Tag: rehabilitation

A glass building on the campus of the University of Essex

Imposter syndrome? Not a chance. I deserve to be here too

Author: | 1 Dec 2025

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.

Two women and two men smiling and talking live on a theatre stage

Does your sentence end when you leave prison?

Author: | 4 Nov 2025

It was a wonderful evening at the Apollo Theatre in London on Tuesday 28 October when, after a performance of Punch, based on the memoir of our scholar Jacob Dunne, the Longford Trust put on a post-show Q&A session on the topic, raised in the play, of the challenges that face prisoners on release.

Listen to the audio recording of the panel Q&A here.

 

On stage were (pictured left to right): our Employability Manager and Longford Scholar Roxanne Foster; multi-award-winning screenwriter (Time, Unforgiveable, Hillborough) Jimmy McGovern: and current Longford Scholar Andrew Morris. Hosting the conversation was Ronke Phillips, ITN broadcaster and wife of Kevin Pakenham.

This event was one in a series of post-show talks, curated by The Forgiveness Project, with more to come before Punch closes its West End run on 29 November.

The conversation took as its theme the question, ‘Does your sentence end when you leave prison?’ Ronke asked the panel in turn, and then the audience (some two-thirds of people who had watched the show stayed on to join in with this event), how willing they thought employers and the public are to believe in reform and rehabilitation. The panel shared stories, setbacks and suggestions .

Thank you to all those involved for an insightful, funny and uplifting discussion.

Punch was written by James Graham – winner of the 2024 Kevin Pakenham Prize.

Photo credit: Jake Bush at Punch the play.

Evidence and compassion: what is needed in our post-truth era

Author: | 13 Oct 2025

Listening to Robert Jenrick giving his speech to the Conservative Party Conference as Shadow Justice Secretary and Lord Chancellor, our law scholar Chris Walters was alarmed by how many of our leaders are currently going down the road of preferring feelings to facts.

I clutched my book in one hand and my prison ID in the other as I was escorted to the HMP Wandsworth book club on an evening in 2018. The book was Post-Truth by Lee McIntyre. It’s about the increasing trend of people believing their feelings rather than the evidence. I was reminded of it while listening to Robert Jenrick’s recent address to his party’s annual conference. It’s that clear some people have continued on that downward slope, seemingly abandoning all reason.

Jenrick delivered a speech which was equal parts cringeworthy comedy routine and dystopian nightmare. No, it isn’t accurate to say (as he did) that an Albanian man avoided deportation from this country because his child doesn’t like Albanian chicken nuggets. The case in question is complex, and concerns the welfare of a child who may have additional needs. The child’s dietary preferences were just one aspect and the judge set aside the deportation so more information could be gathered. Moreover, the decision was subsequently overturned by the Upper Tribunal, which makes Jenrick’s point all the more baseless.

What really goes on in an asylum hearing

I’ve been to an asylum hearing. They are unfairly adversarial. Despite what the media would have us believe, succeeding in an asylum claim is a difficult process. Most people seeking asylum receive less than £50 a week and basic accommodation, while trying to recover from traumatic experiences, and build a strong legal case.

The representative of the Crown, the Home Office Presenting Officer (HOPO), is often not a qualified solicitor and, while they are subject to an internal code of conduct, they are not held to the same high professional standards as solicitors.  Anthropologist John Campbell writes: ‘Indeed HOPOs are not bound by a professional code of conduct which means that, regardless of what is stated in Home Office professional standards guidelines, they are not legally required to assist the court to achieve a fair decision.’

HOPOs have often been criticised for being unnecessarily adversarial. This inequality of arms, coupled with the hostile environment introduced by Theresa May, means the demonisation of asylum seekers is set above facts, evidence, and compassion.

The vital principle of an independent judiciary

Jenrick also enlisted the help of a prop wig and zero evidence to lambast ‘activist judges’. Patricia Thom, President of the Law Society of Scotland, called his words ‘dangerous and unacceptable’, going on to say: ‘It is notable that Mr Jenrick has provided no legal basis for questioning the validity of judicial decisions with which he does not agree.’

As a qualified solicitor himself, you would expect Robert Jenrick to have more respect for evidence and the independence of the judiciary. Given his words, I don’t imagine he would pass the class I study about ‘Professional Skills and Responsibility’.

His comments about ‘two-tier justice’ were more than misleading. They are unconstitutional. Although we don’t have a single written piece of paper that makes up our constitution, the UK does have one spread across statute, common law, conventions, and tradition. One of the cornerstone conventions of our constitution is that ministers must not criticise the individual decisions of judges. This is part of the wider separation of powers; it helps ensure no branch of government wields too much power.

