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Witches, Broomsticks and Libraries
My son has been gifted and collected many delightful children’s books since his recent birth. A book which stands out to me on Women’s History Month is: Room on the Broom (2001) by writer Julia Donaldson and Illustrator Axel Scheffler.
Aside from the fabulous use of words and illustrations, the main character of the story is a lovely witch who makes room on her broom for her cat, a dog, bird and frog. The latter part of the story consists of the broom snapping, presumably due to the extra weight of these passengers, then the witch risks being eaten by a dragon. But eventually all is well as the witch creates a new super broomstick with;
seats for the witch
and the cat and the dog,
a nest for the bird and
a shower for the frog.
This book’s depiction of the witch as a morally good character is wonderful but this is not usual. In popular culture, such as fiction, television and film witches seem to have flawed character traits, are morally bad cackling devious women who fly about casting spells on poor and (un/)suspecting folk.
The negative connotations of witches today reflect a long dreadful real-life history of outsiders being accused of being witches – with some being tortured and murdered due to this. The outsiders aka witches tended to be women, women who were providing a service for other women, such as support during childbirth or healing practices, or those that practice spiritualisms that differ to dominant religions. If re-born today some of these women may have been celebrated as midwifes and nurses, although their wages and workloads would still illustrate that predominantly women centered roles tend to be under appreciated.
On International Women’s Day I finished reading Disobedient Bodies (2023) by Emma Dabiri. Disobedient Bodies reminds me about how in a white capitalist cis male world bodies categorised as female and women are constructed as deviant. Proof of being a witch was apparently not just found in practices but on the bodies of women. Emma Dabiri adds to the discussion on witches that I did not consider; that groups of women aka groups of deviant witches were considered to be the most threatening to witch hunters. For a long time women have been pitted against each other, the historical nature of women meeting in groups to support each other as a threat to patriarchal capitalist white systems has added to this.
My son is very privileged to have so many book at the age of 1. Unfortunately I am writing during a time where there are threats to close 25 libraries in Birmingham. Notably, the libraries that me and my son frequent consist of mostly women staff (both paid and volunteers). In addition to the potential for job losses, if this happens there will be babies, children and adults without access to books, artistic classes, warm and safe spaces. To quote my friend and colleague, “soon there will be nothing left”.
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I’m not Black; my Friends and I are Brown, not Black
I recently began the process of preparing my child for the imminent transition to a new school situated in a diverse community. Despite being born into a similarly diverse environment, his early educational exposure occurred in an ethnically varied setting. Venturing into this new chapter within a racially diverse community has sparked a keen interest in him.
My child soon articulated a perspective that challenged conventional racial labels. He asserted that he and his friend Lucien are not accurately described as ‘black,’ rather he believes they are ‘brown.’ He went further to contest the classification of a lady on TV, who was singing the song “Ocean” by Hillsong, as ‘white.’ According to him, his skin is not black like the trousers he was wearing, and the lady is not white like the paper on my lap. This succinct but profound statement held more critical significance than numerous conversations I’ve encountered in my over five years of post-PhD lecturing.
The task at hand, guiding an under seven-year-old questioning the conventional colour-based categorisation, proved challenging. How do I convince an under seven-year-old that his knowledge of colours should be limited to abstract things and that persons with brown toned skin are ‘black’ while those with fair or light toned skinned are ‘white’? I found myself unprepared to initiate this complex conversation, but his persistent curiosity and incessant ‘why prompts’ compelled me to seek creative ways to address the matter. Even as I attempted to distract myself with a routine evening shower and dinner, my mind continued to grapple with the implications of our conversation.
Post-dinner, my attempt to engage in my usual political news catch-up led me to a YouTube vlog by Adeola titled ‘How I Almost Died!’ where she shared her pregnancy challenges. One statement she made struck a chord: ‘if you are a black woman and you are having a baby in America, please always advocate for yourself, don’t ever keep quiet, whatever you are feeling, keep saying it until they do something about it’ (18:39). This sentiment echoed similar experiences of tennis star Serena Williams, who faced negligence during childbirth in 2017.
The experiences of these popular ‘black’ women not only reminds me that the concept ‘black’ and ‘white’ are not only symbolic, but a tool for domination and oppression, and disadvantaging the one against the other. Drawing inspiration from Jay-Z’s ‘the story of O.J’, the song drew attention to the experiences of race, success, and the complexities of navigating the world as a ‘black’ individual. In the song, two themes stood out for me, the collective vulnerability to prejudice and the apparent bias in the criminal justice system towards ‘black’ people. In the UK, both proportional underrepresentation in staff number and proportional overrepresentation of minoritized groups in the criminal justice system and the consequences therefrom is still topical.
