‘I saw a man transform before my eyes’

A man steps into the centre of our circle for the first time. I feel a tightening around my chest. Long ago, before I had even heard of A Band of Brothers – the charity I now lead, which supports men who have been in the criminal justice system – this is exactly the sort of man I would have dismissed. A part of me still wants to dismiss him. Within moments, that part has stuck so many labels on him that, if I hadn’t done the inner work I’ve done, I would struggle to see his face: “Arrogant. Ignorant. Thinks a ‘real man’ should look and act just like him. Happy to judge others but doesn’t own his own shit. Typical white bloke.” 

It is so tempting to dismiss men we dislike as toxic, irredeemable, beyond the pale. And God knows, most of us – male and female – have enough evidence to do so with a warm glow of self-righteousness. Easier to lock them away, exile them from our hearts and our communities. 

And in some cases, that is the safest thing to do. But in A Band of Brothers, we believe that, when a man is willing to hold himself accountable and be supported by his community, magic can happen. And if you ask me what healthy masculinity looks like, it’s that. A man who has been arrogant, ignorant, selfish, rageful … in short, who has made mistakes (and show me a human who hasn’t), having the courage to step into the circle and say: ‘I need help’. And other men holding him accountable without ever closing their hearts to him. 

In my case, I’ve had to face the lifelong consequences of growing up with a violent mother, compounded by awful experiences at school. I’ve seen the inside of a prison cell. I’ve grown up with racism and classism infused into the air I breathed. I’m proud of where I have got to, and yet I still do the work every day – making mistakes, doing my best to learn. For so long I kept myself in that place of victim, and of course that blinded me to my impacts on others. So now I have compassion for all the men I meet who are still so focused on their own wounds that they cannot lift their heads to see the wounds of others. 

Suicide is the biggest killer of men under 50 in the UK, which is the acute end of a much wider men’s mental health crisis. The young men who come to us are often torn between competing pressures: an old story about needing to be tough, to make money, to dominate, and a newer one about needing to be gentle, to value more than money, to stop dominating, to renounce the old values. 

When a man is willing to hold himself accountable and be supported by his community, magic can happen 

Compassion and accountability – you need both. And the compassion comes first. I am still struck by the words of the young man who said: “No-one had ever actually asked me why I was angry.” He had also never been in a space where he was taught the difference between healthy anger, which is a natural and vital human emotion, and unhealthy anger, which leads to violence against yourself or others. Or between depression, low mood that is stuck, detaching you from life, and grief, which is a vital expression of love. 

 As for that ‘typical white bloke’ who stepped into our circle, within the hour, I had been privy to more detail about his shadows and bad behaviour than his own family had heard. And I saw a man courageously owning it and transforming before my eyes, in the crucible of clear-eyed, no-bullshit, grief-soaked, compassion-centred community. I could see what a gift he was, to all of us, and to me.

Conroy Harris is CEO of A Band of Brothers. The charity holds space for the mentoring of young men who have been in the criminal justice system by trained older men from their community. One way in which this happens is within the context of an intensive rite of passage journey. To find out more, visit abandofbrothers.org.uk 

Main image: Conroy Harris. Credit: Anselm Ebulue