If you want to see the result of too much executive power, take a glance across the pond to Donald Trump’s America: masked and unidentified law enforcement agents snatching people as they got about their business; ‘Alligator Alcatraz’, where hundreds of people have gone missing; and soldiers deployed to the streets against civilians. It’s a campaign driven by misinformation and denigration of the rule of law; the courts can’t even keep up. Is this the brand of authoritarianism that Jenrick, Farage, and their ilk would have here? We must reject it with every ounce of our being.

What ‘traditional values’ truly means

I wish that, in the midst of this, we could look to Labour for support but, if anything, they seem to be courting these abhorrent views. Last month they suspended refugee family-reunion applications. That means that people who have already had their asylum claim accepted cannot be reunited with their wives, husbands or children. Shabana Mahmood, the Home Secretary, has promised to ramp up deportations, which plays right into this false narrative of immigrants being the enemy.

Any flag-waving Christian patriots would do well to remember that Jesus was a refugee. If they open the Bible, they will find any number of passages teaching compassion for asylum seekers, refugees, and immigrants. My favourite is Matthew 25:36-40: ‘For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. […] Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did to me.’

If we genuinely want a return to our traditional values, how about the values of compassion and kindness? We stand on the precipice of a cliff. Below is hate, authoritarianism, and lies which deserve our vigorous opposition.

It’s time to reject that path. Our country’s future should be driven by law and policy which is evidence-led and compassionate, and which respects the independence of the judiciary.

Chris is a Longford Scholar studying the Diploma in Professional Legal Practice at the University of Edinburgh. He is also the Longford Trust’s fundraising manager and a trustee at the Human Rights Consortium Scotland.

 

 

 

Empty cell with sunlight shining through the window

‘The prison cell is the silent classroom of the self’

Author: | 30 Sep 2025

Before embracing education, there must be first a self-education, argues our 2025 Scholar Fedor Bryant-Dantès, studying for a BA in creative writing. Reflecting on his time in a cell, he writes of this rehabilitation process as ‘the illumination of a newly-seen self’

My experience, and similarly, that of many around me, is that each prison cell is something of a classroom. It can be the most impactful of learning environments. The prison cell is the silent classroom of the self, and it is both gratis and boundless. The only tuition fee has been my willingness to become self-aware, reflective and above all else, vulnerably honest. In a cell, my education is not delivered by rushed and tired tutors, or on pages poorly photocopied from confusing tomes, but by my ceaseless and inescapable encounters with the self; my regrets, cruelties, insecurities and fragile hopes.

So, what does it mean to experience education of the self, when the only external stimulus is isolation? Oscar Wilde, writing from Reading Gaol, understood this interrogation with more clarity, wit and verve than I could ever wish to muster. In De Profundis he declared: ‘You know what my art was to me, the great primal note by which I had revealed, first myself to myself, and then myself to the world.’ He maintained that his art was a means of understanding himself and then, allowing the world to understand him. It’s a lesson, both poetic and prophetic.

You see, in a prison cell, art is not only in painting or poetry: it is in the arduous chiselling away of false identities, the sculpting and moulding of a sincere authenticity from the raw stone of solitude. Once, I stood before that flinty surface – my soul – and began to see the outline of who I truly am.

‘Learning about oneself can feel like a revolution’

Learning about oneself can feel like a revolution more radical than any taught in academia. It is almost certainly more effective. Here, I’m not rewarded with superficially pleasing and quickly forgotten grades. Here, there are no diplomas to mount on a wall. I am both pupil and master and the day arranges itself in perpetual questions. Why did I act in anger? Why do I need them to think I’m strong? Why am I fearful of compassion? What stories have I told myself so often that I now believe them as gospel?

Long and difficult nights have been my greatest mentors. In those silent oppressive hours, my memory has unspooled like an old film reel: childhood failures, betrayals, moments of both mercy and malice. I have become adept at tracing the patterns, of mapping a terrain of my own making.

But this has not been, for me, an exercise in self-flagellation, nor a mournful pursuit for pity. Rather, it has been the forging of my resilience. Each truth unearthed and accepted is a spark. Every confession whispered to those sweating walls is a kindling. And when the gift of morning light finally filters through the narrow window, it is not simply a metaphor for new beginnings, but the illumination of a newly-seen self.

‘Our self-education is a work without precedent’

What I’ve learned to appreciate here is the undeniable art in this metamorphosis. The prisoner reduced to a barest truth is both canvas and painter. Each new brushstroke of insight, each shade of remorse or resolve, layers and builds a portrait more vibrant than any hung in galleries. Our self-education is a work without precedent – as unique and recognisable as a Modigliani or Rembrandt.

