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'I Thought I was in a Zoo. It Was Scary'
Kiran Bedi transformed a hellhole jail in India into a global model for prison reform. Read how
By MEENAKSHI GANGULY

December 6, 2000
Web posted at 7:10 p.m. Hong Kong time, 6:10 a.m. EDT

New Delhi's Tihar Jail has gone from being an unruly hellhole to a global model for prison reform. And the person to thank is Kiran Bedi (www.kiranbedi.com), a crusading policewoman whose reforms transformed Asia's largest prison into the showcase it is today. Bedi was posted to Tihar in 1993 as "punishment" -- government ministers disliked her -- but she quickly turned the job around, introducing reforms such as meditation, and winning the Ramon Magsaysay award for government service in 1994. In 1995, though, she was transferred, and was later given responsibility for police officer training. Bedi talked to South Asia correspondent Meenakshi Ganguly about the challenges she has faced. Edited excerpts:

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TIME: It must be very hard to be a good officer in a system that is as corrupt as the one in India?
Bedi: Totally. In fact, if you are 100% honest, efficient, and a professional, it is very difficult. The police force loves you. It admires you. And it cries when you leave. But those outside the force, particularly the bureaucrats, do not tolerate you, especially if you are at the top.

TIME: What happens to people who want to be good officers?
Bedi: People are not fighting battles anymore. They are reconciling. They are adjusting. They think why should we fight a losing battle?

TIME: Why do you fight these battles?
Bedi: Some people are born to challenge injustice. And they learn it early in life.

TIME: Why are there so few people like you in the police service? Have they deliberately stopped selecting people like you?
Bedi: It is not that they don't pick people like me. I think some people just choose to adapt -- they use their survival instincts. That is why you end up with an almost spineless leadership. That is why we don't have major changes and innovations. Because major changes never happen without questioning the system.

TIME: Is that what you did when you took over at Tihar Jail? Questioned the system?
Bedi: Yes. A prison is a holding institution to correct people, not to punish them, for you have already punished them the moment they enter the jail. You have taken away their liberty, their choices, their clothes... But if you take away their liberty plus hurt them, then they will hurt society more when they leave prison. They would go wild. Therefore it is safer to change them while they are inside -- at least in prison they are not committing any crimes. Everyone gains this way. By not correcting them in jail you will be punishing society. That is my basic philosophy.

TIME: What was it like when you started work at the jail?
Bedi: It was nothing but a holding [warehouse] of human beings. Inmates were left on their own, doing nothing. They did not know what time it was. They used to sleep during the day and keep awake at night. There were all kinds of wild calls at night when I used to check them. I thought I was in a zoo. It was so scary. They were making calls because most of them were on drugs, and some would be withdrawing because they had run out. During the days they were all fearful so they would keep quiet. But at night there was no fear because there was anonymity. One of the first steps I took was to separate the people who were on drugs -- and tried to rehabilitate them -- because they would keep everyone awake. That is how I got the prison to sleep again, to return to a normal body clock. Once that happened I said, "O.K., now you can go to school, play, clean yourselves up, cook for each other, meditate. There was no staff for these activities so we used the prisoners. The moment we gave them responsibility, they loved it. Because it gave them status. Not status of a murderer, but status of a teacher.

TIME: Didn't people resent the fact that you were fighting for the rights of imprisoned criminals?
Bedi: They did. Even government ministers at the time wondered why the prisoners were getting such good food. There are plenty of poor people outside, they said. But that did not affect me. O.K., they were ministers, but they did not know what they were talking about. They did not know what the prison was for.

TIME: How much of this respect for human rights were you taught as a trainee?
Bedi: In the police academies, nobody teaches the wrong thing. They always have the right concepts, the right books, the right messages. But it is the way you absorb it, and that depends on your inner sensitivity. So it varies from student to student. We received very sensitive training.

TIME: Now that you are a teacher yourself, how do you make your students sensitive?
Bedi: Human rights are discussed, not taught, in classes. We also role-play so students can personally feel the concept of "hurt." We teach officers to do their duty. We tell them, "He has done wrong but you don't have to dislike him. You neither have to abuse him nor have to hurt him."

TIME: How did introducing meditation at the jail come about?
Bedi: Meditation is not alien to an Indian. It is a concept, not a religion. It involves listening to yourself. I was trained by my parents to listen to myself as a child. I was trained to ask, "Did I do right or wrong?" They would say, "We won't tell you if you could do better. You tell us if you could do better."

TIME: When did you realize that this was a method that could help you in your work?
Bedi: It's very simple. What you collectively become is what you individually are. When I was in prison, the inmates were collectively criminals, but they had individually committed a crime. Unless they individually address themselves, how do I collectively correct? That is how this program came about.

TIME: When did you start meditating yourself.
Bedi: I never meditate in the traditional sense of being stationary with my eyes closed. Even when I walk, I meditate.

TIME: How much can you change the police force with your training?
Bedi: In a limited way as a trainer because I am only dealing with a certain number of people. Though it is substantial, in-depth change. Moreover, the higher my position, the larger the reach.

TIME: Do you think you can rid the police force of corruption and misbehavior?
Bedi: Yes, and a lot of stress. Police officers would be happy beings and there would be positive energy at police stations. The moment you correct the leader at the top, everybody down below changes. These programs make people 'positive moralists.' For ecample, a policeman would question even a senior officer if he thought the senior was advising him wrongly. He would have the moral courage to do that. So his superior would not dare tell this man to do the wrong thing. Similarly, a politician would not dare tell a senior policeman to do something wrong. That way everyone concentrates on their own job and no one is meddling. It is not a utopian concept that I am talking about. It is possible.

TIME: Do you think your bosses are hearing you when you say that?
Bedi: I don't care. Why does it matter?

TIME: So, your ambition then, is not social reform?
Bedi: My ambition is to do whatever I can. I am not overambitious, nor am I unrealistic. I am very focused on what is within my control. I also know that no effort goes to waste. I have 10,000 students spread all over the city. I just have to blow one whistle and they will know what to do.

TIME: How many of your innovations at Tihar Jail lasted after you left?
Bedi: All of them. My work in Tihar passed the test. My superiors never doubted any of my programs. They just did not like me.

TIME: And why didn't they like you?
Bedi: These are personal choices people make.