Jay-Z’s nuanced understanding of ‘black’ identity rejects simplistic narratives while emphasising its multifaceted nature. The verse, “O.J. ‘like I’m not black, I’m O.J.’ Okay” underscores the challenges even successful ‘black’ individuals face within racial systems. As criminologists, we recognize the reflection of these issues in daily experiences, prompting continuous self-reflexivity regarding our values, power positions, and how our scholarly practice addresses or perpetuates these concerns. Ultimately, the question persists: Can a post-racially biassed world or systems truly exist?
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Aspiration and Independence: A tale of Lego, Learning and Universities
A couple of year’s ago to mark the completion of my PhD, my husband presented me with a Lego kit, a Lego typewriter to be precise! This was an incredibly thoughtful gift, a nod to the start of my working life where I had used a very similar typewriter daily at the Magistrates’ Court. It was also recognition of the years I had spent writing the thesis. Simultaneously, it was also rather a surprising kit, my only other foray into Lego as an adult was building a Lego Yellow Submarine some years before. That kit had taken me considerable hours to build, which I had enjoyed, in part because of my love for the Beatles. However, I digress….
I embarked upon building the typewriter, which looked rather big and scary in its box, and even more daunting when I saw the huge instruction manual and lots and lots of bags of pieces. Nevertheless, how difficult can it be to build a Lego kit? I started with confidence, working my way through the step-by-step instructions, occasionally accidentally missing a step and having to go back through the booklet. However, about halfway through, I got completely stuck, I couldn’t make sense of the diagram and turned to google. Here I found lots of articles and videos, each of which seemed to stress that this was an extremely challenging kit, one of the most complex produced to date and not for the faint hearted. Regardless, I found some information about my particular hurdle and carried on working my way through the steps.
As time went on, I found the idea that what I was doing was difficult, playing across my mind. Increasingly, as I found a part challenging, rather than working my way backwards and forwards through the instructions, trying pieces one way and another, in trial and error, I turned again and again to google. Of course, each time I did this, as well as the answer, I was confronted by the continual narrative of challenge and difficulty. As I went on, I felt as if I could not complete this kit. Then disaster struck! As I fought to put in a moving part, a part of the model collapsed, I obviously hadn’t pressed the pieces in hard enough. I found myself facing what had been almost complete model (only one bag of pieces to go) but was now a complete mess. Now, remember this is just a model, not a matter of life and death, but I felt this mistake deeply. All of the commentators, self-proclaimed Lego “experts” were right, this was not a kit for me, a mere amateur.
This anecdote, really ends there, the kit is still in pieces in its box. I haven’t been able to bring myself to dismantle what’s left and start again. The fact that I haven’t completed the kit, plays on my mind. I don’t give up on anything (my work, education and family history attest to this), but here I am defeated by a toy![i] This “failure” got me thinking about learning and teaching and the role self-belief (or the lack of it) plays in the academic journey. This chimes with recent thoughts around independence and aspiration when it comes to excelling in study.
First a proviso, this is not about my institution, but seemingly every educational establishment and more broadly society. Everywhere I look it seems that young people are being told that they are incapable, that they need support in all aspects of their lives, including studying. That university study is incredibly difficult and probably not something that can done without enormous support. Sometimes this is an implicit message absorbed on daily basis, other times more explicit, posters, advertisements advising how to defer assessments, how to get in touch with support services, where to go for financial guidance, people you can talk to and so on. Now all of these are really important, but they are not the primary purpose of a university. That purpose is to provide a space for education, for thinking, for reading, for intellectual discourse, a place full of challenging ideas, allowing individuals to develop themselves in a variety of different and sometimes, surprising ways. It is also a place to make mistakes on that learning journey. After all, if we knew everything before we started studying for a degree, there would be little point in studying.
Nevertheless, in the modern university, there is little tangible evidence that this is what a university is for. To quote Nike (1988) where is the “Just do it”. Where does it remind us, that humans are powerful, resourceful, adaptable, that we can learn anything we put our minds to, we can succeed? Where are the messages designed to build self-confidence, self-esteem, and aspiration. Yes, there is help available, don’t be afraid to ask for support! There is no stigma, you are paying for every part of your university experience. Yes, studying is challenging, but so are lots of things in life; learning to drive, holding down a job, caring responsibilities, many of which we rely upon others for support.
Obviously, there is a big difference between Lego and an academic qualification, nevertheless they both (comparatively) require a big financial outlay, levels of dedication, concentration, aspiration and a desire for successful completion. I have three degrees, each has cost me financially, temporally and emotionally. This studying has given me the lowest of lows and the highest of highs along the way, but I have grown in ways I could never have imagined at the beginning of my studies. Along the way I have utilised support from academics and university professional services, for which I am very thankful, but the hard work is mine. Even better, those three pieces of paper belong to me and me alone, they are proof of my stamina, my perseverance and my ability to bounce back again and again. Nobody, can take those away from me!
