I Am Not A Gangster

by Bobby Cummines

  Unlock wasn’t a front for anything apart from helping our own people. The Establishment was shocked when they discovered that we were legit. We made fools of all of them.

  There had never been a charity run by ex-offenders for ex-offenders. Normally the charities helping former prisoners were made up of middle- or upper-class people doing the Lord’s work. Other charities helping ex-offenders were more in the business of helping themselves into employment and justifying their own miserable existences. I’m not saying that they were all bad people – far from it. They just didn’t understand what the ex-offender, trying to go straight, was going through.

  It’s a case of reading a book on how to make bread but not putting your hands in the dough. What you had was a lot of theory but no practical experience of that type of life. They had very few ex-offenders – if any – working for them. With those that did, the ex-offender had a very low status within the organisation: they didn’t hold management positions and couldn’t influence policy or the ethos of the charity.

  We were very well received at the conference table. In fact, the National Offender Management Service asked me to be the keynote speaker at their major conference to lift the morale of their staff. People there were so down, always being criticised by the media, and I tried to give them a bit of a lift. Public speaking came naturally to me. I was never nervous, as I was full of confidence and knew my subject off by heart.

  I believe I was in the right place at the right time to push for reform. We’d had prison riots over the years; the problems of re-offending, over and over; the recognised need to prevent prisoners going back inside; and the mountain of problems facing prisoners who wanted to go straight. Leading figures in the police, the judiciary and politics were looking for a way forward and I was able to lead the way. I was asked to sit on more government panels looking at the rehabilitation of prisoners. I was invited to join the House of Lords Select Committee dealing with disabled prisoners. I found myself on a wide selection of committees between 1999 and 2010. I even advised the board of HM Chief Inspector of Prisons.

  I was always checking to see if prisoners who posed no threat at all could be integrated back into the community. For example, I knew the late Bruce Reynolds well. Bruce masterminded the Great Train Robbery and we were both concerned about the health of Ronnie Biggs. Ronnie had had strokes and all that, and was no longer a danger to society.

  I campaigned to have Ronnie freed, and he was eventually released on compassionate grounds. Ronnie died at the age of eighty-four while I was completing this book.

  We were a non-political organisation, so had no prejudice or favour towards any party. We told it as it was, which made all political parties respect us.

  I asked the Conservative MP Edward Garnier and Lib Dem Nick Clegg MP to support me in my aims to build a training campus for reformed offenders. They both gave me their full support. Coutts Bank took care of the launch and donated £10,000 to Unlock. The newspapers had a field day with that one, especially when Perry Littleboy, one of the Coutts directors, handed over the cheque. Perry said he was pleased to see me in his bank without a crash helmet and a gun.

  Perry and the other directors of Coutts provided massive support and guidance. They introduced me to potential funders and I will always be indebted to them for that. I will always hold them in the highest esteem.

  I made sure that people knew I detested sexism, racism or any other fucking new-fangled ‘isms’. In my book, the bottom line is whether you are a good or a bad person. One time, when I was lecturing to prisoners at Rochester Young Offenders Institution, I was talking to some mates and I saw a guy talking over everyone. He wouldn’t let anyone ask any questions. He was a one-man fucking crowd.

  I told the loud, loud prisoner to be quiet and give the others a chance to speak.

  ‘You don’t like me because I’m black,’ he muttered.

  ‘I don’t like you because you are fucking rude and I wouldn’t like you if you were white, either,’ I hit back. Everyone in the room started clapping and cheering.

  ‘Sorry, man, I got that one wrong,’ he apologised with a big grin.

  He came up to me afterwards and told me that I was a star. I’m glad he did, because he was six feet tall and built like a brick shithouse. I told him not to play the race card because, when it really happened, people wouldn’t believe it. I said it was just like crying wolf. It’s the same when people say they are tortured in prison and it hasn’t really happened. That undermines the torture when it really happens, so it’s best never to cry wolf.