Education is rehabilitation, but education of the self is necessary, first and without equivocation. Self-education is not so much the filling of an empty vessel, but the stripping away of all that would hinder a safe departure. Self-education is an apprenticeship in honesty, and it is necessarily harsh and exacting – but ultimately liberating. For the prisoner, eventually, what greater freedom can be described than to confront one’s soul and unflinchingly to say: ‘That is who I was. This is who I will be.’

And at the conclusion of this transformation, when the outside world considers me worthy of re-acceptance, I will experience not a release but a graduation. I, who once recoiled at the perpetual closing of gates, will smile at the sound this last time. I’ll step forward having learned in that silent classroom what no syllabus could teach: that the most beneficial education is simply of the self. It is the one that turns inward and challenges self-confrontation. Bravery and honesty can help me to emerge from my current deprivation not diminished, but transcendent.

Want to know more about Longford Scholarships, or know someone who might? Contact Clare.

Pausing to reflect on how far I’ve come

Author: | 17 Dec 2021

For many this is a time of year to take stock, looking back on the year behind us. 2021 has, perhaps, invited more reflection than ever. 

As a charity promoting second chances for people in and after prison, we too have reflected that supporting Longford scholars into career opportunities is something we have a part to play in. For almost a year, a pilot employability programme has been running alongside our scholarship programme. 

Molly took on a new role through the employability pilot. Here, for Longford Blog she reflects on what she’s learnt….

The circumstances that led me to spend a year in prison are undoubtedly the worst thing to have happened to me and my family. With my mind and body in survival mode, I don’t have clear memories of my time inside. However, in my last days there, I remember vividly one of my closest friends saying, ‘Molly, when you leave don’t look back.’ She wasn’t being metaphoric, she was deadly serious. ‘Walk out of the gates and do not turn around.’

I followed her instructions to the T. I was released in the April and, with Longford’s support, hurried straight to Cardiff Metropolitan University in the September. I joined the equestrian team and swiftly took over as president, I worked as a student ambassador, became a student representative, completed 100 hours of work experience as part of the Cardiff Met Award, coached gymnastics, athletics, rugby and cricket, and started the CoppaFeel!: Uni Boob Team society… The aim was to place as much distance between myself and HMP Eastwood Park as possible with the hope of making my CV look good despite my conviction.

Focusing on proving myself outside of academic study by cramming distracting activities into my schedule was overwhelming. Balancing these commitments, alongside the mental health issues and trauma of being fresh out of prison led me to overlook my degree. Nevertheless, I managed to scrape a 2:1 in 2019!

Back on track

After graduating, I found a good job with good people who didn’t care about my past. Over the next couple years, I made Cardiff my home and settled into a comfortable position. More recently, I started my own freelance venture. Life is back on track. Except this summer, two years post-graduation, having worked tirelessly to put distance between my new life and my experiences, I found myself carrying around an unbearable guilt. Guilt for succeeding and leaving the people in prison behind.

If I wanted to make the feeling go away, I had to do something about it. I got back in touch with Longford in October and explained the situation….

‘I want to give back.’

When they offered to put me in touch with StandOut, who happened to be recruiting, ultimately I knew, despite the fear, that I couldn’t turn this opportunity down. Luckily, the role suited me perfectly; working part time meant I can confidently develop my freelance social media management services with the comfort of a stable income. Not to mention, resolving my desire to give back.

It all happened so quickly, I’m still confused by it. I spent the best part of 6 years trying to move on from prison and now I’m working in an organisation that challenges me to confront a lot of underlying emotions and internalised stigma about prisons every day. Whilst inside, I was aware of a handful of organisations who visited people in prison, but I never understood how dedicated such organisations are to supporting people to create a better life upon release. Whilst it’s frustrating that the current system requires organisations like StandOut to exist in the first place, it’s fascinating to learn more about the sector as a whole.

Now here I am, just over a month into my role at StandOut, feeling so grateful for the opportunity to work with a first class and committed team who work together to put people first. With their support, day- to- day I plan communications and support fundraising. Feedback from my new colleagues has assured me that I’m doing a good job! As a team, we have just completed a massive campaign for The Big Give Christmas Challenge where we smashed our initial target by 50% and raised over £90,000.

How far I’ve come

Whilst building my way up towards a wonderful job, growing a freelance venture, new home and beautiful family, not stopping to look back felt right. However, now knowing that I want to and can give back, a period of reflection is necessary. Although it’s not always easy, pausing to look back has allowed me to see how far I’ve come.

If you want to apply to become a Longford scholar to study a university degree in prison or after prison, you can apply here. 

Scholarship Application

“You Alright, Mate?” 