It is for all these reasons that I will complete that Lego set! But I also recognise that I may need some expert help to build up my confidence again. This time I won’t call upon academics for support, but another expert, my 11 year old grandson, who has proved time and again, that no Lego kit will defeat him! With perseverance and an expert who will gently guide and enable me, that Lego kit will be complete in no time. Watch this space for the finished article!
EDIT Sunday 18 February: Mission Accomplished
[i] Apologies to all Lego aficionados, I fully recognise that Lego is so much more than a toy.
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Meet the Team: Liam Miles, Lecturer in Criminology
Hello!
I am Liam Miles, a lecturer in criminology and I am delighted to be joining the teaching team here at Northampton. I am nearing the end of my PhD journey that I completed at Birmingham City University that explored how young people who live in Birmingham are affected by the Cost-of-Living Crisis. I conducted an ethnographic study and spent extensive time at two Birmingham based youth centres. As such, my research interests are diverse and broad. I hold research experience and aspirations in areas of youth and youth crime, cost of living and wider political economy. This is infused with criminological and social theory and qualitative research methods. I am always happy to have a coffee and a chat with any student and colleague who wishes to discuss such topics.
Alongside my PhD, I have completed two solo publications. The first is a journal article in the Sage Journal of Consumer Culture that explored how violent crime that occurs on British University Campuses can be explained through the lens of the Deviant Leisure perspective. An emerging theoretical framework, the Deviant Leisure perspective explores how social harms are perpetuated under the logics and entrenchment of free-market globalised capitalism and neoliberalism. As such, a fundamental source of culpability towards crime, violence and social harm more broadly is located within the logics of neoliberal capitalism under which a consumer culture has arisen and re-cultivated human subjectivity towards what is commonly discussed in the literature as a narcissistic and competitive individualism. My second publication was in an edited book titled Action on Poverty in the UK: Towards Sustainable Development. My chapter is titled ‘Communities of Rupture, Insecurity, and Risk: Inevitable and Necessary for Meaningful Political Change?’. My chapter explored how socio-political and economic moments of rupture to the status quo are necessary for the summoning of political activism; lobbying and subsequent change.
It is my intention to maintain a presence in the publishing field and to work collaboratively with colleagues to address issues of criminal and social justice as they present themselves. Through this, my focus is on a lens of political economy and historical materialism through which to make sense of local and global events as they unfold. I welcome conversation and collaboration with colleagues who are interested in these areas.
Equally, I am committed to expanding my knowledge basis and learning about the vital work undertaken by colleagues across a breadth of subject areas, where it is hoped we can learn from one another.
I am thoroughly looking forward to meeting everyone and getting to learn more!
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The True Crime Genre and Me
I have always enjoyed the true crime genre, I enjoyed the who dunnit aspect that the genre feeds into, I also enjoyed “learning” about these crimes, and why people committed them. I grew up with an avid interest in homicide, and the genre as a result. So, studying criminology felt like it was the best path for me. Throughout the three years, this interest has stayed with me, resulting in me writing my dissertation on how the true crime genre presents homicide cases, and how this presentation influences people’s engagement with the genre and homicides in general.
With this being my main interest within the field of criminology, it was natural that True Crime and Other Fictions (CRI1006) module in first year caught my attention. This module showed me that my interest can be applied to the wider study of criminology, and that the genre does extend into different areas of media and has been around for many years. Although this module only lasted the year, and not many other modules- at least of the ones that I took- allowed me to continue exploring this area, the other modules taught me the skills I would need to explore the true crime genre by myself. Something- in hindsight- I much prefer.
I continued to engage with the wider true crime genre in a different way than I did before studying criminology- using the new skills I had learnt. Watching inaccurate and insensitive true crime dramas on Netflix, watching YouTubers doing their makeup whilst talking about the torture of a young girl, podcasts about a tragic loss a family suffered intercut with cheery adverts. This acts as a small snapshot of what the genre is really like, whereas when I originally engaged with it, it was simple retellings of a range of cases, each portrayed in slightly different ways- but each as entertaining as the next. To me, I think this is where the genre begins to fall apart, when the creators see what they are producing as entertainment, with characters, rather than retellings of real-life events, that affects real people.
Having spent so much time engaging with the genre and having the skills and outlook that comes with studying criminology, you can’t help but to be critical of the genre, and what you are watching. You begin to look at the reasoning behind why the creators of this content choose to present it in such ways, why they skip out on key pieces of information. It all makes a bit more sense. Its just entertainment. A sensationalist retelling of tragic events.
