After four decades spent in and out of UK prisons, David Breakspear is today something of a reformed character, visiting prisons across the UK in order to educate both officers and inmates about neurodivergent conditions. Ahead of a visit to La Moye Prison, he spoke to TOM OGG about his fascinating transition from repeat offender to public speaker and charity ambassador
THE phrase “lived experience” is one that has become increasingly common in recent years.
There are few, however, whose lived experiences are quite as remarkable as those of David Breakspear.
Born and raised in a working-class household in Kent, David was the youngest of six and spent much of his childhood and adolescence feeling overlooked and ignored.
After struggling through school, he fell into a life of crime and spent nearly four decades in and out of the UK prison system, until eventually finding himself penniless and homeless, sleeping rough on the porch of a church, and with nothing but a tatty binbag of belongings to his name.
Determined to turn his life around, David slowly but surely did precisely that, although it was a process that took many years of hard work, studying and an entire prison sentence worth of self-analysis.
Today, he is a public speaker and an ambassador for multiple charities, among them AllMatters Neurodiverse Jersey, and he has worked with many high-profile organisations and institutions, not least the Ministry of Justice.
And, throughout it all, David has maintained the same primary objective, which is to raise awareness and understanding of neurodivergent conditions, particularly among those for whom a life of crime often seems to be the only life worth living.
“Well, who knows how many prisoners are neurodivergent, whether diagnosed or undiagnosed,” said David, chatting via Zoom alongside AllMatters Neurodiverse Jersey co-founder and deputy chairperson Niamh McDermott.
“At the end of the day, you can take a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. I’m not trying to change the world. I’m just trying to get people to think differently, because it’s when you start thinking differently that you often start finding solutions.”
To this end, David visited the Island earlier this month in order to meet with and chat to officers and inmates at La Moye Prison. It was his first time visiting Jersey, if not his first time in the Channel Islands (“I’ve been to Guernsey”), and, chatting the day beforehand, he described the manner of his visit as “exciting but surreal”.
“I’m basically jumping on a plane in order to go back to prison,” said the 55-year-old father-of-three with a laugh. “Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I was this excited about going back to prison.”
During his subsequent visit to La Moye, David divided his time between four sessions, with two sessions in the morning in which he spoke with officers and then two afternoon sessions with prisoners, and with each of the four sessions focused on discussing neurodivergent conditions.
“Hopefully it will give some of [the inmates] an understanding about themselves, but it might also give the guards more of an understanding about the people towards whom they have a duty of care,” he said.
“What an officer may see as non-compliance, as an act of defiance, as deliberately not engaging, might actually be something else entirely. It could be that an inmate has a fear of authority, or it could be that they are feeling overwhelmed with a situation, or that they struggle with eye contact, or it might be that they needs things explaining slowly, because they’ve forgotten the first instruction by the time the third instruction arrives.
“So, you know, uncooperative behaviour isn’t always done out of malice. Don’t don’t get me wrong, sometimes it is done out of malice, a lot of bad things go on in prisons unfortunately, but there might also be times when there is a little more to it than that.
“And that split second of thinking differently could make the whole difference between whether a situation escalates or de-escalates. It could potentially stop a riot.”
For years, David – who was diagnosed with ADHD and a number of personality disorders in 2010 – struggled to understand what caused his own disruptive thought patterns and the self-destructive behaviour that repeatedly landed him behind bars.
“Oh, I couldn’t explain myself to anybody because I didn’t know myself, do you know what I mean? And that is why I want prison officers to think differently and to look at people differently, because they are the ones who need to be asking the right questions. You can’t expect the [inmates] themselves to know what questions to ask.”
Self-aware and self-deprecating, David knows that there are many people who will feel instinctively unsympathetic towards those who have committed crimes, regardless of whether the individuals in question have ADHD, OCD, autism or otherwise.
“It’s important to understand that, when we talk about prisoners with neurodivergent conditions, we’re not making excuses,” he said. “There are reasons why people end up in the criminal justice system – but they’re reasons, not excuses.
“Personally, I take full responsibility for every crime that I’ve ever committed. I deserved every single second of every single prison sentence that I was ever given. I was never bitter towards the system, which is probably why I was able to survive it as well as I did.