Author: | 10 Sep 2021

Introducing Chris. Chris is a new Class of 2021 Longford scholar who starts university this Autumn.

Here he explores the unwritten rules of prison, and post-prison, encounters….

When we used to pass each other in prison, whether inside or out, in browbeating heat and in rain that wriggles up your sleeves, you would say, “You alright, mate?” And I wondered if you really meant it. Were you just saying, “I acknowledge your existence,” which is, I suppose, still meritable in its own way, or did you really, genuinely care?

If I had said, “No, I’m not alright,” (which I often was not), would you have frozen mid-step, concerned and aghast at my change of answer? Would you have invited me over for tea and sat me down for a chat? Would you have listened to me worry about where I was going to live or fret about getting into University? What if I admitted I’d missed my brother’s wedding and that my partner was leaving me? Would you have told me it would be alright? Hugged me? Got me put me on an ACCT**?

If the answer to all of these is “No”, then I would rather you hadn’t acknowledged me at all.

Twice in one week when someone asked the question I said “Yes, I’m alright,” and they replied “Yeah, I’m good thanks,” which really underlined to me how meaningless the whole interaction was.

Some people didn’t say anything to me when we passed; not even a, “You alright, mate?” and I’m not sure if I resent them or admire their courage for breaking the mould. Other people didn’t used to say it but then they started to – like the guy I helped get a new mattress, or the man whose Comp 1** I wrote. Which led me to believe there might just have been some sentiment buried within it.

I often thought after our exchange about how many we might have left in us before one of us was released.

Neither of us knew we were saying goodbye by saying “You alright, mate?” but one day I doubt either of us remember, we did- and you were gone like yesterday’s bread.

I thought our performance well-rehearsed. But when I see you in Epping Forest we silently, mutually, telepathically decide to improvise. You are taller, your hair less wavy, and missing the roll-up that lived behind your ear but it is you. Our eyes lock and our hands come together as if that is how we always greet each other and this time I say it, “You alright, mate?”

I’m acutely aware of those around me. My brother and his wife, her sisters and brother, her sister’s boyfriend, his wife and their four kids – I’d never met most of them until today. I wonder if you and I will bravely attempt a longer conversation; if I can introduce you to them and say, “This is a man I have never told you about but here he is. The extent of our relationship is that we used to ask each other if we were alright up to three times a day without ever meaning it for more than a year.”

You say, “Where do I know you from?”

It strikes me as an odd question when we are already shaking hands.

“You were in Ford,” I reply, pointedly leaving out the ‘HMP’ in case your companion isn’t aware.

“Yes,” you say, “What’s your name?”

“Chris,” I say. “My name is Chris.”

We freeze there, like two dancers unsure of who is supposed to lead. My tongue caresses my bottom lip as I begin to form a word. I want to tell you about all that has changed: that I have a job, a girlfriend, somewhere to live, a scholarship to University; that it all has turned out better than I could have hoped – but I think how pompous I’ll sound and the words die with a breath on my lips.

“Who’s this?” My niece says, cutting through the tension in the way that only a child can.

“My…friend,” I say, hoping you won’t object.

“And these are your…?” you say.

“My family. This is my family.”

And that feels strange yet correct for me to say, like a stiff new shoe that fits just right.

I feel the moment slipping away and move to end it.

“Alright,” I say, “Good to see you. You take care.”

“Alright,” you say.

And we’re away: two boats shunted off the docks; two birds taking wing; two prisoners, free.

—————-

** Assessment, Care in Custody and Teamwork, or ACCT, is the official term for suicide watch

** Prison complaint form

 

Chris is studying a law degree with a Patrick Pakenham Award.

 

 

 

We need more lived experience leaders in the justice system…like you!

Author: | 21 May 2021

CJ Burge has recently been appointed a new Trustee of the Longford Trust, alongside another former scholar. Here the First class degree graduate reflects on her journey from prison to boardroom, offering hope and advice to other upcoming leaders who have personal experience of prison.

 

 

I was bowled over when I got the call from the Longford Trust’s Chair to say that they would be delighted to have me as a Trustee on their Board. I was thinking “I’m the one who’s delighted, humbled, elated….!”

You see, even now, years on from my release from prison, I still suffer from impostor syndrome. Impostor syndrome is the feeling that I shouldn’t be where I am, doing the things I’m doing: sitting amongst these professionals; leading this partnership meeting; speaking on a podium to a national conference of experts; being asked for my perspective by senior government officials, and the list goes on….Impostor syndrome in this context is institutionalisation’s best friend, waiting to confront you as you leave the prison gates, hiding in your shadow as you stride forward into your new life. Although it has never quite gone away, I’ve learnt to live with it, and I’ve found that over the years, the more I’ve challenged myself to do new things, and be in new settings (that quite frankly have filled me with trepidation), the more I’ve conquered and silenced my unwelcome friend from prison.