  I went into prisons all over the UK – it’s one part of the work I enjoy the most. I said that I reckoned most of the inmates were in there for under £500, which meant they were doing a five-year stretch for a profit of around £100 a year. I told them that they were better off on the dole.

  I said to one guy who was doing bird for drugs: ‘When you got your gear, did you test it to make sure it was good?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ he said.

  ‘Well, that is quality control, so that is important. When you sold the gear, did you have a look at the best areas to sell it in?’

  ‘Yes, we had a tour around to find the most likely areas,’ he admitted.

  ‘Well, that is distribution networking,’ I confirmed. ‘And, in those areas, did you find out where you would get the best prices?’

  ‘Yes, we had that sorted.’

  ‘You have all the skills of a manager,’ I pointed out. ‘Only problem is, you were selling the wrong product.’

  Shortly afterwards, the guy was released and I bumped into him, doing window cleaning.

  ‘I listened to what you said,’ he grinned. ‘I’m now running a little window cleaning company along with two people who were in the nick with me.’

  I then bumped into him again in Westminster, running a car valeting firm. He had his own van and employed a few others to clean cars.

  ‘Do you know of any window cleaning jobs going, Bobby? Anyone need a car cleaned? We have all the skills!’

  I told his story when I went back into the prisons. His mates were flabbergasted, because previously he’d always been in and out of jail.

  From prisons to parliaments, I went to a lot of places to spread the word. I was invited over to Dublin to talk to the Irish government about putting together a Rehabilitation of Offenders Act, as they didn’t have one. I gave a series of talks over there about my ideas to prevent prisoners going back inside.

  I travelled to India to see how organised crime was evolving out there. The Chinese government invited me, too, to study operations run by the Triads and to advise on combating organised crime.

  Best of all was my trip to South Africa in 2006, sponsored by Garden Court Chambers, a firm of solicitors in Holborn, to see how prisons there were run. I met members of the ANC, and we compared South African prisons with British jails.

  We also studied the South African judicial system. That was a real eye-opener, because the people running the judiciary were once prisoners themselves under apartheid laws. Because of their understanding of what it was like to be a prisoner, they had a deep understanding of discrimination; they also knew what it was like to be released, facing life with the label of a criminal.

  I stayed with Chantal Fortuin and her husband, Lloyd, who were once high-ranking ANC people, close to Mandela. Chantal is now a High Court judge, and Lloyd is one of their top human rights lawyers. I stayed with them and their little family and met numerous people who had fought with Nelson Mandela and Walter Sisulu during the struggles against apartheid. It’s hard to believe that Chantal was handcuffed to her bed while she gave birth to her son, due to the ANC’s terrorist status during the apartheid years. I still can’t get my head around that one.

  Chantal and Lloyd had both done bird on Robben Island in Table Bay, the same prison where Mandela was imprisoned for eighteen of his twenty-seven years behind bars. The couple took me to the island and it sent shivers down my spine. The Atlantic Ocean
hammers against the rocks and you can see why so many ships have foundered there. The evil place was used to house political prisoners as long ago as the end of the seventeenth century. The island had also been a leper colony, so I didn’t fancy hanging around for too long. When I visited the island, I met several caretakers who were once prisoners with Nelson Mandela.

  Chantal and Lloyd knew that I had completed a lengthy sentence which meant that we had a unique bond. In fact, I always refer to the couple as my South African family.

  I visited all the prisons in South Africa, from young offenders’ institutions to high-security jails. I talked to inmates, guards and their Inspector of Prisons. I noticed that most of the prisons were farm-based and contained a high proportion of young people. They got up early in the morning to work on the farm; their produce was sent to poor shanty towns, and that really impressed me. They weren’t banged up for twenty-three hours a day, as in British jails, and they were carrying out useful activities, helping the wider community. I brought these ideas back to the UK.

