Freed BBC reporter Alan Johnson says no-one can really understand what it’s like to be released unless they have experienced incarceration themselves. As an ex-prisoner myself, I know that to be very true.
The day after he got his freedom back, after 114 days in captivity in Gaza, Alan said being free was fantastic: “You want to do everything at the same time, to read books and newspapers, go to the movies, go to the beach and sit in the sun, and eat and talk.”
What he doesn’t yet know is that the elation is, typically, quickly replaced by depression, whatever the ex-prisoner’s circumstances. That’s one reason why the risk of suicide is exceptionally great for a recently released prisoner. And it makes the reintegration process particularly tough for those facing problems like homelessness, joblessness, social exclusion and extreme poverty, a situation faced daily by prisoners on release in the UK.
It’s easy to empathise with someone like Alan Johnson: a charming and dedicated man whose delightful, loving parents have graced our TV screens throughout their son’s ordeal. But empathy comes much harder for prisoners who have not had Alan’s good fortune; people who have longed for a safe and loving family while growing up. In order to cope with their deprivation and frustration, youngsters join the street gang (often a kind of substitute family) and end up involved in drugs and crime.
Stories like Alan’s highlight the deepening inequalities in our society for which those at the bottom of the pile seem to take the brunt of the blame for the inevitable consequences. We all end up paying: prisons cost the country billions every year as does repeat offending. The money would be much better spent giving real opportunity to those who have been denied it due to circumstances completely beyond their control.
