Yesterday saw Andy Burnham make an historic speech. Beyond doubt he proved he cares and he has the wisdom and confidence not just to follow public opinion, but lead it for the public good. But he must apply the very same logic he so eloquently espoused at the Labour Party conference in Liverpool yesterday to the way society currently views crime and criminality. It never used to be a political football and has exactly the same roots in social inequality and poor life chances he so passionately cares about.
We simply cannot keep spending ever greater sums downstream on locking more people up with no hope of rehabilitation. He must have the bottle to recognise this and that money spent wisely upstream on investing in people and returning the probation service to the task they once so skillfully undertook would fit perfectly with his vision. Listen to them Andy:-
--oo000oo--
It’s the reduction in human contact that worries me most. It feels increasingly like a conveyor belt. Assess somebody, put them into the appropriate box, prescribe X number of appointments, move them through the stages, reduce contact, move them online and call it proportionate supervision.
Except these are people. People are complicated enough without adding trauma, abuse, addiction, poverty, neurodiversity, mental ill-health, damaged relationships, institutionalisation and all the other experiences so many of the people we supervise bring through the door with them. Two people who look remarkably similar on an assessment can need completely different things from us.
You cannot dictate that somebody needs X appointments because they fit into an A box or an F box and pretend that tells you how long it will take to build a relationship with them. One person might tell me everything in their first appointment. Somebody else might take six months before they trust me enough to tell me the thing I actually needed to know. That isn’t inefficiency. That is probation.
Give me a manageable caseload and I can actually know the people I supervise. If somebody who always attends suddenly doesn’t turn up, and I know they’ve been struggling recently, I can think that’s not like them. I can pick up the phone. I can speak to somebody who knows them. I can get in my car and do a home visit because my professional judgement tells me something might be wrong.
Under a conveyor-belt model, that same absence risks becoming something to process. Did not attend. Attempted contact. Warning. Rearrange. Next case.
Yet that person might have relapsed. Their mental health might have deteriorated. Their relationship might have broken down. They might have lost their accommodation or something else might be unravelling. Or there might be nothing seriously wrong at all. But I only know that their absence is unusual because I know what normal looks like for them.
That is what you cannot prescribe in a supervision package. It comes from knowing somebody well enough to recognise change and having enough space in your working day to do something about it. Give me an impossible caseload and I don’t suddenly lose those skills. I lose the time to use them.
And apparently the answer to that is everything except fewer cases. Justice Transcribe saves minutes. Online reporting removes appointments. Supervision packages reduce contact. Electronic monitoring provides surveillance. AI creates efficiencies. Dashboards measure performance. Another e-learning package tells us how to implement the latest version of probation.
I’m not against technology. Use it to get rid of pointless repetitive administration and give me more time with people and I’ll welcome it. But technology is a tool. A tag can tell you where somebody is; it cannot tell you why their life is falling apart. An online check-in can tell you somebody has ticked “fine”; it cannot necessarily tell you that they very obviously aren’t.
What makes me angry is that we seem to be designing probation backwards. Prisons are overcrowded, so more people must be managed in the community. Probation hasn’t enough capacity, so rather than genuinely addressing that, we redesign probation until the available workforce can absorb the numbers. Less contact. More automation. More remote supervision. More “efficiency”. Human contact itself becomes the resource to be rationed.
Of course not everybody needs intensive supervision and of course contact should be proportionate. But proportionate should mean responsive to the individual in front of me and capable of changing when their circumstances change. It should not mean fitting a human being into a centrally designed package because somebody has calculated how many practitioner hours the system can afford them.
We talk endlessly about individualised, trauma-informed, relational practice while simultaneously building a system which increasingly standardises how often practitioners are permitted to have the relationship. Those two things simply do not sit comfortably together.
And please don’t keep telling practitioners to exercise professional curiosity while systematically removing the time in which to exercise it. Professional curiosity is useless if I haven’t got the time to act on what makes me curious.
Stop asking how little probation we can give somebody and still call it supervision. Ask what this particular person needs to make it less likely that they come back through the system, then give practitioners enough time and professional freedom to respond.
