I spent a great couple of days last week at a Quakers in Criminal Justice conference. I had been invited as a speaker and was delighted to meet the delegates. What struck me most was their committment to social justice, particularly in relation to what happens in our prisons. Of course the Quaker philosophy embraces pacifism, which to those not acquainted with Quakerism may give the impression that Quakers are “soft.” Whilst the people I met at the weekend had a collective gentleness among them that was almost palpable, the strength of their resolve was like solid steel. I often attended religious meetings when I was in prison – mainly Anglican services, but I also joined groups of other faiths when I was invited. I was always open to the ideas of others and learned much from the faith groups. The most satisfying for me however were the Quaker meetings. I remember how wonderful it felt to discover, “a society of friends.” A Friend is the term Quakers use when addressing each other. The power of the silent meditations the Quakers shared brought me close to embracing the Quaker faith a couple of times. But my wariness of handing over responsibility for my thoughts and actions to a “faith,” was always too strong. I was determined to get by and achieve whatever I could on self-discipline, the foundation of which I developed whilst serving in the French Foreign Legion in the early 1980s. I’ve written a little piece in today’s Guardian about my experiences there  in response to recent reports that a number of legionnaires had been subjected to abuse and bullying. I guess to many civilised people the general ethos of the Foreign Legion might appear abusive. But most of those who go to join have already experienced robust and arguably abusive lives. The Legion is skilled in ironing out an individual’s past, in order to create a uniform philosophy which binds legionnaires together like no other army in the world. Most of the process is psychological, but the physical processes are equally involved. Being able to endure extreme conditions demands extreme training. It doesn’t seem rational, but some of that may involve beatings and senseless physical tasks: digging holes in the desert, running with pebbles in the mouth, or breaking the ice on a frozen lake for a morning swim are just a selection of what I experienced. It was demanding and punitive but ultimately fulfilling. Once you are established as a legionnaire it is a good life. The legion is a family and fellow legionnaires are like brothers who would risk life and limb for each other and for their legion family without hesitation. Legio Patria Nostra is the legion motto – The Legion is my country, my home, my family. Of course the overall reason for your existence as a legionnaire is that you are trained to kill effectively or to die well in your efforts. These are the most basic reasons to live for sure. But for some the possibility of a redeeming death is something that can be a readily acceptable risk. To live honourably with the chance of dying gloriously may be an attractive proposition for those who have only expereinced dissatisfaction with life. In truth it was my time as a legionnaire that gave me the strength to manage my prison time so well. The self-discipline and focus I had aquired whilst serving in the 2eme Regiment Etranger du Parachutists  gave me the edge over many of my neighbours in prison. During the early years of my sentence I lived like a soldier but was always searching for an authentic way to “be.” Attending religious meetings gave me some answers, but it was the Quaker meetings that brought me the most peace. People who are at peace with each other, I discovered, are able to give so much more to others. I felt that again last weekend. Thank you Friends.