If you’d have asked me 7 years ago, when I started my degree in prison, whether I’d be where I am today – Trustee of two remarkable charities, and a National Service Manager at another – I’d have smiled at you in incredulity and utter disbelief.

Incarceration and the prison system are far from the vessels of hope and transformation they really should be in a progressive 21st century society like ours.

Reflecting on what has got me here and how it has been possible, I’ve boiled it down to a combination of actions, mindsets and opportunities that have accelerated my path to being in leadership positions, just four years out of prison.

 

Actions

The one thing I knew for sure in prison was that I needed to re-educate myself. If I was going to go anywhere or do anything of significance, I needed to use the thousands of hours at my disposal to better myself as a human being, so that one day I could effectively give back to the community I would be re-entering. I was fortunate enough to get a scholarship through the Longford Trust to study Law, and with that came an amazing mentor who encouraged, inspired and challenged me, in equal measures. At the end of my degree, the opportunity to do a placement at the Cabinet Office arose, again through the Trust, and this short immersion in all things government and policy lifted the lid on what I thought was possible. It enabled me to dream the dream, that people like us could one day be in positions like those, not just as some summer intern, or token achiever, but for the knowledge, skills and much-needed lived experiences that we bring of the criminal justice services and social systems that see people at their lowest, most vulnerable state, and in much need of help.

 

Mindsets

The number one mantra for me has been to embrace challenge positively. I’ve known all along my journey, from 9 months’ solitary confinement in a Japanese prison, to having my daughter taken away from me at birth, to speaking in front of hundreds at a Longford Lecture or even delivering the first TEDx talk in a prison in the UK, that this would be hard, well more than hard, potentially soul-destroying if I allowed it to be. Very early on I had to come to terms with my actions that had led me to where I was and the hurt that I had caused others. I made a decision that this wasn’t the end, that no matter what, I could turn it around and, though now through a more colourful path, still fulfil my life’s ambitions to help others. Notice I said embrace challenge positively? Well positivity and gratitude are the two other mindsets that have smoothed the rocky landscapes that I have traversed. Without these I would have probably been bailing out of every challenge that came my way, but it was the positive thinking and the gratitude that kept me both buoyant and grounded, at the same time.

Opportunities

The very definition of opportunity, a set of circumstances that makes it possible to do something, may have you believe that you need to wait for those sets of circumstances to arise before you can even get a whiff of an opportunity. I see it a bit differently though, that we can engender the right circumstances by preparing and getting ourselves in a position to have opportunities line up at our door.

In my case it started with volunteering I undertook a qualification in prison delivered by St Giles in Information, Advice & Guidance, and became one of their Peer Advisors, supporting women in prison with resettlement issues. A bit later I volunteered whilst on day release (or ‘RoTL’ as it’s known) in the community in the St Giles’ Peer Advisor Contact Centre. I also secured a volunteer placement at the Southwark Law Centre.

Volunteering gave me the skills and knowledge to apply more confidently for jobs, and fortunately I secured a paid role coordinating for the award-winning educational and preventative SOS+ Service at St Giles. I can’t tell you how overwhelmed I was when I landed the job, it reduced me to tears knowing that someone out there valued me enough to pay for my contributions. Volunteering gave me a steady foundation, a base to jump off from, but that first job, being paid for the hard work I was putting in, that cemented and deep-rooted a new sense of self-worth, identity and value.

I am passionate about rehabilitation and second chances, which is why everything that the Longford Trust does resonates with me. For the last five years I have given my absolute all to developing a service that champions the potential of people with lived experiences of the criminal justice system, by providing opportunities to learn and develop skills that lead to sustainable career prospects. I am a staunch advocate for meaningful opportunities for people who leave prison, having seen first-hand the multitude of barriers for those with convictions, and the incredibly difficult circumstances many who find themselves in prison have faced. As a Trustee of the Criminal Justice Alliance (‘CJA’), I chair their Lived Experience Expert Group that meets quarterly to bring together CJA members to provide advice, support and expertise to our work on lived experience and improving the diversity of the criminal justice workforce to include, at all levels, those with lived experiences.

We need more employers and organisations in the justice sector to recognise, value, include and recruit into leadership and influencing roles people with lived experiences of the criminal justice system,

if we are “to (re)build a system that learns from those with crucial insights into the challenges that undermine the system’s key objectives” (Change from Within, CJA report 2019). Moreover, the benefits of having lived experience on non-profit boards are numerous: from “improving the quality of evidence based decision making”, to providing “credibility, legitimacy, efficiency, effectiveness,… authentic representation and a better understanding” to the issues in need of tackling, as academics from Cass Business School have found.

