In July 2021, the Criminal Justice Joint Inspectorate published findings from their review of neurodiversity in the Criminal Justice System [CJS]. The review notes the ‘number of times the word ‘difficult’ was used in evidence, most commonly in relation to perceptions of the behaviour of neurodivergent people’. ‘Difficult’ behaviour from a ‘difficult’ person: this might be how different ways of thinking, learning, or communicating are mislabelled—and sometimes punished—within the CJS.
Neurodiversity is an umbrella term used to refer to the natural variety of brain types and intellectual performance. In this framework, ‘difficult’ is to be replaced with ‘different’, rejecting in turn the idea that there can be a one-size-fits-all approach to thinking, education, and communication. The category includes neurodivergent individuals with autism, hyperlexia, dyslexia, and ADHD. In the context of the CJS, understanding neurodiversity is a crucial step towards offering appropriate and effective support to prisoners. In the following report written during her time in custody, founding member of Open Justice Karine reflects on her journey towards recognising and addressing neurodiversity:
'Neurodiverse' is my new tag. I am learning to live with it and celebrate it. Ironically, I don’t think I would be in prison if I wasn’t neurodiverse, but I would have never known about it if I hadn’t come to prison.
While the scale and range of neurodiversity in the CJS remains unclear, the Inspectorate report concludes that ‘perhaps half of those entering prison could be reasonably expected to have some form of neurodivergent condition which impacts their ability to engage’. If prisoners are to engage, then access to health, education, and rehabilitative programmes inside should recognise their individual intellectual and emotional needs. Unfortunately, the Inspectorate report also noted that such recognition is currently ‘patchy, inconsistent and uncoordinated’.
The UK Government published its response to the report’s recommendations in June 2022. Open Justice welcomes the response: it ‘partly agreed’ to five of the report’s recommendations, and ‘agreed’ to the full implementation of one. There is still a long way to go. Previous research has suggested that around a quarter of prisons are thought to meet the ADHD diagnostic criteria, and a 2016 review into prison educations noted that one-third of prisoners self-identified as having a learning difficulty and/or disability.
Real transformation will require training which can foster greater awareness among staff about the potential impact of neurodiversity on the lives of those in custody, as well as the resources, tools and skills required to provide extra support for neurodivergent individuals.
Learning to live with neurodiversity
Karine Solloway
This is what people who know me may say about me: bright, capable, hectic, easily distracted, impatient, can’t sit still, high energy, fun, constantly loosing things, adorable, rude, doesn’t stay focussed, annoying, demanding, keeps interrupting, keeps changing the subject, odd, creative, driven, blunt. All true.
A hectic and rebellious early life and many reprimands for not being ‘normal’ led me to see myself as chaotic, absentminded, difficult and naughty. As a kid I was expected to read classical novels but, with the greatest effort, I could only manage a paragraph or two and by the time I reached the end of that, I had to go back as I’d already forgotten what I read. My parents were at loss with what to do with me and tried to make me good, with strict discipline. I fought myself and tried hard to be what I thought was ‘normal’.
In fact, I realise I lived most part of my life faking normality, often very successfully. Not once did I ever pass a job interview, so instead, I ran my own multi-million businesses, but I had to employ people to hide my deficits: find important papers, organise my life, follow in my wake, put business affairs into bullet points.
By the time I finally got an explanation for why and what I am, I was over 60 and in prison. When I was diagnosed with ADHD and SLD it was the most liberating moment of my life. I look back at the decisions I made in my personal and professional life that let to super-high highs and mortifying fiascos and I wonder if I’d known about my ‘neurodiversity’ if I could have negotiated things differently, allowed my talents to overcome my deficiencies.
My trial was a mess, mainly because of my neurodiversity. My defence barrister told me over and over: “Listen the bleeping question!” and “Answer the bleeping question!” But I was not wired for that. They branded me the Prosecutor’s ‘wet dream’!
I am in prison, and it is what it is. What is it like to be neurodiverse in custody? It’s tough. In community I pay to have my life bullet pointed, be it in the living room or the boardroom. In prison my deficits are totally exposed. Every day in custody is a struggle. Every day is also a blessing. I am learning to speak about my challenges, and, more importantly, be self-aware when I face them. I’ve never done this before.
My ‘quirkiness’ continues to hinder communication when I feel out of my comfort zone (almost always!), but it helps me to work well over a normal person’s capacity. Thanks to that, I gained many valuable skills and qualifications, studying for a Master’s degree, and completing a few momentous initiatives that I am proud of.
One of the highlight of my personal contribution to prison’s life was, together with an autistic ‘colleague’ and In-Reach leader, to organise The Neurodiversity Awareness Week. It felt like publically exposing all my skeletons that I was so desperate to hide, and adept at hiding, from the world. On this journey—comprising the preparation, brainstorming and four public speeches—through my own honest reflections and self-exposure, difficult questions and emotional feedback from the audience, I gained more insight about myself than I could ever have predicted. More importantly, the Neurodiversity Awareness project did what it was supposed to do: it triggered genuine awareness and curiosity in every person who attended our presentation.
Recognising and addressing neurodiversity—what a simple and cost-effective way to address prisons’ chronic diseases such as anxiety, depression, aggression, self-harm and re-offending! I’ve seen a few real-life proves of that.
‘Neurodiverse’ is my new tag. I am learning to live with it and celebrate it. Ironically, I don’t think I would be in prison if I wasn’t neurodiverse, but I would have never known about it if I hadn’t come to prison. I have a few more months to figure out my return to normal life, and to convert my ‘disability’ into a super-natural power! I now feel I am okay as I am, no need to fake normality, I feel free to speak openly about my quirkiness to anyone. That’s the new level of freedom that I intend to take with me when I finally get my freedom.