“I know that ADHD is now considered something that’s ‘fashionable’, with all these celebrities announcing that they’ve got it. They’re getting the message out there, which is good, but there is a risk that they’re also making people sceptical in the process. I mean, Greg Wallace may or may not have autism, I don’t know, but I do know that if the claims about his behaviour are true then his autism doesn’t excuse it. As I say, it might be a reason, but it’s not an excuse.”
As David noted, the statistics do seem to align with his belief that neurodivergent conditions are widespread among criminals, with close to half of UK prisoners having been excluded from school (a UK study found that, of 1,096 pupils experiencing “school distress and attendance difficulties”, 92.1% were thought to be neurodivergent).
“Again, it’s not an excuse but, my God, if 50% of the prison population were kicked out of school because of their behaviour, well, doesn’t that point towards a massive issue within the education system?” he said. “And we’re left with a criminal justice system that then tries to pick up the pieces but can’t. Prisons are often the dumping ground for people who have been failed by everyone else.
“I know there have been a few dodgy politicians who have ended up in jail over the years, but most of the people who wind up inside aren’t exactly living a peachy life. You don’t see that many Oxford graduates in jail. You get the occasion white-collar criminal but they’re not that common. The majority of people in prison are there because of life circumstances, but what led to those life circumstances? Were neurodivergent conditions a factor? It is, I think, something that we should at least be considering, don’t you?”
It has long been established that, once an individual embarks upon a life of crime, it becomes increasingly difficult for them to escape the lifestyle with every passing year, especially when stretches in prison become the norm. How, then, did David manage to free himself from the “revolving door” of crime and turn his life around in such spectacular fashion?
“It’s a long story,” he said with a smile. “I hit rock bottom in 2015. I mean, I thought I’d hit rock bottom before but, oh boy, it was never anything like the rock bottom that I hit in 2015.
“I was homeless, sleeping rough, and I’d lost contact with my family. I had nothing. I had a bin bag with my personal goods inside – and that was it. That’s all I had. I’d been to the council and asked about them housing me but, because of my history, which contains quite a bit of violence and violent offences, they couldn’t temporarily house me. I was considered high risk. And so I was stuck on the streets.”
It was at this crushingly low ebb that David, having spent yet another night smoking crack and heroin, experienced an epiphany of sorts and realised he had to make a choice.
“The clearest thought came to me: am I going to live or die? And I chose to live. I knew I didn’t want that life anymore. I knew what I needed to do and I knew where I needed to do it – and that was in prison.”
With this in mind, David set out to commit a crime, one in which no one would be physically injured but which would nevertheless be serious enough to result in him serving some serious jail time.
“I calculated that I would need five years in prison,” he said. “I carried out a knife point robbery of a newsagent and I got three years and nine months. And do you know what? I’ve still got my ID card from when I landed in prison – and I’ve got the biggest smile on my face. Because I knew I was home. And I knew I was at a place where I was finally going to sort my life out.
“I used it as a springboard,” he continued. “Prison doesn’t have to be the end. It can be the beginning, or at least it can if people use it in the right way. Fortunately for me, I had a lot of experience.”
It was at this point that David was finally told that he had neurodivergent conditions, a diagnosis that instantly lit a lightbulb in his mind.
“They gave me these labels and I was then able to go into the prison library and learn about them. And it enabled me to find answers for why I’ve done the things that I have in my life, things that I couldn’t answer before. It’s, like, even when I was doing crimes, half of my brain would always be going: ‘What are you doing, you nutter? Why are you doing this?’ And then the other half would be going: ‘Nah, don’t listen – just do it!’
“I think a lot of that is to do with my RSD [rejection sensitive dysphoria], which is when you experience severe emotional pain because of a failure or because you feel rejected. I didn’t feel attached to my family growing up. I felt attached to my friends, which was nice, but obviously I had the wrong type of friends. I could have met loads of future professional footballers but, sadly, I didn’t – I met criminals.”
And so it was David spent his prison sentence – a sentence that would prove to be the last he would ever serve – “putting my life together and trying to learn and understand myself”. To begin, he undertook a degree in criminology and psychological studies.
“I knew that, as and when I got out, I wanted to use my lived experience to influence change, mainly around policy and practises and procedures. And I still only ever do things where I can draw on my own lived experience. You know, I’m not going to go joining a woman’s forum and talk about women’s prison because I haven’t got that experience.”