Although studying criminology may have ruined how I enjoy my favourite genre of media, it also taught me so many skills, and allowed me to develop my understating in an area I’ve always been interested in. These skills can be applied in any area, and I think that is the biggest take away from my degree. Considering I now work as the Vice President of Welfare at the Students Union– and getting some odd looks when I say what my degree was- I have no regrets. Even if I walk away from my time at university and never use the knowledge I gained from my studies, I can walk away and know that my time was not wasted, as the skills I have learnt can be applied to whatever I do moving forward.
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Navigating Clearing: What’s next?
Today marks the second day of clearing at our prestigious University of Northampton. Firstly, I’d like to congratulate those who have secured a place in the university to study their dream course, and to other applicants that are currently navigating their way through clearing, I wish you the best of luck.
Clearing may seem quite overwhelming – many of us have been there – but as you may know, it provides an alternative route for first-time applicants, those who may have missed out on offers, and those that may have missed their required grades or other reasons. For those at this stage, this blog is to provide some tips on how you can make the most of clearing:
- First, try not to panic if you have not met the grade threshold. Panic will only cause more anxiety – so relax. Remember, clearing offers plenty of opportunities – so when you make that call – ask as many questions as possible. Remember the saying, closed mouths don’t get fed. Ask for your options, think it through before you decide, and ensure a plan B.
- Make sure to have done your research about the course you are applying for. Demonstrate enthusiasm, passion, and motivation for the course during your interview (if any). Look at the university websites and academic staff profiles to see what they offer and where graduate testimonies are.
- I’m sure this is no news to you – but remember that popular courses like Criminology, Psychology, Law and others fill up fast through clearing. Wake up early, get on the call queue and maximise your choices. The admissions team at the University of Northampton is one of the quickest when it comes to processing applicants’ offers. These emails are sent within an hour after you have made your call – so ensure to set up email alerts so you don’t miss communications.
- You may find it beneficial to keep an open mind about other courses. This is so because you don’t get disappointed if you don’t get a place on your desired course or if what you are looking for is not for you after speaking to an academic. Again, ask questions.
- As I pointed out earlier, the university website should be your first call, where you will find all the necessary information regarding clearing. On the website, there is lots of support available – so make the most out of it.
- Generally, clearing often turns into a great university experience. Focus on the opportunity ahead; your effort will pay off with time, and don’t give up if your first plans don’t work out. Remain optimistic, be thorough, and embrace this next step towards your future.
Remember that the transition into higher education takes time and adjustment. Overcoming obstacles will build resilience. Progress may feel slow, but your growth is constant. Embrace uncertainty, connect with others, and take chances. By doing so, you will gain skills, knowledge, memories, and relationships to last a lifetime. Your adventure begins now – enjoy it!
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What to do with my criminology?
Let’s arrange time and set out two temporal constants: point one: a random meeting now and another one about three years later! The first one occurs during a standard University Open Day; a young person coming to a session to hear about criminology; they have seen crime programmes, read crime fiction, bought some real crime literature and now they feel fascinated. There is an interest there; what happens next? Why did they do it? How did they do it? Many questions and even more ideas of what to do to those who do horrible things. The Open Day is not just a response to singular identities, in fact it takes these curiosities and turns them on their head. Crime is bigger and smaller; its is more and less and, of course, most importantly is socially constructed, meaning that is does not mean the same thing across time and space.
This first encounter, was interesting, informative, and on the way home generated more questions and more curiosities. It is the first step to a decision to come back to read the subject, to get involved studying the course material and engaging in discussions. Suddenly the crime programme seems artificial; it does not explore social realities; the methods employed are too expensive and the investigation timeframe random. Knowledge is constructed on information but challenging the source of that information becomes the tool of academic exploration. Reading the crime novel or exploring true crime literature is not simply a guilty pleasure, it is a means to get narratives to ascertain cultural dominance and to address crime prioritisation (you wish to know more…then join us!).
Point two: an event sometime after the three years; a graduation. Wearing a gown and taking pictures with family and friends. A recognition that three years of study have come to a successful conclusion. The curiosity remains; there are still a lot of questions to ponder but now there is a difference in how this takes hold. The concept of crime becomes complex, interconnected with social and personal experience, but this is just the beginning. Studies haven’t answered the original questions, in fact they have added more questions, but they have given a “methodology of thought”. A process to relate to any situation that is known or unknown and explore the criminology within.
