The following reflection was written by a former probation officer who wishes to remain anonymous.
With Social Justice Week approaching, it serves as a timely reminder to raise awareness of those in prison and to reflect on the call to support and uplift them. As Jesus said in Matthew 25:36, “I was in prison and you came to visit me,” we are reminded of the importance of compassion and understanding towards those who have been marginalized and are seeking redemption.
Think of the worst mistake you’ve ever made. Now imagine the media knowing about it, your friends knowing about it, your family knowing about it—and everyone repeating it to strangers, over and over again. Suddenly, this mistake starts to define your life.
This is how it can feel for those serving a sentence—even those who have served their time, are taking steps to ensure it doesn’t happen again, and no longer recognise the person they used to be.
The most common question a person on sentence is asked is, “What did you do?” But the question we, as a Catholic community, should ask is, “What can we do?”
When I first became a probation officer, I had a stereotype in my head of who I needed to be and what the people I’d be working with would be like. I imagined my role would be to be the strict, “get them on the straight and narrow,” always-on-guard rule enforcer.
I thought those I’d be working with would be dodgy rule-breakers.
But during my time in the role, I learned that my job was much more about being an educator, a partner, and a role model.
The vast majority of my clients, at their core, wanted to do good and be good. It was society, a lack of skills, a lack of support, and a lack of opportunities to move on that often stood in their way.
For you and me, meeting your gym instructor each week to do squats might be easy. But then the instructor says, “You’ve had your six sessions; it’s time to go out on your own.”
How many of us eventually stop going to the gym?
That’s what it’s like for someone trying to change their life without support. Some of them haven’t even heard of “the gym.”
I used to have mixed feelings when someone would come running into Corrections to tell me, “Miss, Miss, I got my driver’s license!” I’d say, “Fantastic! Who have you told?” and they’d reply, “No one; I came straight here to tell you!”
It was clear how alone these people were.
As a Catholic community, one of the ways we can help is by starting with forgiveness. Our society is quick to judge, slow to forgive. Quick to find red flags rather than to trust. Quick to protect ourselves rather than provide opportunities. Quick to avoid risk rather than calculate the cost to the other person—and to society—if no one gives them a chance.
So many jobs require police checks. Housing needs good references. A bad history—or no history—is hard to shake.
All we may see is a bracelet on someone’s ankle. We don’t see cannabis addiction at age eight. We don’t see being brought up in violence. We don’t see them coping with sexual trauma.
We see a bad credit history—a risk.
We see tattoos on their skin—a threat.
We see ram raids, not a desire to belong. We see theft, not hunger.
And with rejection after rejection, it’s little wonder why some give up and end up back on sentence.
Change is an uphill battle made harder when you are expected to fail.
As a Catholic community, may we see those on sentence as God does: with love, hope, and potential.
May we see people—sinners like us—on a path forward. May we see ignorance, not malice.
Rather than a “once bitten, twice shy” mentality, may we be prepared to risk a small part of ourselves. The potential gains are huge: a life of good, a fresh start, a future.