It's all in the diversion

They advised us, the people at the Winston Churchill Memorial Trust, to remain open to the unplanned for possibility ; not to be so fixed to a tight itinerary that we were unable to take advantage of the unforeseen yet insightful diversion. In the first week of my fellowship travels I have already experienced the wisdom of that advice. The first few days spent with the people of the Court and Probation Service in Central Florida provided a good enough start in themselves but the unscheduled addition was the invite from my hosts to spend the weekend experiencing another part of the culture and landscape of 'the South'. The coast of Georgia, a little north of Florida, is rich in that verdant, swampy, flat scenery that backdrops so many movies and showcases so much literature. In Savannah I walked past the childhood home of Flannery O'Connor and listened to the accents and cadences of the characters of Alice Walker. I also thought a lot about how often a lucky diversion can deepen and enrich a carefully planned experience.

The people I saw in Court in Daytona might get 'lucky' and find themselves also being diverted away from what seems like a foreseeable outcome. Diversion from prison, and perhaps from the criminal justice system altogether (though that is more arguable), may in fact be their only hope of reclaiming a fruitful life. For people whose capacity to make informed choices is further limited by learning impairment that possibility of diversion offers something even more valuable. The Scottish Government is currently looking at the issue of learning disability in its criminal justice system and some of us who are engaged in the provision of support in this area are looking at it with them. At this early stage of seeing the good practice here, I am certainly reflecting on how a little diversion, a modest alternative, a slight deviation from a planned route can go a long, long way towards changing the course of things. For me, the weekend in Georgia may just mean I start seeing the whole picture here through more culturally sensitive eyes. For the people before the Court back in Daytona it could mean the chance of a whole other life.

What does Fyodor say? Well, his character, Raskolnikov suffers from two complaints that often accompany those branded 'criminal': a desperate need for money and a strong sentimental attachment to his mother. Neither of these is helpful is guiding him to see things clearly so he is bound to act out of despair and torment rather than a careful consideration of consequences. Interestingly the Russian word for 'crime' which Dostoevsky uses (not that I'm reading this in Russian, it says it in the foreword!) literally means 'over-stepping'; as though people simply , and perhaps mistakenly , breach a boundary. Quite a long way from the idea that those who commit most criminal offences are scheming and malevolent anarchists out to take advantage of the rest of us. Hapless is more like it. This has the ring of truth and Raskolnikov, or , Rodya , as he's known his mum, is planning what will amount to his own downfall with meticulous care. Not a diversion in sight.

I'm reading about him meantime in my basic but clean, old fashioned boarding house room in Harlem. It's in an old Brownstone on 141st Street and the sounds of insects and birds have been replaced by car radios and sirens. Tomorrow the train from Grand Central takes me upstate to the Delancey Street Foundation in Brewster, New York where I hope to see what the results of a lucky diversion can actually mean.