Because if we keep stripping human contact out of probation to create capacity, eventually we may have a wonderfully efficient conveyor belt. I’m just not sure we’ll still have a Probation Service.
Except these are people. People are complicated enough without adding trauma, abuse, addiction, poverty, neurodiversity, mental ill-health, damaged relationships, institutionalisation and all the other experiences so many of the people we supervise bring through the door with them. Two people who look remarkably similar on an assessment can need completely different things from us.
You cannot dictate that somebody needs X appointments because they fit into an A box or an F box and pretend that tells you how long it will take to build a relationship with them. One person might tell me everything in their first appointment. Somebody else might take six months before they trust me enough to tell me the thing I actually needed to know. That isn’t inefficiency. That is probation.
Give me a manageable caseload and I can actually know the people I supervise. If somebody who always attends suddenly doesn’t turn up, and I know they’ve been struggling recently, I can think that’s not like them. I can pick up the phone. I can speak to somebody who knows them. I can get in my car and do a home visit because my professional judgement tells me something might be wrong.
Under a conveyor-belt model, that same absence risks becoming something to process. Did not attend. Attempted contact. Warning. Rearrange. Next case.
Yet that person might have relapsed. Their mental health might have deteriorated. Their relationship might have broken down. They might have lost their accommodation or something else might be unravelling. Or there might be nothing seriously wrong at all. But I only know that their absence is unusual because I know what normal looks like for them.
That is what you cannot prescribe in a supervision package. It comes from knowing somebody well enough to recognise change and having enough space in your working day to do something about it. Give me an impossible caseload and I don’t suddenly lose those skills. I lose the time to use them.
And apparently the answer to that is everything except fewer cases. Justice Transcribe saves minutes. Online reporting removes appointments. Supervision packages reduce contact. Electronic monitoring provides surveillance. AI creates efficiencies. Dashboards measure performance. Another e-learning package tells us how to implement the latest version of probation.
I’m not against technology. Use it to get rid of pointless repetitive administration and give me more time with people and I’ll welcome it. But technology is a tool. A tag can tell you where somebody is; it cannot tell you why their life is falling apart. An online check-in can tell you somebody has ticked “fine”; it cannot necessarily tell you that they very obviously aren’t.
What makes me angry is that we seem to be designing probation backwards. Prisons are overcrowded, so more people must be managed in the community. Probation hasn’t enough capacity, so rather than genuinely addressing that, we redesign probation until the available workforce can absorb the numbers. Less contact. More automation. More remote supervision. More “efficiency”. Human contact itself becomes the resource to be rationed.
Of course not everybody needs intensive supervision and of course contact should be proportionate. But proportionate should mean responsive to the individual in front of me and capable of changing when their circumstances change. It should not mean fitting a human being into a centrally designed package because somebody has calculated how many practitioner hours the system can afford them.
We talk endlessly about individualised, trauma-informed, relational practice while simultaneously building a system which increasingly standardises how often practitioners are permitted to have the relationship. Those two things simply do not sit comfortably together.
And please don’t keep telling practitioners to exercise professional curiosity while systematically removing the time in which to exercise it. Professional curiosity is useless if I haven’t got the time to act on what makes me curious.
Stop asking how little probation we can give somebody and still call it supervision. Ask what this particular person needs to make it less likely that they come back through the system, then give practitioners enough time and professional freedom to respond.
Because if we keep stripping human contact out of probation to create capacity, eventually we may have a wonderfully efficient conveyor belt. I’m just not sure we’ll still have a Probation Service.
Anon
*****
This sums up the situation eloquently, and I applaud their contribution however, probation staff have been raising their objections to the direction of travel both in person and via this blog for several years, and the powers that be simply disregard us.
Do ‘they,’ not know our views? Do they not know that they have a crisis of confidence? Do they believe that they have a glorious vision of the future or that they know life at the sharp end better that frontline workers, or are they following a blueprint with an end point that has never been disclosed.
Dialogue, evidence, statistics, data and history are simply overlooked or disregarded either because of arrogance or a directive from above and we are playing a game without the privilege of holding a full deck of cards.