The completion of studies inevitably bring the issue of what to do next. How to use criminology; professionally, educationally, academically. As a social science, criminology contains plenty of theoretical perspectives and those relate to the lived experience and in many ways explain it or even predict future criminalities. Some decades ago, criminological imagination, considered cyber justice as a model of swift resolution, international justice was seen as the tool to prevent conflict and global crisis. Suffice to say that neither worked. Criminologists are more than keen to explain why neither of these work.
At both points we have been there; we saw you struggle at first to set the question, to consider the merit of the argument. We also saw you growing in confidence and writing work that you never thought you would, but most importantly to consider perspectives never thought of before. Your criminology is a tool; an instrument to understand social realities, when people are at their worst. To observe, study, analyse and explain crime without judgment or bias. Your criminology is a tool to let you join those groups that will ask “what about the human rights” that will consider “what is the value in this rehabilitation” that will advocate the objections for those people who are deprived a voice and for you to give them space. It is not always easy working with people who are kept locked up for the protection of others but it is in that point that your criminology lights up their lives. When all others give up and when the systems seem not to be working and when all seems so hopeless, your criminology will give hope and clarity to those who need it.
From a small personal curiosity, this is not a simple journey, but it is definitely one worth taking and now that you finish, you take with you that mindset and the professional obligation to carry it further. It’s your voice and the way you articulate it; it’s your appreciation of the complexity and these are invaluable skills to carry with you. From us, all we have to say now is…Happy journeys.
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Violence on the Frontline: Guest speakers and CRI3003
Before starting the CRI3003 module, if you asked me what violence was, I was pretty confident that I could answer. Violence, of course, is a “behaviour involving physical force intended to hurt, damage, or kill someone or something” (Oxford Dictionary). Alike to the Oxford Dictionary, this was also my understanding. It wasn’t until I started the module that I was bombarded by a whole different understanding: violence as institutional.
At first, this concept confused me. I think anybody who believes they fully understand the complexities of violence is not yet finished in their journey to understanding. This module, unlike other modules on the course, allowed students to listen to guest speakers from the frontline of the many institutions in which we learnt about. This, for me, proved invaluable. It helped me understand institutional violence, and why it is so complex. The speakers, albeit brilliant and informing, sometimes themselves didn’t completely understand the concept of institutional violence, and for me this highlighted the exact reason why it flourishes: lack of understanding within the institution. As violence is not understood as institutional, its insidious nature will never be understood, and neither will its impact. Instead, institutions desperately want to point the finger, and struggle to understand violence which has no actor.
In my opinion, not only did I learn as a student from the guest speakers, I believe the guest speakers also learnt from us. The interaction and questioning as a result of these sessions is where the crucial learning took place, as it allowed me as a student to understand an institutionalised perspective, and it allowed the guest speaker to understand an outsider perspective; a view they may not be encouraged to adopt within the institution in which they operate. This cross examination of ideas allowed for a more informed, deeper understanding. I think it is very easy to think you understand a concept, but applying it in your evaluation of the guest speaker’s experiences accelerates your understanding.
It is fair to say I learnt a lot from all the guest speakers on the module, and I believe it is a great opportunity and privilege to have had as an undergraduate student. Just when you think you understand a case in class, the guest speaker will make you re-evaluate everything you had learnt previously. This is a skill which is not only useful for a criminology degree, but also for everyday life when you enter the social world in which is made up by such institutions.
It is for the reasons stated above that I believe CRI3003: Violence from Domestic to Institutional is a brilliant module. Personally, it was my favourite. It consolidated my learning perfectly and allowed me to demonstrate all of the knowledge I had previously learnt. As I said before, the guest speakers allowed students to question their own understanding, and perhaps view a case in an alternative lens. This multifaceted understanding of such complex concepts is crucial in criminology, and life as a whole.
From my experience, the guest speaker sessions are only as good as the questions asked, so come prepared! In asking the right questions, invisible violence becomes visible, and all of the content learnt before finally falls into place.
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When This is Over: Reflections on an Unequal Pandemic
This week a book was released which I both co-edited and contributed to and which has been two years in the making. When This is Over: Reflections on an Unequal Pandemic is a volume combining a range of accounts from artists to poets, practitioners to academics. Our initial aim of the book was borne out of a need for commemoration but we cannot begin to address this without considering inequalities throughout the pandemic.
Each of the four editors had both personal and professional reasons for starting the project. I – like many – was (and still is) deeply affected by the COVID-19 pandemic. When we first went into lockdown, we were shown the data every day, telling us the numbers of people who had the virus and of those who had died with COVID-19. Behind these numbers, I saw each and every person. I thought about their loved ones left behind, how many of them died alone without being able to say goodbye other than through a video screen. I thought about what happened to the bodies afterwards, how death rites would be impacted and how the bereaved would cope without hugs and face to face social support. Then my grandmother died. She had overcome COVID-19 in the way that she was testing negative. But I heard her lungs on the day she died. I know. And so, I became even more consumed with questions of the COVID-19 dead, with/of debates. I was angry at the narratives surrounding the disposability of people’s lives, at people telling me ‘she had a good innings’. It was personal now.
