument is always that this system is the best option for society as a whole. With 5. Currently in Finland there are 11 open prisons and 15 closed prisons.

The stories include including articles in the US news network NBC siirryt toiseen palveluun , and the French state-owned international news television network France 24 siirryt toiseen palveluun. However, it also receives critical scrutiny much closer to home.

Former police officer and current Finns Party member of parliament Mika Raatikainen told Yle News that although the system works "quite well", there is still room for improvement. Raatikainen began his career with the Helsinki police department in as a uniformed patrol officer before moving on to investigating organised crime and drug gangs.

Researcher Tyni says it is difficult to find evidence to back up that view of criminal justice policy.

I met Erik in a Danish open prison where he was finishing a year sentence for a drug-related murder. He began addiction treatment and work toward his public-school diploma while awaiting the appeal of his case. He continued his studies while serving two years in a closed prison. Buildings erected in the 17th century house administrative offices and classrooms with carved moldings, fireplaces, and towering windows. There is no perimeter wall and no fences.

Prisoners work in a small dairy, or in three greenhouses raising organic herbs, zucchini, and cucumbers. Having done well in school his English is excellent , Erik is allowed to study full-time for his university degree. The housing unit has a clean, bright communal kitchen. Men cook together in order to save money. A bus takes them to a grocery where local citizens wait outside while the men shop.

Edvin, the director of education, is a tall man who dresses like a farmer and sits by quietly while I speak with Erik and two other men, who together represent the racial demographics in Scandinavian prisons as a whole: two are white natives and the third is a foreign-born man of color. All express thanks that they are not in one, let alone in the American prisons they have seen on TV.

On the last walk from the dairy down the gravel driveway, I learn why they trust Edvin. At the end of the drive, he stops and faces me. An officer that I spoke to expressed a similar sentiment. A breeze touched the leaves of the maple tree outside his window. Then it curled the corners of the pictures tacked and taped to the wall: Erik in a tux beside his silver-tiara-ed girl; he and friends on a beach with his dog, a dopey-looking setter.

Prisoners develop a sixth sense for the moods of others. He sensed that something was up. I looked at him. Jeremy has been in my maximum-security writing workshop for three years.

His major project has been a long essay about his crime. He was raised by an abusive stepfather who once held a gun to his head and threatened to kill him. On the street, he was harassed by a neighborhood bully. The bully was strong and tough but, unlike Jeremy, unpopular with girls.

Without a place of retreat either inside or outside his home, Jeremy decided to kill himself. He was high, but needed to get higher to work up his courage, when he ran into the bully outside a liquor store and shot him. Jeremy was With a merely competent lawyer his story might have played well with a jury, but he had no money for a real defense. I have listened to men complain about their cases, their do-nothing lawyers, about racism.

Jeremy does not complain. He can feel no more profound regret than he does already for the family of the young man he killed. He can feel no deeper remorse for his actions. Yet for another 18 years he will endure counselors many of them former guards who do little more than keep prisoner files in order.

He will continue the daily work of self-protection from men in need of mental health and addiction care. Jeremy is no longer the scared kid who pulled a trigger. He killed his crime partner, as he admits now, in large part to complete his street cred as a gangster.

Jake, too, takes the full weight for his crime. He was young and stupid. He believed that the man he killed had already gotten away with murder. This was all part of a self-credentialing plan.

He went to trial with a legendary defense lawyer, and lost. He carries the lights-out years that Jeremy bargained out of. And every night that we sit discussing his essays about his crime, his regrets, or his research into theories of criminal deterrence, I can see and hear him continue an internal wrestling match.

The self-loathing that wells up from thinking about the destructive arrogance of his crime grapples with resentment at the destructive stupidity of the prison. Yet their regret is regularly overshadowed by anger against the arbitrary suffering that the prison perpetrates. These older, wiser men, like Kenneth Hartman, know this is the toughest challenge inside.

The chaos of the life that put them in prison eventually evolves into the self-understanding that comes with age and assuming the weight of their crimes. But then begins the daily labor of denying the prison its power to turn them into the animals it sees in condemned people. As Rutgers University professor of education, Benjamin Justice, and Yale Law professor Tracey Meares observe , the overt curriculum of the system is about fairness, due process, and protection of law-abiding citizens.

Though many praise individuals who have helped them inside, not one essay among several hundred expresses the belief that the system exists at its current scale for any other reason than the tax-funded profits and jobs it provides.

Beatings and purely arbitrary punishment are the norm. Health care is poor when it is not dangerous. In many facilities, programs for addicts and alcoholics who make up 85 percent of those convicted of violent crimes are so inadequate that the names on waiting lists today will wait decades for help.