At the end of the day, bonuses will be paid, gongs awarded, promotions granted and the back slapping will continue. ‘They,’ have nothing to lose, they’re not listening and they don’t care what you say or do. It’s called abuse and they can do it because they have the power.
Anon
*****
I agree with this, and I think that’s what makes me angrier than anything else. We need to stop pretending the problem is that nobody has explained it clearly enough. How many more times do practitioners have to say it? How many different ways do we have to describe what is happening before we accept that lack of information isn’t the problem?We’ve explained the workload. We’ve explained what relentless change does. We’ve explained why relationships matter. We’ve explained the danger of reducing human contact. We’ve explained what happens when professional judgement is squeezed between national processes, targets and performance demands. We’ve explained why people are exhausted, why experienced practitioners are leaving and why confidence in the direction of the service is disappearing.
And still we get another transformation. Another model. Another package. Another dashboard. Another e-learning module. Another “efficiency”. Another announcement telling us how much better probation is going to become.
So yes, I agree. At some point you have to consider the possibility that they already know what we think. And that is far more frightening than believing they simply haven’t listened properly.
Because if you know that the people delivering the service are deeply concerned about its direction and you carry on regardless, what exactly is “staff engagement” for? If practitioners are invited to meetings, surveys, consultations and events but the fundamental direction is immovable, stop calling it engagement. Tell us what has already been decided and spare everybody the pretence.
The power imbalance in that is what I find increasingly disturbing. The practitioner still carries the case. The practitioner still carries the risk. The practitioner will still have their decisions scrutinised when something goes catastrophically wrong. Yet how much genuine influence does that same practitioner have over the systems, workloads, contact models and processes within which those decisions have to be made?
And eventually people learn. They stop putting their hand up. They stop challenging in meetings. They stop answering honestly. They sit through the presentation, complete the training, tick the box and keep their head down. Not because they agree, but because they have concluded that speaking achieves nothing except potentially marking them out as “difficult”, “negative” or “resistant to change”.
For an organisation supposedly dependent upon professional curiosity and people being prepared to say something doesn’t feel right here, that should be absolutely terrifying.
I’m angry because I still care. I still believe probation can be better than this. But I’m increasingly tired of hearing that practitioners need to make their voices heard. Our voices have been heard. The question now is why so little appears to change when we use them. And perhaps that is the crisis of confidence we should really be talking about.
Anon
*****
Thursday 1 October 2026: one for the probation history books. Apart from the introduction, and eventual unwinding, of Transforming Rehabilitation, Thursday could be one of the most significant days the Probation Service has faced in recent times - again. The media attention around the Sentencing Act may have died down, but that does not change what is about to happen across prisons and probation. The new Progression Model comes into force with hundreds of prisoners estimated to be released on the first day, followed by implementation across 10 tranches between October 2026 and June 2027. These are modelled estimates rather than fixed numbers, so the scale of the challenge is clear. There is an enormous amount of work happening behind scenes and credit is due where it is due, but the level of guidance, communication, instructions and mandatory learning accompanying all this change does not make the situation better. We do not need to return to the past, but you’d think they’d have learnt from it.
No rational person thought they’d be reversing rehabilitating, revitalising or renewing probation into something better. It is possible, but not if the future of probation success is primarily framed around justice transcribe, AI, tagging and reducing the prison population, with little serious consideration of what probation actually is or what it could become.
Probation has become the mechanism for implementing whatever happens elsewhere in the justice system, but without its own identity, professional voice and purpose. I do not even think there is real sympathy for probation staff being pulled from pillar to post through yet another major programme of change, while continuing to deliver a demanding public service, while poorly paid..
It’s totally ignored that within there is a legitimate sense of anger at those who have been complicit in allowing probation to become increasingly defined by the demands placed upon it rather than by what it can contribute. This force fed approach is simply that Thursday is where the policy document ends and operational reality begins, take it or leave it because once again the change machine is upon us and this time the Progression Model risks becoming another missed opportunity to properly understand, develop probation, rehabilitation and justice.
In a word, another omnishambles.
In a word, another omnishambles.
Anon