  South Africa had the same problems as the UK: drug addiction, prostitution and armed robberies. However, they were proactive in dealing with the issues, looking for rehabilitation rather than simply punishment.

  My travels weren’t only for the charity. After Kai had been at the Doshi School for a while, we decided to fly out to Japan to see him and check how well he was settling in.

  I had no idea what to expect. Being married to someone from a different country and culture is truly an eye opener. Though I love my wife and son Kai with all my heart, I knew nothing about Japan, or its culture and customs. Meeting my in-laws was going to be an exciting experience for me, too.

  I remember getting on the plane with Ami. I was too excited to sleep and watched the films on the headrest in front of me. Occasionally, I glanced over at my wife and thought how stunning she was. Ami is no good at taking compliments; when I tell her she is gorgeous she tells me to shut up.

  A flood of thoughts flashed through my head. Would they like me? How would I talk to them? I didn’t speak any Japanese; what would they make of my Cockney accent? I’d met my sister-in-law, Yukari, and got on well with her. She was an air hostess and spoke perfect English, so there was no problem there, but my brother-in-law, Ma, and other sister-in-law, Mika, spoke very little English. But I knew that I could depend on Ami and Kai to bail me out if communication became a problem.

  We arrived in Japan in the late afternoon and met up with our Kai. I needn’t have worried about my first meeting with the family. I found them all to be truly lovely people. Ma and I got on like a house on fire. I also got on well with Yukari’s husband. My little Japanese nieces, Lilika and Reku, were really sweet children. In fact, I could not ask for a better family of in-laws than I have now in Japan.

  I have always admired the respectful attitude and honesty of the Japanese people. Nothing is too much trouble for them to make a stranger feel comfortable in their country or home; this is something that we seem to have lost today in Britain.

  Ami and Kai wanted me to see everything in our local area and so we went on adventures to the shopping malls and games arcades, all trying to win prizes and fluffy toys. Ami and Kai were experts on the machines and won prize after prize. There were also restaurants where you could fish and catch your own lunch. Ami and Kai have done that, but I’ve still to give it a try. Kai has a wicked sense of humour and loved teasing me by giving me Japanese food, knowing that I found it disgusting. He tried to make me eat funny-tasting soups and fish with chillies, and laughed as I spat it out. My favourite place to eat was Mister Donut. They have every type of doughnut under the rising sun. English doughnuts can make you feel as if you are chewing on a brick, but the Japanese versions are light and fluffy.

  The temples are amazing places to visit. They store and display sacred Buddhist objects, and there are thousands of the ornate buildings throughout the country.

  I was most impressed by the cleanliness of Japan: the streets were spotless, the railway stations were perfect, trains ran on time and the guards on the carriages wore white gloves. They were polite and always willing to help. Walking with my wife among the cherry blossom and temples gave me beautiful memories that only we will share. They will stay with me for the rest of my life.

  I love Japan because the country gave me Ami, a son and my extended Japanese family. I am proud that Ami entrusted me with her future and that of her son. It is the biggest leap of faith that anyone can make, and I am determined to do my best for them. I don’t just love my beautiful wife; I am in love with her also because she stands by me through the good and bad times. I do the same for her.

  Back in the UK, I was appointed as specialist advisor to Mr Justice Keith for the case of the murder of nineteen-year-old Zahid Mubarik by his cell-mate in Feltham Young Offenders’ Institution. Mr Justice Keith compiled a 700-page report. He concluded that the professional failings of nineteen members of the Prison Service had led, in some way, to the death. Zahid died at the hands of racist Robert Stewart, who beat him with a table leg. Stewart, who had ‘RIP’ and a cross tattooed on his forehead, was destined to kill.

  Justice Keith taught me so many things. He showed me how to record evidence and how to challenge witnesses. He showed me exactly how an inquiry works; I learned from the horse’s mouth.

