Denial, we’ve all been there

A prison sentence is an opportunity for reflection and the nurturing of self-awareness. Sometimes, with reflection, we start to question our beliefs and attitudes. In the early days, somebody told me that every prisoner I would meet would insist he is innocent; but I suspect that many of us are, or have been, in denial.

Yes, we are all aware of well-publicised miscarriages of justice. Not everybody in prison is guilty as charged. We have the best legal system in the world, but it is far from perfect and we can all give examples of shambolic investigations and dubious core procedures. But, if we get a fair trial and the verdict goes against us, it is not necessarily wrong.

In an adversarial trial, two sides present their recollection and interpretation of events. These are usually polarised, but as in all arguments, the truth usually lies somewhere in the middle ground. The resentment often arises because in legal proceedings there is too often an assumption of guilt and inequality of arms in the court process. The woman who holds the scales of justice is blindfolded for a reason.

In a climate where one person’s uncorroborated testimony can consign a man to prison for many years, the potential for unsafe convictions is very real. The burden of proof and the evidential bar fluctuate according to social mores and political agenda. Real life is nuanced. The law is black and white. Ghandi took the concept of ‘Satyagraha’ literally. Absolute truth. But there is no such thing as absolute truth in the administration of justice. There are few moral absolutes in life, but there is ambiguity, nuanced, and context.

This opinion piece is not about innocent people in prison; it’s about guilty people in prison who are in denial. We humans have an amazing capacity for denial and self-delusion. Maybe that’s because whatever our mistakes, whatever crimes, we at least have the humility to be embarrassed by our past behaviours; to feel guilty. Perhaps guilt is a good starting point for self-knowledge, as we recognise that we made a bad decision, and acknowledge that we can make better choices in the future.

I would suggest that most crimes happen when good people do bad things. One NHS psychiatrist, writing in the national Press, said that shame is one of the most corrosive emotions there is. It’s not the same as guilt. Guilt says I did something bad. Shame says I am bad. They then suggested abdicating our responsibilities, as if the choices we made are beyond our control.

Whether we feel shame or guilt, most of us never give much thought to our victims. We are so convinced that we are the victims of injustice, of malice or some universal or local conspiracy. Perhaps this is linked to pathological narcissism. We think we are the centre of the universe and never stop to consider the feelings, the wants or the needs of others. If you believe Copernicus, we are not the centre of the universe after all.

Shame must be carried by the perpetrator and not the victim, said Gisèle Pelicot. Sometimes we reassure ourselves that ours is a victimless crime. There is no such thing, but it makes us feel better. In prison there is a hierarchy of offences. If we have somebody to look down on, it makes us feel better about our offences, but whatever the offence, we are all in here for a reason. Everybody offends for a reason. Whether it be nature, nurture, opportunism, need, greed – always a reason, but rarely an excuse. We offend because we have made a bad choice or are perpetuating what we were taught as kids.

We can lie to the police, lie to the courts, and lie to ourselves. If we repeat a lie often enough, we will come to genuinely believe it. This is what psychologists call neuroplasticity. Prison gives us a unique pause in our lives, a time with solitude and quietude. The absence of these distractions is a rare gift of time in which we can reflect on our lives before prison and acknowledge our aspirations for a better life after prison.

In some religions it is said that accepting our crime and being genuinely sorry, apologising and seeking forgiveness is worthy; whereas talk is cheap and admitting guilt and offering contrition can be a disingenuous box-ticking exercise. Atonement is a more practical form of contrition and reparation. Perhaps by atonement we show more respect for our victim and ourselves. By victims of crime, I include the wives, partners, children and friends we leave on the outside, because they also pay a high price for our crimes. Despite our obvious privations, we are insulated to a degree, often more than they are.

A prison sentence can be educative and redemptive if we make the most of facilities in prison. We can leave prison with some dignity in the knowledge that we did the crime, but we did the time, and whilst in prison we bettered ourselves. But self-delusion, shame and resentment do nothing to break the pernicious cycle of reoffending.

Editorial note – Satyagraha means ‘truth-force’, and is Mahatma Gandhi’s philosophy of nonviolent resistance, combining ‘satya’ (truth) and ‘agraha’ (holding onto) to fight injustice. It is a powerful tool for change based on non-violence, moral strength, and self-sacrifice, aiming to convert the opponent rather than defeat them.

Nicolaus Copernicus (1473–1543) was a Renaissance astronomer from Poland who formulated the heliocentric model, placing the Sun, rather than Earth, at the centre of the universe. 

Gisèle Pelicot is the French woman who waived her anonymity during the 2024 trial of her husband Dominique, who had drugged and raped her at their home, and dozens of other men whom he had invited to join in.