I am really glad to see incremental positive changes taking place across our sector with trailblazing charities, like the Longford Trust, leading the way by walking the talk and valuing lived experience. I end this blog echoing the Change from Within report’s call to action to the whole criminal justice sector, including public and private sector agencies, to recognise, celebrate and invest in people with lived experience. Whilst also encouraging all my peers to continue to welcome challenge positively, to believe in the value of and to harness their lived experiences, and always, always to aim high!

 

 

 

 

Sometimes success is not where you are now

Author: | 11 Mar 2021

Every so often we receive an email which makes us stop and really think about what we do and how to measure success. Recently Hallam, an ex-scholar from 2012, got in touch out of the blue. As far as we were concerned, he’d dropped out of university and then dropped out of view. As far as the statistics go, not a success.

But maybe we should re-think how and when to measure success. Hallam explains in his own words for Longford Blog:

I was about 13-years-old when I started offending.

At 15 I was arrested as part of a police gangs operation and by 17 I was sat in a young offenders’ institute facing significant time.

I celebrated my 18th birthday in jail; I began my ‘adult life’ on 23-hour bang up on D wing of HMYOI Brinsford in Wolverhampton, eating Jamaican ginger cake as my birthday cake.

After I was released, my family moved abroad and, because of my convictions, I wasn’t allowed to move with them.

I was 19-years-old, no family, no job and no prospects for the future other than crime.

I felt like a failure.

About a year later, I decided I wanted to do something with my life and felt joining the Royal Marines was my way out. I will never forget the moment the armed forces career officer looked at my criminal record, and laughed in my face. ‘You will never, ever join the Royal Marines, it’s not for people like you, get out of my office.’

I felt ashamed, embarrassed and angry. I felt a failure.

A path to education….

However, I stuck with my determination to do ‘something’ with my life; I would return to education.

Looking back at education, my school life was a mess. Although I actually managed to leave with 5 GCSEs (don’t ask me how, because I didn’t do any work!), I was constantly in trouble inside and outside of school, always truanting and was suspended a number of times. I didn’t value education at that time.

Despite my past experience, I enrolled at college and on a night course as well. It was a tough year. I passed both courses and was offered a place at the University of Westminster in London. It was an expensive place to live and I didn’t know if I could afford to go. That’s how I came across the Longford Trust.

Feeling safe in a different world…..

I’ll never forget that first meeting. Discussing my scholarship application in a fancy coffee shop with the scholarship manager, I remember thinking, for the first time in a very long time, that I felt safe, I didn’t have to worry about seeing someone I had issues with and it ending in violence.

It was so far removed from my daily life, but I enjoyed it. It was a seed being planted.

University life in London was a different world to me.

I remember the looks on the faces of the students I lived with when I told them about my life, like the time I was shot at and felt a bullet fly past my head. They looked horrified, I had always laughed about it before.

University was the first place I had a social circle who thought it crazy to be shot at or stabbed, and not a normal part of life.

Whilst at university I applied, and was accepted into, the Royal Marines Reserves (in spite of my past interaction at the armed forces office). I trained hard and studied, my life was on a positive path. Unfortunately, during a training exercise I suffered a significant knee injury which ended my military career before it had properly started.

My dreams were crushed, I felt deflated. I finished my first year of University but never returned.

I dropped out. Again, I felt a failure.

On paper I would have been a failed statistic for the Longford Trust. I hadn’t completed the degree I started.

But how do we measure success?

There are the obvious ways; did I pass, did I drop out, did I achieve 100%? But what about the other, less obvious successes? Like gaining experience of life outside of my area, associating with people doing legal jobs with legit ambitions, broadening my view of what was possible.

Maybe a better way to measure success is to ask if a scholar was afforded the opportunity to avoid the criminal or gang life for long enough to walk away from it? The answer for me was yes.

Fast forward to today, 10 years later: At 31-years-old, I now run a successful organisation working with young people to prevent criminal exploitation. I also work in schools using my own experiences to help safeguard children. I have travelled around the world, have a house, a stable relationship and a son. I am a better person.

On top of all of that, I am back studying at university, going into my third year of a Psychology degree through the Open University.

So why the email out of the blue to the Longford Trust? For me, starting that degree in 2012 as a scholar was the catalyst for change in my life.

The experience of attending university outside of my home city, meeting people with different life experiences and seeing a future without crime were what I needed to spark a change.

I would not be where I am today without that first chance as a student.

The degree did not change my life. The opportunity to access a new life and a new area did.

If success is only measured within small timescales, what happens to those that require a longer time to grow but eventually reach great heights?