  One day at the inquiry, during recess, I told him, ‘Do you realise that most of my life I’ve been standing in front of judges awaiting sentence and now, Justice Keith, I’m sitting by your side advising you?’

  ‘What a strange world,’ he replied. ‘You know, you could write a book about that.’

  While I was advising him, he asked me if I thought it would be a good idea to put a young person in with someone who is doing a big sentence, like a lifer.

  ‘Not in a million years,’ I told him.

  ‘Why is that?’ Justice Keith asked.

  ‘Because they will groom him,’ I explained. ‘If you put a young person in with maximum-security prisoners who are career criminals, they will use him. They will convert him. Tell you what I’ll do – come with me, and I’ll show you how it’s done.’

  So we went into a high-security prison and we saw a young kid who was in for burglary. The first thing I had to do was explain to my learned friend all about the different types of prisoners; who would do the grooming, and who wouldn’t have a clue.

  Justice Keith told the kid all about my previous life and I went to work. I quickly sussed out that this kid was in for non-violent offences. He’d been nicked for burglary and doing a bit of puff.

  ‘So, when you get visits, do your girlfriend and family come and bring you cash and presents?’ I asked the raw, nervous kid.

  ‘Yes, they visit me regularly,’ he answered, wondering where this was going.

  ‘So, imagine that you are in a cell with me. I know you are non-violent and I can bully you. I can take all your goodies from you. There are some nasty people in here. I send someone in to give you a clump, but I stop them doing it, and now I am your friend.’

  The kid pursed his lips, looked at Justice Keith, and turned his attention back to me.

  ‘So now I am your friend and you get your regular visits. I see photos of your girlfriend up on your board. I’ve got one of your letters so I know where she lives. Now I want her to bring in a parcel for me. It starts off with a few quid. Your girlfriend does that because otherwise I’ll beat the crap out of you.’

  The kid twitched nervously as he started getting the picture.

  ‘If you do this for me, I tell you I’ll make you very rich when you come out. You can come on the firm with us because I know I can trust you.’

  The kid nodded, taking it all in.

  ‘The next parcel that comes in will be drugs. You’ve already smuggled stuff in, so it doesn’t matter. If your girlfriend doesn’t co-operate, I can get someone to visit her on the outside. So now I’ve got you. You are in my firm, and I’ve got you.’

  The kid no
dded again and I said to Justice Keith, ‘You see what I mean?’

  As we were walking away the kid said: ‘Oi, Bobby, I’ve done an armed robbery, too.’

  They brought a lifer out to see us. He was in for killing his old woman. As I said earlier, most men and women who are in for murder are what we call ‘red mist’ killers. They are in an abusive relationship, have never committed a crime before, and will never commit a crime again. Pushed too far, the red mist comes down, they top their partner. But they are not a danger to anyone else.

  This guy knew nothing about crime. Although he had committed a heinous offence, he was not involved in organised crime. He’d just had that one moment of madness. That is why we should have alternative offences for people, like they do in France for crimes of passion.

  Justice Keith said he had had to see all that with his own eyes to believe it.

  ‘That’s not a problem because you’ve taught me a lot of things,’ I pointed out. ‘I’ve shown you a perspective you could never see. That is why you can never put young, impressionable people in with professional criminals.’

  I told him that hardened villains should be housed in a special prison so that this grooming couldn’t happen, and low-tariff offenders should be kept somewhere else. I stressed that mixing people just led to that example of the kid being persuaded to continue a life of crime.

  I had the greatest respect for Justice Keith and still hold him in the highest esteem. I showed him a side of prison that he did not know about; he showed me how to handle the inquiry with a firm, just hand. He gave justice to the Mubarik family, and I am sure that would not have happened with other chairmen.

  While I was chief executive of Unlock, I met a policeman as he was walking on the beat near my home in Snodland, near Maidstone. He said he was worried about drugs, knives and all that. He said the children needed to know what it was really like to be involved in a life of crime.