Imposter syndrome? Not a chance. I deserve to be here too
Our scholar Robert reflects on stepping into his new life as ‘a student by day and a prisoner by night’. As he says, ‘the process is slow, flawed, and full of setbacks, but education is the key, the only key many prisoners ever get to use.’
For nine months after being arrested and held on remand in prison, I would be knocking on the education manager’s door, eager to start a course, only to be told nothing can happen until I am sentenced. So, on the day the judge handed down my sentence, my new life finally began. My mind wasn’t only on how my wife and family would take the news, but also on sending the application to the Prisoners’ Education Trust for an Access Module with the Open University. Five years later, I am writing this blog from the common room at the University of Essex.
Starting university from an Open prison, as I am, is a messy and uncertain experience. I was determined to complete my criminology degree, which I started in prison, by studying crime on the other side of the prison’s walls. But nothing about the transition was smooth: convincing staff; sorting paperwork. Simply getting access to my emails became a daily chore. It took a lot just to keep moving forward.
Prison to campus
Stepping onto campus, leaving behind years of locked doors and jangling keys, I entered a reception hall buzzing with activity. I was greeted with balloons, posters of smiling students, gifts I might one day use, and an ID card that had me smiling. It was a far cry from the receptions of old, where a grey tracksuit and a cold jacket potato awaited and the ID card bore the face of a broken man.
Entering the lecture hall for the first time was a strange and unsettling experience. I was noticeably older than most other students, and I felt out of place. Despite the nerves, I focused on finding a seat and retrieving my laptop from my bag. As I settled into a routine, though, the freedom of university became both liberating and overwhelming. Socially, I had to find my footing, stop feeling like an outsider.
Criminology felt personal, and in many ways ironic. My sincerity in essays and seminars led me to confront not just the system but also my own choices. Lectures on drug trafficking, organised crime and the justice system brought back daunting experiences from my past.
A weight lifted
After the first few weeks, the initial loneliness began to fade. I was talking to more people and grew more confident about speaking up in seminars. Eventually, I shared my circumstances with fellow students and lecturers, admitting I was still a serving prisoner. The moment I did, a weight lifted. I could finally exist as a student by day and a prisoner by night. I was welcomed by the community.
As time went by, my peers began asking questions, and lecturers turned to me, wanting insider perspectives. At the end of one seminar about organised crime, a lecturer asked if what we had discussed was accurate. At first, I thought it was about my well-being, but later I realised they saw value in my insight. The exchanges became meaningful. We discussed high-profile news cases, daily prison life. Only today was I asked if we still have ‘lights out’ – thanks to watching too many episodes of Porridge. For them, sitting next to someone with lived experience was a rare opportunity for further understanding.
Living proof
The education manager at my prison who supported me going to campus was outstanding. Having walked a similar path as a mature student, they understood how crucial this journey was for both of us. Being allowed to collect my laptop and my phone, along with being able to drive myself there, gave me a sense of independence.
The prison service needs to build stronger ties with local universities, offering prisoners a lifeline out of the revolving door of repeat offending. The process is slow, flawed, and full of setbacks, but education is the key, the only key many prisoners ever get to use. It is when rehabilitation becomes more than just a buzzword, more than a politician’s slogan, and finally gives people a chance to get a worthwhile job.
In my prison, many people ask me where I am going each day. When I tell them I am off to university to finish my degree, many comment that they wish they could do the same. They are not even aware it is possible. But I am living proof.
What’s next
My university education has opened doors. Completing my undergraduate degree is just the beginning. My goal is to continue my studies at postgraduate level, build my understanding of criminology and be in a position to support change within the criminal justice system. It will be about translating what I know into what I can do.
I’m not here by luck or because of who I am and what I have done. Being from a marginalised group does not grant you a free ticket. I deserve this; I have worked relentlessly, earning distinctions every year. Am I an imposter? Not on your nelly.
If you are looking for support to start an Open University degree while in prison, read more about our Frank Awards, and our Longford Scholarships. Or email Clare, our Scholarship Manager.