No matter where you are today, don’t measure your success against where you are now. Learn to look at life as a series of opportunities in which seeds are planted. Some will take longer to flower than others, but no seed planted is ever wasted. You never know which one will grow to be giant.

Take the opportunity, it is so much more than a degree.

Thank you to the Longford Trust for supporting me and believing in me. Even though I failed first time round, it led me to much greater heights of success.

 

Opening doors is key to success: an expert’s view

Author: | 19 Jun 2020

You may have a first-class degree and a brilliant business idea, but doors can remain firmly shut if you are not “the right sort” 

In an increasingly competitive jobs market, the Longford Trust is offering additional employment support and training to Longford scholars to turn their university degrees into successful careers.

Mark Neild is a Longford Trust Mentor and lecturer in entrepreneurship and innovation at Bristol University who has been advising our scholars. Here he writes for Longford Blog: 

It is curious that something we cannot see, touch or smell has such a huge impact on our life chances.

Social Capital refers to the resources available to people due to the connections and relationships they have.  It was popularised by the French philosopher Pierre Bourdieu who described 3 types of capital: economic, cultural and social.

Raising capital: hard with a poor credit rating

Economic capital we can all understand – in simple terms it determines our ability to buy resources.  It can be really important for those starting a business for, as the old truism goes, it is easy to raise money for a venture if you don’t need it.  For Longford Scholars, and others trying to start businesses without wealthy friends and family, they do need capital. And raising capital is doubly hard if you have black marks on your credit history.

Of course, it’s your fault if a repayment fails because the previous day a Proceeds of Crime order emptied your bank account, or if you failed to redirect your mail when you were sentenced, and are therefore denied any recourse in the County Court.  Even various charities that purport to include ex-offenders among the people they fund seem to find excuses not to support entirely plausible plans for sustainable businesses from them.

But there is good news….. 

If you look around there is support for talented business-minded people to avoid the degrading and discriminatory rituals often associated with gaining regular employment. Phoenix is a programme that works with ex-offenders to make the most of their skills to sell directly to customers. The “secret weapon” behind the programme is innovation.  We may not be able to magic up money, but we can show you how to avoid needing it.

How does that work? Well, here’s how. Much like crowd-funding, you dangle a particularly enticing proposition and show prospective partners how, with a bit of faith and investment in kind, that proposition can be realised. It is amazing how doors can open.

One Scholar’s success story

Take the first Scholar we worked with on our programme. Faced with his second institutional funding rejection, we helped him to develop a business idea that needed less capital.  By partnering with an existing landlord, he showed how the property could make more money by setting up as a halfway house for ex-offenders. And, hey presto, the landlord funded conversion works while our Scholar brought in the business. Now they both earn nicely.

But Social Capital is a different beast.  You may have a first-class degree and a brilliant business idea, but institutional doors still remain firmly shut if you are not “the right sort”.  This can be particularly problematic if your business sells to big organisations because, no matter how great your product, if you can’t pitch it nobody will ever know how great it is.  It is not that big institutions are particularly discriminatory (although, of course, some are), it is more that they are fundamentally risk averse and so struggle with ideas that originate outside their collective world view, or outside the social and cultural bubble that invisibly shapes the way they think – a point made very well by Ross Baird in his recent book, Innovation Blind Spot.

The sad truth is that procurement practice favours big companies with the resources to answer lengthy, complicated questionnaires asking about risk-management processes that, frankly, have no bearing on the quality of services delivered.  Even I, who have negotiated £billion contracts for government departments, found working through the labyrinth of the government’s new “simplified” buying process. It is a daunting and time-consuming process.  And, truth be told, unless you have the social capital to show the commissioners “what good really looks like”, they will never know and continue procuring the “same old, lame old” things.

But, hell, one of the biggest reasons for becoming an entrepreneur is to flout convention.  If a product really is better, we WILL find a way of bringing it to market.  And I am delighted to say that the Longford Trust is playing its part.  Among the current cohort of our Phoenix programme participants, we can count for four Longford Scholars, thanks in large part to Jacob, who runs the trust’s e-community app for its past and present award-holders.

Rehabilitation: ‘walking the walk’

What is particularly innovative is that each Scholar has a business idea that will improve the experience of ex-offenders in transitioning back into society.  They have been through it, so have first-hand knowledge of what needs to change, as well as the credibility with “service users” to bring about real and lasting change.

Being able to articulate persuasively the benefits of their approach is an essential part of the package. And that’s what we at Phoenix have been helping the Scholars with. It goes without saying that they need to show they don’t just have the ‘talk’, but can ‘walk the walk’. In other words, they can put in place the right systems and processes to make their vision happen.  None of this means anything, though, unless they can open the doors to the relevant commissioners.