I now understood the impact of not being able to hug my grandpa at my grandmother’s funeral, and how ‘normal’ cultural practices surrounding death were disturbed. My grandmother loved singing in choirs and one of the traumatic parts of our bereavement was not being able to sing at her funeral as she would have wanted and how we wanted to remember her. Lucy Easthope, a disaster planner and one of my co-authors speaks of her frustrations in this regard:
“we’ve done something incredibly traumatising to the families that is potentially bigger than the bereavement itself. In any disaster you should still allow people to see the dead. It is a gross inhumanity of bad planning that people couldn’t’t visit the sick, view the deceased’s bodies, or attend funerals. Had we had a more liberal PPE stockpile we could have done this. PPE is about accessing your loved ones and dead ones, it is not just about medical professionals.”
The book is divided into five parts, each addressing a different theme all of which I argue are relevant to criminologists and each part including personal, professional, and artistic reflections of the themes. Part 1 considered racialised, classed, and gendered identities which impacted on inequality throughout the pandemic, asking if we really are in this together? In this section former children’s laureate Michael Rosen draws from his experience of having COVID-19 and being hospitalised in intensive care for 48 days. He writes about disposability and eugenics-style narratives of herd immunity, highlighting the contrast between such discourse and the way he was treated in the NHS: with great care and like any other patient.
The second part of the book considers how already existing inequalities have been intensified throughout the pandemic in policing, law and immigration. Our very own @paulsquaredd contributed a chapter on the policing of protests during the pandemic, drawing on race in the Black Lives Matter protests and gender in relation to Sarah Everard. As my colleagues and students might expect, I wrote about the treatment of asylum seekers during the initial lockdown periods with a focus on the shift from secure and safe self-contained housing to accommodating people seeking safety in hotels.
Part three considers what happens to the dead in a pandemic and draws heavily on the experiences of crematoria and funerary workers and how they cared for the dead in such difficult circumstances. This part of the book sheds light on some of the forgotten essential workers during the pandemic. During lockdown, we clapped for NHS workers, empathised with supermarket workers and applauded other visible workers but there were many less visible people doing valuable unseen work such as caring for the dead. When it comes to death society often thinks of those who cared for them when they were alive and the bereaved who were left to the exclusion of those who look after the body. The section provides some insight into these experiences.
Moving through the journey of life and death in a pandemic, the fourth section focusses on questions of commemoration, a process which is both personal and political. At the heart of commemorating the COVID-19 dead in the UK is the National COVID Memorial Wall, situated facing parliament and sat below St Thomas’ hospital. In a poignant and political physical space, the unofficial wall cared for by bereaved family members such as Fran Hall recognises and remembers the COVID dead. If you haven’t visited the wall yet, there will be a candlelit vigil walk next Wednesday, 29th March at 7pm and those readers who live further afield can digitally walk the wall here, listening to the stories of bereaved family members as you navigate the 150,837 painted hearts.
The final part of the book both reflects on the mistakes made and looks forward to what comes next. Can we do better in the next pandemic? Emergency planner Matt Hogan presents a critical view on the handling of the pandemic, returning to the refrain, ‘emergency planning is dead. Long live emergency planning’. Lucy Easthope is equally critical, developing what she has discussed in her book When the Dust Settles to consider how and what lessons we can learn from the management of the pandemic. Lucy calls out for activism, concluding with calls to ‘Give them hell’ and ‘to shout a little louder’.
Concluding in his afterword, Gary Younge suggests this is ‘teachable moment’, but will we learn?
When This is Over: Reflections on an Unequal Pandemic is published by Policy Press, an imprint of Bristol University Press. The book can be purchased directly from the publisher who offer a 25% discount when subscribing. It can also be purchased from all good book shops and Amazon.
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Meet the Team: Helen Trinder, Associate Lecturer in Criminology
My Academic Journey
Two weeks ago, I attended a university reunion. My cohort are now in our late 40s or early 50s but it is remarkable how little we had all changed. Being back in the place where we all studied together put me in reflective mood and that (combined with some timely prompting from Paula) inspired me to share my academic journey.
