David Gauke, the former Justice Secretary now reviewing sentencing policy for the government, has long been a thoughtful voice in criminal justice. The reforms reportedly under consideration – including smarter punishments for low-level crime and early release for some offenders – suggest a welcome shift: away from the political chest-beating of ‘tough on crime’ rhetoric, and toward outcomes that might actually reduce reoffending.
If we are finally starting to accept that punishment must have purpose – that it must lead somewhere – then there’s a broader conversation we urgently need to have. And that’s about who is allowed to take part in shaping the system.
This is not about tokenism. It’s about competence and accountability
The Representation of the People Act 1981, introduced in the wake of Bobby Sands’ election during the Troubles, bars anyone serving more than a year in prison from standing for parliament. At the time, it was a crude but politically convenient tool to prevent another symbolic embarrassment to the state. Over 40 years later, that legislation is badly out of date.
Today, it serves as little more than a lifetime disqualification – a permanent mark against those who may have committed a crime, served their sentence, turned their lives around, and gone on to become positive contributors to society. If the point of prison is rehabilitation – or at the very least, reintegration – how does it serve that goal to permanently shut people out of democratic participation?
There’s a growing body of evidence to suggest that giving people a stake in society dramatically reduces reoffending. According to the Ministry of Justice’s own figures, prisoners who find work within a year of release are 9 percentage points less likely to reoffend. The same is true for those who maintain family relationships and find stable housing. But so far, no serious effort has been made to ask: what if some of these people could bring their lived experience into public service? Instead we continue to focus on punishment, neglect rehabilitation and wonder why reoffending costs the Home Office nearly £20 billion per year.
A person who has been through the justice system often has a better understanding of what works and what doesn’t than many civil servants or think tankers ever will. They’ve seen the rot first-hand: the broken education inside prisons, the lack of mental health support, the boredom that festers, the revolving door of short sentences and endless recalls. If we want to reform prisons properly, we need people who know the system – not just on paper, but in their bones.
Dismissing this as sentimental nonsense would be a mistake. This is not about tokenism. It’s about competence and accountability. Most of all, it’s about not wasting human potential.
You don’t have to look far for examples. In the United States, former prisoners like Desmond Meade have become powerful advocates for criminal justice reform and civic engagement. In South Africa, Nelson Mandela led his country after 27 years behind bars. Even here in Britain, local councillors and campaigners with convictions have gone on to do vital work in their communities — work too often overlooked or made unnecessarily difficult by old-fashioned legal blocks.
Some will argue that barring ex-prisoners from becoming MPs is just common sense – that if you’ve broken the law, you shouldn’t help write it. But this is a half-truth. We already allow those with convictions to vote, run businesses, even become mayors or community leaders. Why draw the line at parliament?
If Gauke’s review is about making the justice system fairer, more effective, and less self-defeating, it should be built on and consider who is being left behind by laws written in another age. Justice is not served by disqualification that lasts forever. It is served when those who have walked through the fire are allowed to use their scars to shape a better system for others.
The 1981 Act belongs to a different time. Let’s move on.
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