I was at a facinating seminar today, for academic and work purposes. As many of you know, I walk the line between and paradigm of professional practice, lived experience and academic undertakings; and today was a fusion of all such aspects.
Looking at "Sentencing and the future of incarcertaion," through the lens and relevance of The Sentencing Act 2026 - and what a lens to view potential changes, upheaveal or indeed; intertia through.
The troubling times of the CJS and the prison system in this country are not new, much like many of our flailing public services, 11 years of Tory government, chronic underinvestment, or more directly, dis-investment, for services, systems and provisions, both custodial and community, combined with the ducking and diving of privatisation and shark like commodotisation of our justice system and indeed the people, perpetrators and victims in all their non-biary forms within it; have left it hobbling into 2026 and a Labour government full of promises / promise.... to bring about a new dawn. Corston calling anyone?
Be that as it may, and punitivie policy, politics and presumption aside, today's seminar was a foray into what can be done, should be done, could be done, but came with the expected caveats of funding, consistency, persistence and people centred approaches - which were not all met with appreciation. A magistrate among us asked in a round about way, if the concept of investing in prisoners, indulging in arts and wellbeing, was a little contrived through the lens of harm and victim impact; asking the panel and indeed the room to consider, how the victims felt about flights of fancy in arts and creativity when these perpetrators of harm should be punished not pampered (I write collequially as always, but the gist is here) There was an air of punitive expectation, a hint of Daily Mail prisons are summer camps for predators, perverts and pretenders and should be a-kin to labour camps and arbitary cages of remorse and repenting. Of which they are. Anyone who has indeed been incarceated in recent years within the UK prison estate will know, the stories of Xbox laden cells, drugs parties and gang bangs with bent prison officers are often media derived delusions designed to inflame an already antaganoised Great British public, whilst we look for the scapegoat to our own miseries in life, be it immigrants in boats or prisoners walking among us, the reality is - we are all just human. And as one delightful man on the panel responded - the question is not necessarily about how the victims feel; its about how we feel, as a society who have failed perpetrators of crime systematically, in social care, education, health, healing and more. Here here to that.
A pragmatic response to a loaded question that could only have been posed by a member of the judiciary, that said, I'm a firm believe that all thoughts, feelings, view points in the CJS are valid and with merit, shared through our own morals, ethics and the work we do, our conscious, unconscious bias, and anything and everything in between, and I have no doubt, as the woman at the end of the gavel, she has seen and heard the worst of the worst in human nature and the hurt we can cause and impose upon one another. It is of course, her job, to protect the public, and by directive, the victims in her care, of whom she is to seek balance, recompense and fairness for. Still, it did not stop my preverbial feathers from being quite ruffled at the thinly veiled assertion that it's inappropriate to spend public money on prisoners who have caused harm. As this neglects the primary point - this failure to invest in people who have caused harm, who have been victims of harm, are all healed in the same way - person centered, intersectional, compassionate, human approaches that seek to rehabilitate, not redeem.
Prison is punishment enough. It really, really is.
Alas, the reason for my writing today, as I sit processing the information, statistics, legislation, thought and purpose of todays seminar and how it relates to my work, heart and more, is in something it shook loose.
A memory.
We were presented with a beautiful montage and summary of a project called WE ROAR, arts and wellbeing for prisoners, to articulate their feelings, community and heart through art, poetry and more. Exactly the kind of work that opens hearts and minds inside the gates; and out.
And it made me think. Poetry, writing, was my solace, my repreive, my escape. Many of you have read, heard, seen the pieces I wrote whilst incarcerated and it made me think of the way we shape, make or break people with our words, and our pride.
When I won a poetry comeptition in prison, I was tannoyed across the prison estate and called to the education department. There was a gaggle of education practitioners, admin, etc, huddled around a computer in their office. A blonde, stark, arrogant woman, of whom I concequently after this interaction was not fond of, said
"Where did you get this?" brandishing my hand written work.
"We've googled it line by line but can't find it, did you find it in a book?"