I was one of those annoying kids who did well at school and knew exactly what they wanted to do. As a small child, I wanted to be a nurse but I later developed an aversion to bodily fluids which made that career choice untenable. I briefly flirted with the idea of being an English teacher, but both of my parents were in education and strenuously tried to dissuade me. So, at the age of about 14, I decided that I wanted to be a prison psychologist. I was in a careers lesson at school, and we had a big green plastic box filled with cards on which were written descriptions of different jobs. I announced that I wanted to be a psychiatrist (I think I was just being provocative) but I couldn’t find “psychiatrist” in the box, so I picked the closest one that I could find: “psychologist”. I read the card and it sounded really interesting, so I decided to find out more about psychology. The more I read, the more interesting I found it, and when I looked into the sorts of settings where I could work as a psychologist, prisons called out to me.
I was very lucky to secure a place to read Experimental Psychology at University College, Oxford in 1990. People have an image of ancient universities as being elitist, but what struck me was the huge diversity of people who were there. They were all clever and had studied hard to achieve their places, but beyond that they came from an enormous range of backgrounds – a far greater variety than I had encountered in my Shropshire comprehensive school. Our tutors worked us extremely hard. We had weekly tutorials, either in pairs or one-to-one, in two modules every term and we had to prepare an essay for each tutorial (two essays a week). In tutorials, we read out, discussed and analysed our essays and the reading on which they were based. There were lectures and practical classes on top of that and we had exams at the beginning of each term to make sure that we hadn’t forgotten anything over the vacations! That’s why I’m sometimes not very sympathetic to students who struggle to read one paper in preparation for a seminar!
At the end of my undergraduate studies, I still wanted to work in prisons but I knew very little about them. My degree had given me an excellent grounding in psychology but I knew little about the study of crime. So I applied to do an M.Phil. at the Institute of Criminology in Cambridge. This gave me an extra year as a full-time student and I thoroughly enjoyed it! I was privileged to be taught by such eminent criminologists as Loraine Gelsthorpe, Alison Liebling and David Farrington. I particularly enjoyed the penology seminars with Nigel West, which I attended just out of interest – I wasn’t taking the assessment in that module! The assessments were all coursework (extended essays and a dissertation) and had to be submitted at the start of each term, so I studied hard in the vacations, and I attended my seminars in term time, but there was also plenty of time for sport and socialising and making the most of my last year as a student!
At that time, HM Prison Service recruited new psychologists once a year through a national assessment centre. I applied in 1994, just after I had submitted my M.Phil. dissertation but I was unsuccessful. I got a job instead at the University of Wales, Swansea, as a research assistant in the Department of Social Policy and Applied Social Studies. I was involved in an evaluation of drug and alcohol treatment centres, funded by the Welsh Office, which employed both quantitative measures and participant observation. When that contract ended, I obtained another contract with Swansea City Council to compile a community profile of a “problem” estate. This required knocking on doors to interview residents, and participant observation in community settings such as the youth club, old people’s bingo sessions and the local pub. It was considered a rather intimidating environment to drop a well-educated 24-year-old English girl into, but I found the residents to be remarkably warm and welcoming and it was a highly rewarding piece of work.
By the time I finished the community profile, I had re-applied to the Prison Service and passed the assessment centre – the interpersonal skills I had developed through my action research had served me well. I had, however, joined the Prison Service at an unfortunate time. There was a recruitment ban in force which meant that although I had passed the psychologist assessment centre, I couldn’t actually secure a job. I was eventually given a temporary contract to collect data at HMP Littlehey for a large-scale research project analysing effective prison regimes. After 10 months of doing this, the recruitment ban was lifted and I was taken on as a prison psychologist, sharing my time between HMP Littlehey and HMP Wellingborough. The Prison Service used to fund a part-time M.Sc. at Birkbeck University, which all newly recruited psychologists undertook. Obtaining a suitably accredited M.Sc., along with completing a satisfactory period of supervised practice, is an essential requirement of becoming a fully qualified “Chartered” psychologist. In another piece of unfortunate timing, the Birkbeck M.Sc. ceased to run just as I joined the service. At first, there was nothing to take its place. However, other universities soon noticed the gap in the market. I, and others in my prison psychology cohort, were relieved when the University of Leicester set up an M.Sc. in Forensic and Legal Psychology by Distance Learning. The Prison Service agreed to pay my fees and my manager allowed a small amount of study leave when assignments were due. Completing a post-graduate degree while working full-time in a demanding job was hard work and I vowed I would never do it again!
I moved to HMP Woodhill in 1998, completed my M.Sc. in 1999 and became a Chartered Psychologist in 2001. At some point after that, I remember receiving a phone call at work from someone called “@manosdaskalou” at, what was then, University College Northampton! I don’t know where he got my number from, but he wanted someone to talk to his third year Forensic Psychology students about the work that psychologists do in prisons. My parents had not completely succeeded in knocking a desire to teach out of me (in fact I probably inherited my urge to educate from them), and my Dad had taught at Northampton when it was Nene College, so I was keen to fulfil the request. The talk became a regular fixture and, after a few years (by which time I was Head of Psychology at HMP Woodhill), we extended it from a single guest lecture to a series of four, to allow me to cover topics such as risk assessment and offending behaviour interventions in more detail.
