The impact that criminal convictions can have on employment prospects

Bob Ashford
15/07/2013

The first week I joined User Voice I went to a staff business development day. At the start of the day everyone introduced themselves and talked about their previous offences openly. This was unlike anything I had experienced before and when it came to myself I shared my background in Youth Offending teams and the Youth Justice Board from the delivery as opposed to the service user perspective. 

I did though share the two offences I had committed 46 years ago as a 13 year old- producing a mix of astonishment and wry amusement among the people there as the offences were so minor. Did they count I wondered?

Several months later I had to resign as the Police and Crime Commissioner candidate for Avon and Somerset because of those two offences. This was when it hit me that yes those offences did matter, and 46 years later were still capable of stopping me doing something I felt passionate about.

I then remember coming into the office just days after I resigned and was cheered by everyone for being so public and campaigning against the injustice which affects everyone with a criminal convictions.

Last week I found myself sharing the platform at the Criminal Justice Conference 2013 with Jude Jubey, a young man who has been a member of Southwark Youth Advisory Group which has been facilitated by User Voice. The subject was the impact that criminal convictions can have on employment prospects. 

Jude spoke eloquently on his own experiences as a young black guy from Southwark, the problems he had and the aspirations he held. I then spoke, a middle aged, middle class white guy, on my experiences and those of the many hundreds who have contacted me with their own personal stories which have come about as result of their criminal convictions. 

The contrast couldn't have been greater between the two of us, and yet in many ways the thing that joined us together, and the many others who weren't in that room, is the way society sees the offence and not the individual behind that offence. 

That is the real tragedy and why together with User Voice we are challenging and changing perceptions and practice. That’s why it means so much to me to be a part of the team.

I feel the warmth of peer support; these people know my journey and I know theirs.

Paula Harriott
8/07/2013

Between 2004 and 2008 I was a prisoner, serving the majority of my sentence at HMP Drake Hall in Staffordshire, a semi open prison holding around 400 women. I arrived there desolate and angry; missing my five children, and facing long, sad, frustrating, agonising days and nights as I came to terms with the eight year sentence.  Prison for women is like going back to junior school….yes miss, no miss, can I go to the toilet miss….it doesn't do much for your self esteem or self confidence for sure as you soak up the atmosphere of control and correction.

Last month I returned to HMP Drake Hall, not on recall, but working as Head of Programmes for User Voice. I walked around the prison, revisiting memories and my main focus was on a small blue hut in the centre of the prison, called the Signpost. In many ways my journey to User Voice started there in that little blue hut with no heating in the winter (freezing). But what it signified to me and to all my peers was a refuge from the authority of the prison. The Signpost was the first peer support project at Drake Hall. Two prisoners (one of them me) escaped the drudgery of cleaning and kitchens to sit in that hut, unsupervised by staff, and support other women to access education courses, fill in complaints, read their mail, get information about how best to survive in prison and generally just be a welcoming space for those that needed a bit of humanity in the midst of the institutional coldness that is prison. In the Signpost we made tea, talked like free people and generally gave each other support to get through the drama and tension that is prison. 

In two years the number of women undertaking distance learning courses rose to over 60, a first at that prison, and the number of complaints also rose dramatically. At that time complaining was the only option by which to exercise voice; there was no prison council. The Governor soon recognised that the Signpost was a hub of information regarding what was going on in the prison and would often pop in for a cup of tea and a chat about issues, seeking to understand the mood of the prison and using myself and the other peer supporters as a barometer to test out new ideas, proposed changes and generally find out how his staff were doing. He was willing to listen to both good and bad. (I have visited that Governor too, now managing a large male prison, in my capacity as Head of Programmes at User Voice.) Without knowing it I was developing and practising the skills needed in the co-production methodology that underpins the work of User Voice.

So in the Signpost I learnt the value of peer support and how it can benefit prisoners. How it can contribute to a better experience of prison, how it can offer support to those who have only ever been exposed to pain and brutality outside; mirrored in the prison regime, life feels no different to the norm. The informal talking and motivation to look forward, the modelling of compassionate non-judgmentalism to all those who came through the door of the Signpost was a stark contrast to the cultural norm of the institution. It was peer support that got me through my prison sentence, that helped me to understand myself better and challenged me the deepest, because I was not paralysed by fear when communicating; I was keenly aware of the power the prison staff had over my life and did not ever trust the hand they offered along the way. They offered control and surveillance, not motivation nor hope in change.

I came to User Voice, still in pain and anguish caused by that prison sentence, but here at User Voice I have once again found the refuge of the Signpost; a space to be me, to own my failings, to acknowledge my strengths and celebrate my successes. Working in an organisation, staffed by 80% ex-offenders, I feel the warmth of peer support; these people know my journey and I know theirs, not from a book but from personal experience. It’s a pain that binds and in the unity we have strength, build resilience and find freedom. 

Change can and will take place if we all work together hard enough for it.

Garry Waller
25/06/2013

I think first and foremost it is essential for me to highlight that User Voice has been fundamentally instrumental in the growth and skills that I have acquired over the past 2 years.

On saying that, the reason I joined User Voice was that I thought- looking at the model they used- it is simplistic and very holistic. Subsequently, it looked like the rewards that were potentially on offer for service providers and service users were, from my experience, totally unimaginable.

With my background, having spent the best part of 15 years engulfed in the criminal justice system, I was quite sceptical. Based on my own experiences I was doubtful of just how much of an impact the service users that we engage with could actually have on organisations such as London Probation, whose policies have been built around red tape and bureaucracy.

How wrong could I have been; the changes that have taken place and continue to take place on a daily basis are fruitful and appetizing.

More importantly, for me the energy that has been stirred up within the service user community has been the most satisfying to watch; equipping themselves with the adequate skills to become active citizens.

I have worked with well over a hundred service users; lots of them have successfully completed their orders for the first time, lots more have moved on to gainful employment and lots continue to work voluntarily on councils as members that represent some of the most marginalized groups of people in the country. Now that is what it is about for me.

Change can and will take place if we all work together hard enough for it.

"Truth is on the side of the oppressed" - Malcolm X.