I had a pang of sadness yesterday that sat with me for most of the morning. In a tired haze from a delayed flight home from Norway; I was mentally and emotionally exhausted - which is usual for me, when I've had some "proper downtime," and actively, very purposefully not engaged in work, in any guise it presents; social media, engagement, emails, WhatsApp, the desire to keep abreast of what's going on in the world - I deliberately tried not to.
I'm not someone who is at ease with downtime. It's a common grievance in our household, as Sarah becomes exasperated at my inability to switch off and relax; it's common knowledge in our circle, Fran is work and work is Fran.
We've been taught for such a long time, that such as a connotation is a badge of honour; and I grew up in a household that worked. Privileged yes, but the people who raised me, could graft. And did.
There's many flaws in my upbringing and learned behaviours, attitudes and judgement, that I criticise through the now learned and balanced lens of what is appropriate and healthy and what is not. More so of late, I realise this work ethic / work obsession, is one which falls into the unhealthy category. But it is who I am. I love to work, it gives me drive, purpose, pride, fulfilment, it is my passion to do what I feel is needed, it brings in money, makes me solvent, reliable, trustworthy... ok, so clearly there's more to this than "an honest days work," and it goes much deeper for me. For people like me.
Whilst in the airport, just a few days ago, drinking a mimosa with my darling wife, my privilege did not escape me - but much like the Barker life I grew up in, it was hard fought, hard sought, hard earned. When we have moments of escape, calm and time for us, I appreciate it all the more. But I won't deny, it comes still, with the weight of guilt - I don't know if this is unique to me, I doubt it; I think it may be a ripple effect of a life lived undeservedly at the cost of others; ironically, my crime never fuelled a flamboyant lifestyle, or holidays like this, it paid for idiocy and idealism and a sinking ship of a business that would give the Titanic a run for its money.
Alas, sipping said mimosa in the airport terminal, I felt it all the same. "Do I deserve this?"
We work so hard for the life we have. So why do I still feel like it's wrong?
Imagine then, my fury at seeing a Ministry of Justice promotional video waxing lyrical, with James Timpson at the forefront wearing designer glasses, looking ever so suave the businessman and one of the people, giving Andy Burnham "down with the kids" vibes like he's about to hit the Northern Quarter for a microbrewery tour and listen to some Oasis. Cool innit.
I digress, amongst the Specsavers promotional videography, there was a lovely man, working his bollocks off in a commercial kitchen - it gave me joy to see. The genuine pleasure on his face. I recognise. The joy of hard work and graft.
And then "This company welcomed you with open arms,"
So far so good.
"They literally said; we're going to give you a second chance,"
Fuck the fuck off.
So of course, before boarding my flight, I duly ranted about this in a post and hit send. Received with glorious agreement from many in our industry.
Phew.
Now, any employer venturing into the world of employing those with criminal convictions, I praise you. I am glad of you and I have no doubt, that given 1 in 4 people of working age who hold a criminal conviction, like me; are grateful of the turning of the tide and the much needed acknowledgement that people with convictions, are people. An equal workforce, of talent and readiness.
What we are not, are people in need, and desperation, of piteous second chances - we are hard working, able, ready, skilled people with two pieces of paper, neither of which weighs more than the other. The DBS, the CV.
Neither define, only describe circumstance.
It is our character that speaks volumes.
I had a second chance. I blew it.
I had a second chance. I wasn't ready. I wasn't well. I wasn't able.
I had a third chance. I grew. I learned. I understood. And I fought.
Tooth and nail. To be better.
And with that third chance?
I was hired, fired, three times back to back upon release.
A custodial sentence that saw me serve 11 months inside a prison and the rest in the community on license.
11 months and a piece of paper that now defines the rest of my life.
Open and honest and visible, this is me, this is what I did, this is the impact it had - hire me.
This is my CV, I am educated, capable, have glorious references and a track record that speaks louder than my mistakes.
Apparently google speaks louder.
This notion of second chances fills me with fury.
Taking a "chance,"
Denotes you are taking a risk.
On who?