Upon release from prison, David was put into “supported accommodation” and it was here that he turned his attention to the internet, something with which he was inexperienced.
“I had to get used to social media, which I’d never used before, and I started taking an interest in the history of organised crime. I joined a few organised crime groups on Facebook and I ended up being admin for them, simply because I’m knowledgeable about it all and that knowledge came across.”
Concurrent to this, David got in touch with the organisations which had provided support during his decades in and out of prison, among them the Samaritans, Storybook Dads, the Shannon Trust and Ormiston Families.
“They had all, in one way or another, had a positive impact on me while I was in prison, and so I wanted to give something back. One of the things I learnt in prison is that I felt a lot more self-worth by giving than I ever did by taking.”
David soon joined the Samaritans’ “lift experience” team, which led to him working with the National Suicide Prevention Alliance, and this in turn resulted in him giving talks for, among others, the Shannon Trust and the Open University.
“One of my first public appearances was at the Open University in Milton Keynes,” he says. “It wasn’t great but I did it. Did I come out of it a trained public speaker? No. But I got better every time I did it. It’s a bit like my whole life, really – I learned as I went along.”
Along the way, David made more contacts, until eventually a friend put him in contact with Revolving Doors, a “small but ambitious” charity that champions long-term solutions for justice reform by tackling the root causes of repeat low-level crime.
David was soon working behind-the-scenes with the charity, including spending 18 months working with the Ministry of Justice on creating updated “diversity support management” within UK prisons.
“I’m not taking credit for it but I was part of the working group that did it and, yeah, I’m really proud of that. I think, for me, as someone who has so often been so misunderstood in the criminal justice system, it feels like a bit of a victory. It’s obviously still not perfect, but we’re getting there.”
In addition, David is also an ambassador for the charity ADHD Liberty, and worked with the City Bridge Foundation in London on its £10 million “Suicide Prevention Fund”. For this, he was awarded the Freedom of the City.
“It might be a cliché but, honestly, I’m not after fame or fortune, I just want change and reforms. Having said that, my God, it does feel good. That kind of recognition, the acknowledgement that what you’re doing is special, it means a lot. And the Freedom of the City? Wow. Did you know it was created in 1237? It’s the oldest award in the world. I know it’s only a symbolic thing, it doesn’t mean that I can just go into London and do whatever I want and not get arrested, but I definitely feel different now. I love the history of London so it means more than any knighthood or anything like that ever would. It’s just incredible.”
At present, David is studying for a Masters in applied forensic psychology, and just saying this out loud seemed to leave him mildly gobsmacked.
“Let’s just say applied forensic psychology wasn’t in my plans whatsoever,” he said with a laugh.
“It was a senior lecturer who suggested it to me. I thought it would give me an even better understanding of how and why I ended up living the life that I did, which it has, and I really appreciate being able to take the lessons from my own life and speak to other people about them in order to hopefully change their own lives for the better.
“It makes me very proud. I’m proud to be doing this. These days I’m making a positive difference – and it feels good.”
*For more on AllMatters Neurodiverse Jersey, visit amneurodiversejersey.co.uk
The visit to La Moye Prison by David Breakspear has been made possible by the kind generosity of Carolyn Connor. Here, AllMatters Neurodiverse Jersey co-founder and deputy chairperson Niamh McDermott (pictured below) details how and why it all came about
EARLIER this year, I had the privilege of meeting Carolyn Connor, whose son, Michael, tragically passed away at just over 30 years of age.
In the wake of her loss, Carolyn wanted to make a difference and ensure that others wouldn’t have to endure the same struggles that Michael faced.
To honour his memory, she raised over £3,000, generously donated by Islanders who knew Michael.
We are incredibly grateful to Carolyn for choosing AllMatters Neurodiverse Jersey to be part of this meaningful work.
Some of the funds raised will go towards supporting initiatives at La Moye Prison, where Michael had spent time.
Carolyn is particularly passionate about addressing the alarming overrepresentation of neurodivergent individuals – especially those with undiagnosed ADHD – who are residing within the criminal justice system in Jersey.
This is a cause that’s close to her heart, and we are honoured to be able to help make a difference in memory of Michael.
