X-convict

X-convict

By Erwin James

When a TV show contestant was dismissed for not disclosing a criminal conviction, the message to those in jail is - you're unwanted outside.

As grotesque as top-rated Saturday night family TV show X Factor is, I love it. Though I have to say I'm more comfortable watching now that the most exploitative stages are over. I confess to having laughed out loud at some of the efforts of the more socially challenged "contestants" in the early weeks. Indeed there were times when my side-splitting howling became almost uncontrollable. Memorable moments were the auditions by the corpse-like twins who sang (sorry, wailed) at funerals, the overweight apparently punch-drunk pub singer who looked ready to challenge judge Simon Cowell to a fisticuff duel for daring to describe him as, ahem, a pub singer - and the woman who, over a three-year period spent thousands on a voice coach only to be told by Cowell after her murderous rendition of a popular classic, "Refund is the first word that comes to mind."

I hated myself afterwards though. Who was I to rejoice in this ritual humiliation of naive and often patently vulnerable people? What right did I have to witness this cynical exposure of misguided vanities? But the glamour of the programme, the dazzling graphics, the power-growl voiceover, and the quartet of surgically "enhanced" (a moot point I know) pharaoh-like judges, does a great job of masking the questionable morality of this "reality" show. Which is why most of us still buy its sham aspirational message, that anyone can have a go, you never know, you just might have the X Factor - unless you have a criminal record of course.

This point was raised on Thursday while I was in a prison in the north-west of England. I had been invited in to present certificates of achievement to a number of prisoners who had excelled in a variety of activities in the jail. Some had worked hard transcribing written documents into braille for visually impaired readers. Others had created award-winning art works. Yet more had just behaved in an exemplary manner towards their fellow prisoners and staff, no mean feat on the rough and tumble of a prison landing. It was an impressive assembly and though I felt deeply honoured to be the certificate hander-outer, pangs of embarrassment too stabbed at the pit of my stomach. I didn't want anyone there to think that I thought that I was anyone special. Regardless, I thought I'd try and share some optimism with the group. I talked about my own experience of prison. "It was a long time," I said, about my 20-year stretch, "but I tried to see it as preparation for opportunity. Whatever you do," I said, "keep achieving all you can to give you the best chance of succeeding when you get back out there." I blathered on for a while longer and then took some questions.

A hand belonging to an intelligent-faced man at the back went up. "What is people's attitude to you out there when they know you have been in prison? Do they accept you?" he asked. The truth is some people who know me know that I have been in prison, others do not. On the other hand I have no idea if lots of people I know have ever been in prison. Mostly it is not an issue. "Well," I said, seizing my chance to sound encouraging, "I've found that people out there will accept you for who you are if you do what you are supposed to do, work hard and just do your best to do the right thing." I said that I knew that there were some attitudes that would never change, especially from people who have been victims of crime, and those people have a right to their views and their opinions. "But it's up to us, you, me, to prove to people that we are worthy of our place back out there," I said. "I'm not saying it's easy, but it's doable."

Immediately a hand went up at the front and its owner, a tall, thoughtful-looking man asked me if he could say something. I said he could say whatever he wanted. "They don't want us back out there man," he said, with a dispirited air. "Look at what happened last week on X Factor." He was referring to the moment in the show when Sisi Jghalef, a member of the all-girl group Hope, was summarily dismissed for failing to disclose that she had a criminal conviction. Jghalef had not completed her penalty of a period of community work. "I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to leave," said the producer pompously as the usually spirited young woman sat on the other side of his desk almost quivering with trepidation. "Oh!" she exclaimed, wide-eyed and mortified when she was told the reason. The shot of her taking the long walk back out of the office was one of the most rotten bits of the whole series. "I know," I said, "I saw it. It stank."

It was a shame, I said, that the producers did not take a different tack and see it as an opportunity to demonstrate some real social conscience. They could have embraced Jghalef, supported her - perhaps involved her victims if possible to explore if there was a way forward, a way that they could assist in Jghalef's rehabilitation. The girl may have some talent. But to succeed in the music business takes guts and determination. Why couldn't the show's makers give Jghalef a chance to prove her worth and perhaps give us an example of the system working in a positive way? Instead they chose the easy option, to dismiss and discard. "A wasted opportunity if you ask me," I said.

As the man sat down I told the group something that they already knew, that if you succeed in benefiting from your prison experience you do it in spite of the system and not because of it. "You have many negative forces working against you," I said, "but many positive forces working for you." For the latter I meant the teachers, those prison officers that were well motivated to help instead of hinder, forward thinking governors (among whom were the organisers of that day's event). "It's not unlike that outside," I said, "to succeed you'll probably have to do it against the odds. But as well as people like the makers of X Factor, I emphasised the message, I promise you there are people out there who will accept you on your merits." To my relief this appeared to bring back a few smiles to solemn faces and then the event was over and the prisoners returned to their cells. On my way home afterwards I thought about the tens of thousands of other prisoners who would have seen the sacking of Sisi Jghalef and been disheartened and de-motivated by it. I wished I could have given them the same message.