We are taking a chance on you - that you will treat us with respect, dignity, equality, equity and care. That you will treat us fairly, with honesty, with legality and not abuse our vulnerability, our inability, our conviction. That you won't abuse the trust and hope we place in your hands.
That you won't put it all on our shoulders, the asks, the overtime, the expectation, the notion we will work harder, longer and quieter - because you know we will. Through the fear.
The fear. That you now hold our freedom and our stability.
That our second chance, is our only chance. Because it was so publicly, gracefully given.
I gave a speech last year, where I quoted James Timpson - before he became Minister for Prisons, but my sentiment remains the same - all change for good is good, as long as the language, ethics and sentiment are true.
The notion of loyalty and dedication, motivation - reinforced by Dominc Raab proclaiming "Companies suffering labour shortages should recruit ex-convicts just out of jail because they are "more motivated", “reliable” and take fewer sick days than other workers,"
Yes, we take fewer sick days, because we're terrified any day off will be judged as "unreliable" or cast doubt on our ability.
Which is ironic given the ongoing barriers of mental health, PTSD and trauma caused by the experience of prison and incarceration meaning that not only are we facing our demons, living with our trauma, mental health and processing our experiences of the criminal justice system and indeed our crimes, we put on a smile, happy face and head into work with the weight of the world on our shoulders grateful of the second chance to work, put food on the table, and live an honest life.
The societal pressure we place on people with notions of a second chance is another feature of the criminal justice system setting you up to fail.
It's an expectation that for some, may come easy, for others, who battle addiction, mental health, unstable housing, battling the care system for their children, fleeing domestic violence, moving to new localities to keep away from previous lives, social isolation, societal stigma. It's a cluster fuck of obstacles.
Work should be the easy bit. The joy.
It's one of the reasons I do what I do in the way that I do. Security. Stability. Peace of mind.
It's not without its flaws.
Working as a freelancer leaves you beholden all the same, to the vulnerability, to the exploitation. Even more so if you work in the criminal justice system and people see value in your lived experience; for them, but not so much for you.
Quick to give you a platform, but not to pay your bills.
Lived experience is the new influencer bamboozle.
Where people cash in on your story, your trauma and offer you the keys to the castle - exposure, opportunity, the chance to be part of the change. But not money.
The amount of lived experience champions, cheerleaders, fierce leaders, lionesses I see everyday on LinkedIn posting about the latest "Ask" they've had makes me angry.
International Women's Day is always a favourite of mine, where most of my tribe of ferocious criminal justice cheerleaders are approached to speak at events - and the perks for them? To speak at the event?
Our pain is not your profit.
Our profile is not there to maximise yours.
Share our story, share our strength, empower us, pay us.
No change comes from empty pockets and nice ideas. Trust me. Having a failed business and a fraud conviction under my belt as a consequence, I know this. Nice ideas don't pay the rent.
I suppose that's why I started Coming Home.
When I was in prison, in my weeks leading up to release, the employment officers asked for my CV - my wife emailed it in.
An officer asked me "What kind of jobs are you expecting to get with this?"
What a strange question.
"The same ones I had before I came here?"
She laughed.
"I think you need to manage your expectations Fran,"
It was that sentence that compounded this vision.
I was horrified.
Why should I manage my expectations?
Why should I want or achieve less now?
I was confused by the assertion I couldn't and wouldn't be able to.
Dare to dream Barker.
And dream I did.
And work.
And earn.
And learn.
And grow.
And within 6 months of being home from prison, was working back in education, on the same salary I was before I was sent to prison. Having been hired and fired 3 times on loop in the preceding months.
I was a dog with a bone when I came home from prison. I had to get back to work. I had to be an equal to my wife. To pay my way. To find stability. Dignity. I had to remember who I was.
And I did.
And I do.
But it's not because an employer gave me a second chance.
It's because I kept pushing, smashing the barriers, challenging the preconceptions, questioning the employer hiring practices, educating the change.
Being. Living. Visibly with pride and frustration in equal measure. On my soap box, day in day out. Exhausting for some, exhilarating for me.