This is where the wider Longford Trust community comes in.

Every year at the Longford Lecture hundreds of rehabilitation champions come together to celebrate talent, penal reform and second chances. Hundreds of people, many with extraordinary connections and experience in industry, business and entrepreneurialism, are united in a warm glow of good will, and ask, what can we do to help? So many Scholars have the ideas, the educational qualifications and the first-hand experience to build successful rehabilitation services. Here’s my suggestion: if you are able to open one door for one of them, please do. They might make a better job of rehabilitation than the politicians have recently!

Who knows whether it will work but, as we say to successive cohorts, the only failure is failure to try.

 

Spending time with lawyers focused on a fresh start

Author: | 25 Feb 2020

My day with the lawyers by Scholar Ash Rookwood….

Towards the end of 2019 Ash met staff involved in regulating solicitors as part of a training event. For Longford Blog, he reflects on the experience and what it says about rehabilitation.

 

The day in December when I met staff at the Solicitors Regulation Authority – the body which oversees who can and can’t be a solicitor, ensuring professional standards -was a little different from my normal routine. As a postgraduate student of Behavioural Economics, I have begun my career in the City and financial sector. I am committed to helping influence and embed positive change throughout the world, so meeting staff at the regulator seemed like a good idea – especially as they had recently reviewed their policy on applicants with a criminal conviction. I was heartened by the fact they were moving away from a one-size-fits all approach. Encouraged that they were committed to understanding more about how people make good after an offence, move on and repay second chances.

A double-act with a task….

So, what were my first impressions when I arrived at the venue in Birmingham for their away day? Everyone was friendly, keen to get to know me and what made me tick. Keen to find out about my background and circumstances of my younger life. It seemed to me that they were taking early steps in understanding someone like me and another scholar. We were a double-act, our task for the day was to tell how we had walked our path to rehabilitation.

I’m articulate and unashamedly ambitious, I’ve got my string of GCSEs, A levels and a First class, honours degree and yes, most of them had been achieved in prison through sheer hard work and determination to make the most of my potential. Just by being in the room with the regulators, showing them that someone who has been in custody can be articulate and is frankly ‘normal’ seemed an early win. It was essential in my mind to help everyone in the room to put a face to a criminal record, show them we’re not all scary and dangerous looking. I could potentially be an applicant.

The risk/rehabilitation equation.….

What emerged is an understandable priority of risk. Risk – and limiting it- both sides played into the rehabilitation equation. Weeding out who has made good, who hasn’t and who never will. As guardians of solicitors’ professional integrity, on one level risk management must, of course, be up there. But on another level, and this is one of the reasons it was so good to have the face-to-face dialogue, it is important to develop self-awareness about the need for nuance and insight, challenging perceptions. That’s why I am so pleased myself and the other scholar were able to start an important conversation.

There was one question which took me by surprise. The gist of the questioning focused on a concern about external factors. What can be done about the public perception of applicants with a criminal record? Whilst unexpected, I was pleased they’d had a chance to air the concern. They were able to articulate their fears, they have an alternative perception of what they see on the news. All we can do is give our narrative, they can reflect and address their fears. I sincerely hope that’s what we achieved.

Lessons from Hollywood …

On returning to my regular professional life, it brought to mind a new film “Just Mercy”, which tells the real-life story of a civil rights attorney who defends inmates on death row in Alabama who are subject to questionable convictions.

I was lucky enough to have attended an advanced showing, and subsequently meet stars Michael B. Jordan, Jamie Foxx and Bryan Stevenson at a private dinner. Real-life lawyer Bryan Stevenson, played by Jamie Foxx – has a profound saying,

‘Each of us is more than the worst we’ve ever done’.

So true. Yet too often a criminal record from a terrible two or three seconds when someone is young becomes THE thing which defines them for life. They’ve done their time, just as I did. Most have shown remorse, as I have. They’ve been punished, rehabilitated and moved away from the guy they were seven years ago. Yet, the way our records system is at the moment it’s like asking someone what’s your worst mistake? Everyone has to know. Which is the opposite to how it works for most of us. When most people go for jobs, we are defined by what we do best.

As punishment- and its severity- becomes the running thread through current news, policies  and law-making, it makes it more important than ever for someone like me with ambition, goals and wholehearted commitment to continuing a successful life sits down with decision makers. It will take a while for significant changes but I’m convinced my day with the lawyers was a game-changer. I sincerely trust that it’s a step in the right direction for all lawyers in the making.

 

 

If you are interested in studying law with the support of the Longford Trust, take a look at our Patrick Pakenham scholarships for a law degree.