My son was born in 2008 and I took 12 months maternity leave from the Prison Service. At the end of that time, I didn’t feel ready to go back, so I negotiated a further 12 months career break. I wasn’t ready to return to the full intensity of managing a team in a high security prison, but I did want to keep my brain active. I asked Manos if there were any opportunities to expand my teaching commitments. The University was in the process of setting up a foundation degree in Offender Management, which was aimed primarily at custodial officers at HMP Rye Hill but was also delivered to a small cohort of full-time students. They were short of lecturers to deliver the modules and my offer to help out was eagerly accepted. The terms of my career break meant that I couldn’t earn money from another employer, but a couple of hours a week teaching suited me very well, so I gave my services for free and taught a module on Professional Practice alongside a lecturer with a background in probation, from another university, called Keith Davies.
After a year of this arrangement, HMP Woodhill were unwilling to have me back part-time, so I resigned from the Prison Service and joined the Parole Board as a part-time psychologist member. This allowed me to work much more flexibly and, with a toddler in the family, it suited me well. It also meant that I could have a proper contract with the University of Northampton and I became an associate lecturer in September 2010. Keith had moved to a different job but I continued to teach Professional Practice on the Offender Management degree. There was also a module in Offender Management on “The Psychology of Crime and Criminal Behaviour”. The person who taught this left after a couple of years and I took it over. Returning to basic psychology and teaching it every week was daunting at first, but I really enjoyed going back to what I had learned as an undergraduate and re-discovering how relevant it was to real-life criminal justice.
The arrangement with HMP Rye Hill had never really taken off and the Offender Management degree only ever attracted small numbers of full-time students, so in 2014 the course closed. Manos was keen, however, to incorporate more psychology into the B.A. Criminology course, so we adapted “The Psychology of Crime and Criminal Behaviour” into a first-year criminology module and I’ve been teaching it ever since! I’ve also taught a module on violence and I’ve covered maternity leave and sickness absence in other modules too. My students will have heard me banging on about forensic psychologists being “scientist-practitioners” and I feel that teaching at the University of Northampton has allowed me to fulfil this role. As a practitioner, I have lots of interesting real-life examples to use to illustrate points to my students, but teaching also keeps me up-to-date with research and theory which I can use to inform my practice.
My academic journey continues to take me to new places. My position on the Parole Board was a public appointment with a fixed tenure that came to an end in September 2020. I decided at that point to start a part-time Ph.D. with the University of Birmingham. I had not wanted to go into research straight from my M.Phil. because I felt that, in order to understand people who committed offences, I really needed some direct experience of working with them, but after 24 years as a practitioner, the time seemed right. I am now 18 months into a 6-year part-time degree. I am exploring the role of empathy deficits in violent and sexual offending. Trying to undertake research (which ideally requires access to prisoners) has not been easy during a pandemic and I have faced a number of obstacles but nothing insurmountable yet.
I am still keen to maintain a scientist-practitioner balance, and I need to pay my university fees and make a contribution to the family income, so in February of last year I started working as a Forensic Psychologist at St Andrew’s hospital. I am primarily based on a medium-secure ward for men with learning disabilities. Forensic mental health is a new area of practice for me and, although I have plenty of transferable skills from my previous roles, I have had to adapt to a different approach to the people we work with and a completely new set of jargon.
Reflecting on my academic journey, it is the people that stand out. I think that the most profound learning has taken place when I have been able to engage with experts who have shared their enthusiasm. In this respect, my undergraduate tutorials and M.Phil. seminars contrast with my distance learning M.Sc., which was a means of obtaining a qualification rather than an immersive learning experience. I hope that, as a practitioner who also teaches, I have been able to share some of my enthusiasm for forensic psychology with my own students. In order to benefit from this, however, students need to take up the opportunity to engage fully with teaching and not just see their university experience as a means to a qualification. Of course, COVID has not helped this, and the university’s penchant for remote learning placed it in a good position to maintain teaching when the pandemic struck. But it is very difficult to engage students when they are just names on a screen. I hope that, as we return to more face-to-face teaching, I can once again inspire my students, not just to pass their exams but to develop a life-long fascination for understanding criminal behaviour and the people that perpetrate it.
Helen Trinder, M.A., M.Phil., M.Sc., C.Psychol.
Forensic Psychologist and Associate Lecturer
Thoughts from the criminology team 