Tru Benjamin
@tru68
“...one thing I did learn in prison is that there is no such thing as false hope - there is only hope.” Erwin James
@TheErwinJames
#JeremyBamber
#Innocent
#NoDisclosureNoJustice
8:52 AM · May 13, 2020·Twitter for iPhone
https://mobile.twitter.com/tru68/status/1260477941571555330
Erwin James: The editor with a captive audience, a dark past and a mission to bring hope into prisons - Feb 2016Erwin James has something most editors would envy, a truly captive audience.
The former Guardian columnist took over this year as editor of Inside Time, the free monthly newspaper for the UK’s prison population.
Shared newspapers for prison wings were abolished under the current government, only prisoners who have earned special privileges have TVs in their cells and digital disruption is not something that James has to worry about.
So for many the UK’s 85,000-strong prison population Inside Time is one of their main windows on the world outside their cell. And with acirculation of 60,000 it has saturation coverage of its target market.
James takes over from Eric McGraw who stepped down as editor at the end of last year after founding the title 25 years ago in the wake of the Strangeways prison riot. He was director of Lord Longford’s Newbridge Foundation prison charity and launched the newspaper because he felt one of the reasons for the riots was that prisoners did not have a voice.
James knows his patch well, having been released in 2004 after serving 20 years of a life sentence. What made him want to edit Inside Time, hasn’t he had enough of prisons?
He says: “When Eric was retiring I got an email asking if I knew anyone who was interested in this job as editor, I mentioned a few names – but then said ‘I’m the best man for the job’.
“They say you should write what you know about and I know about prisons.’”
James clearly feels honoured to be not just a working journalist, but an editor, something he could never have dreamed of doing back in his previous life as a criminal, and convict.
James wants to raise the Inside Time’s profile and get it read throughout the criminal justice system and beyond.Full article here
https://www.pressgazette.co.uk/erwin-james-editor-capitive-audience-dark-past-and-mission-bring-hope-prisons/Erwin James: from double murderer to newspaper columnistExcerpts:
When an editor at The Guardian came looking for an inmate to write a column about prison life, James was an obvious choice. A life inside – full of insight and vivid characters – became a popular fixture in the paper.
At the bottom of the first column, published in 2000, The Guardian noted that James was serving a life sentence for two murders. For some readers, it became a consuming question: who did Erwin James kill?
They speculated in online forums. Was it, wondered one sleuth in 2008, a crime of passion? Surely there must be some excuse for this writer with his gentle wit.
Twelve years after he left prison, James has released a memoir, Redeemable. "I never thought I'd be someone who'd commit such terrible crimes," he says.
"I've ended up with a life that's quite meaningful and satisfying. And yet there's two people not here because of me – two people who will never have satisfaction. Their families will always be grieving. Because of me."
James avoids recounting the murders in his book, although the details emerged in 2009, thanks to internet users picking and picking at the facts.
At the crucial point in his memoir, there is a newspaper clipping reproduced on the page. The details are sketchy but seedy: 28-year-old James Monahan (as James was then known) and William Ross, 25, were convicted for killing Greville Hallam, a 48-year-old theatrical agent, and Angus Cochrane, a 29-year-old solicitor.
Hallam was robbed and strangled in his London home in 1982. In a separate incident, Cochrane died in hospital after being mugged in the West End.
James fled and joined the French Foreign Legion, but deserted to hand himself in. He still remembers the words the judge used to describe him at the trial. Brutal. Vicious. Callous.
Few people know exactly what happened when James' victims died. He has written down the story only twice: once in a confession to Joan Branton, the prison psychologist who helped transform his life, and once when applying for approval to visit Sydney in 2013. (It was granted. He gave a talk at the Opera House titled, A Killer Can Be a Good Neighbour.)
He believes that to give gory details would be an affront to the men he killed. "Just me being around is painful for my victims' families, I'm sure it is," he says.
By the time Hallam and Cochrane's names were linked to The Guardian's columnist, James was free. A woman who had known Hallam emailed to say she had admired James' writing for years "and now I've discovered you killed my friend".
James "cried like hell" and, after a while, wrote back saying sorry, asking if there was anything he could do. Her response was brief: "I regretted that email as soon as I pressed send."
Another of Hallam's friends wrote to say that the agent would have been proud of what his killer had achieved.
"Imagine how that made me feel," says James and for a moment it looks like he might cry.
He went to the British Library to dig out that old newspaper clipping for the book and while he was there, he pulled out another fragment from the archive: the local news story about the car crash that killed his mother when he was seven.
Back then, James was called Erwin James Monahan. From his mother's death until the day he took his two first names as a writer's pseudonym, life would be tough.
His father was a violent drunk. There was never enough to eat. A few weeks after James' 11th birthday, he was placed on probation for breaking into a television factory. After he robbed a bowling alley he was placed in state care.
The children's home where he lived for four years would be his only fixed address until he went to prison for murder. In between, he squatted, slept rough and stayed with girlfriends.
He had two daughters with different mothers, but both women threw him out for his drunken violence. James offers no excuses.
"Lots of people have difficulties in their lives and they get through it," he says.
In prison, he had time to stop and think. He put his name down for evening classes and remembered his childhood love of reading and writing. He did homework in his cell, listened to current affairs on the radio, passed the UK's school-leaving exams, then graduated from the Open University, majoring in history.
Early in his sentence, he met Branton in the "psycho's office" near the gated entrance to Wakefield Prison in Yorkshire.
"All she wanted me to do was succeed in being a better person," he says. "She wasn't thinking about the future. She was thinking, with the life that you've got left, you ought to use it to do the best you can."
The Guardian column came about by chance. A probation officer who knew James liked to write lived next door to the Irish novelist and screenwriter, Ronan Bennett. After James and Bennett struck up a correspondence, Bennett mentioned the prisoner's talents to Ian Katz, an editor at the newspaper.
https://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/books/erwin-james-20160318-gnlpei.html