I didn't understand the question - the piece in question was my "All The Kings Horses, - Fuck the Patriarchy) and ode to Sarah Everrard; that gives you context and timeline of my incaceration and perhaps insight into which establishment shared these thoughts with me.
"I wrote it?"
"No,"
"Prisoners can't write like this,"
And there it was. Assumption, presumption and arrogance. From the lady in education.
Prisoners can't write like this.
Says who?
By what measure?
What standard?
The audacity. It was the first time I had felt anger, injustice that flamed inside me with the desire to respond "how fucking dare you?" but decided to swallow the fire for fear of concequences.
And instead repeat - "I wrote it,"
Those of you who know me, know my writing, my work. It's not hard to see that. My voice is fairly recognisiable whether in poetry, academic, or blog. It's very Fran-esque, it's the reason you keep reading this blog.
The same woman, could not fathom my future work.
Equalities rep for the women in the prison, I got to contribute to the prison newsletter, I wrote various articles on various topics - my favourite of which for Pride Month, was "LQBTQIA+ or something like that," and it began as all good Fran works do; referencing my mother-in-law; the essence of the piece was that, if my 70+ year old mother in law can get down with the kids and understand the use of language around equality and trans rights, non-binary and more, and try - not perfectly, to embrace a new world of visibility and equity, then anyone can, and that we are without excuse or cause to neglect our obligation to learn, listen, and understand one another a little better; that said, not always getting it right, but always being willing to try. It was a cathartic piece, of course, deeper meanging extending to my behaviour and growth as the same as the other women around me - that we can only try to do better, to be better, and not always get it right, and thats OK.
This article too was brandished, she couldn't comprehend, that someone like me, could write like that, and reach people the way I do.
This woman was in charge of functional skills..... she had made a judgement that I was a prison cliche and therefore inept, lacking in grace, creativity and skill to be able to write.
If that's how she responded to me, a well educated white privildge woman in prison, how did she respond to my peers who had lower educational outputs or engagements? But who had equal measure of heart, creativity and desire to express themselves in art, poetry, writing, cooking? More.
And it led me to my next memory (all whilst sat in a lecture hall in Manchester today)
"You need to manage your expectations,"
This was the response to a woman in employment who asked me what my salary expectations were based on the kind of jobs I wanted to apply for upon release.
I said what I wanted, she told me to manage my expectations.
"Why? That's what I was on before I came to prison?"
And she laughed.
In retrospect, she wasn't wrong. Just a little cynical and a touch cruel.
It wasn't a reframing of reality, it was a crush.
If she had met my hopeful expectation with "that may be a little harder given your recent custodial sentence, perhaps consider x, y, z," or "have you considered how you might approach disclosure if these are the kind of jobs your considering?"
No. Just a laugh, a smirk, and a comment that lives on 5 years later.
However, those assumptions about me, my future, my past, my ability, fuel this progress.
I spent my life pretending and hoping to be more than I was, to earn love, kindness, friendship, family. It was fragile and it was fake.
What a liberating experience to have time in prison to reflect, respect and honour the skills, qualities and purpose I do have, within me, on paper - fine, but who I am, what I want, what I can, have and will achieve.
I'm still quite childish in my personality disordered existence - if you tell me I can't, I will. If you tell me I'll fail, I'll work harder to succeed. I have my mothers voice burning in my brain, the prison officer, the education lady, and of course - lets not forget the judge "you are a most dishonest woman,"
I suppose that's why the magistrate lady's words bothered me so; it was a prick to my conscience, my past, my hurt, it felt personal - like all of those who have caused harm should live in our shame forever, and be shackled by it, shirking the good and the care of others, the investment and encouragement.
I think, committing a crime, committing 10, 11, 12, is a burden you carry to your grave, it's like being Jacob Marley, when you want to be Ebonezer Scrooge.
The hope in days like today, is that, even without 3 ghosts, we can live shackle free happy lives, with grace and kindness. For ourselves, and for others. That's healing. And that's worth investing in.
