Hour after hour
When I first started working as Intensive Supervision and Surveillance (ISS) Officer, I was new to the field of youth justice. This is now almost 10 years ago. Recent events have reminded me of this time and have evoked a strong emotional reaction in me.
I remember the first few weeks, spending many hours with my nose in an English-German dictionary. Despite having lived in England for over 5 years at that point, a lot of the language in this new work environment was unknown to me. I learnt a lot during those weeks. However, there was a lot more I needed to know and study and I felt out of my depth a lot of the time.
It was then when a 14-year-old boy, D, was referred to me. He had been on Bail ISS for quite some time and was awaiting sentencing. I had read somewhere that there was a maximum period of time a young person was supposed to be on bail before sentencing and then realised soon that D would be on bail much longer which he felt frustrated and annoyed about. It did not make my job of offering offending behaviour related interventions, education and constructive leisure activities for 25 hours per week any easier. D was also on an electronic tag, which did not allow him to leave his house between 7pm and 7am.
D was involved in area related issues, had beef with other young people from rival postcodes and was not always able to move freely around his borough. His parents were separated. He had an older brother on his dad’s side. Their relationship was solid. His brother tried to keep him on the straight and narrow…at least that is how he presented in front of me. He was living with his mum and two young siblings. His mum was known for having quite severe mental health issues, supposedly being sectioned in the past. Looking back now, we never really spoke about his mum’s health and how this had affected him. I wonder why we didn’t.
D was permanently excluded from mainstream education and did not have the best of times within a pupil referral unit. Not attending education had a direct impact on his bail conditions and his chances to remain in the community. He had a keen interest in cars and motorbikes and an unhealthy fascination with older boys in his area who were already riding bikes and driving cars. D would sit on his windowsill and watch them until they started to talk to him, invite him to join and get involved in a criminal lifestyle.
It felt like that the education department within the local authority had washed their hands of him after the Youth Offending Service started to supervise him and attending education was a compulsory part of his bail conditions. We found him an alternative education placement, which focused on mechanics. Despite having had to travel for over an hour each way D seemed happy and excited at first. Sadly, his enthusiasm and motivation for the placement soon diminished to the point of placement break down.
So we were back to spending many hours together each week in order to meet the requirements of his ISS Bail. We went to the library together; I dragged him to every museum known in London; we cycled, kayaked, went to the gym and spent uncountable hours talking about crime, prison, money, choices, future, dreams and ambitions. Our working relationship became quite strong. D knew by looking at me that I was annoyed when he turned up late for the 100th time for our meeting. Apparently, my nostrils flare. He sobbed on my shoulder after a group of older boys took his oyster card and chased him down the road. We shared nervous and anxious feelings when we waited for the judge to decide if D would get another chance in the community or be sent to prison. He did get a chance and was back on the ISS programme for another 6 months, after being on Bail for over a year. I could somehow empathise with his frustration…more tag, more YOS supervision, more people telling him what to do…but I was also glad that he was not sent away but could see his family and friends and sleep in his own bed. I do not think he felt the same.
Forward a few of years, I had finished working with D but he remained in the youth justice system. The resettlement worker at the youth offending service had just met him in a young offender institute. We both agreed that there was something about him…a soft, endearing side, which seemed to harden more and more. We saw potential in him which he didn’t and we believed that he could change his future. I remember still having brief chats with him in the office after he was released from prison. He had left a mark and I wanted him to do and be well. But I also knew that he was heavily entrenched in his systems on the streets and that the systems which were supposed to protect failed or didn’t work for him — his parents, education, social care, the young offending service.
I left my job in youth justice about 5 years after I first me D. We ran into each other on our local high street. He was with friends but came up to me, gave me a hug and hung around for a conversation. He said he was doing well and that he was sad that I was leaving the job, as I was “a good worker”. I wished him well, not without a familiar sentence “Stay out of trouble!” A smile, almost an eye roll “Yes, Grit.”
It is now September 2018. I recently started working on a project in a Cat C male prison in the Midlands. A few weeks into the project, when leaving the house block I am working on, I hear someone call my name. D! A rush of emotions overwhelmed me…surprise, anger, sadness, disappointment, frustration and numbness. Hours and hours of hard work for nothing! He is serving a long sentence, has seen his mum once in the last year, doesn’t get any visits from friends and struggles with prison life. We spoke for a little while, in between other inmates and officers and on route back to his cell. I told him that I would try to see him properly if the prison approves it. We have bumped into each other in the corridors every week since but still haven’t had a chance to talk properly. His story is playing on my mind again and again.
I have many questions. What has happened since the last time I saw him? Would his life be different if systems worked differently? Is it all down to his choices? Could I have done more?
He didn’t stay out of trouble. My nostrils still flare.
