Shadows and Light — Prisoners Week Scotland

Shadows and Light by Dr. Bob, a member of the Quaker Community Justice Working Group and the Quakers Society of Friends, reflects on his 30 years as a GP in one of Glasgow's most deprived areas. He describes how housing policies created a "Zero-point" neighbourhood for society’s most vulnerable, including ex-prisoners, those struggling with mental health issues, and families in poverty. Despite violence and addiction, Dr. Bob witnessed resilience, humour, and a strong sense of community. Health visitors worked tirelessly, and charity thrived. Though challenges remain, new developments bring hope. Dr. Bob emphasises the need for social reform to break cycles of poverty and crime, ensuring a brighter future for the next generation.

For nearly 30 years, I walked the streets of one of Glasgow's most deprived neighbourhoods as a General Practitioner. Each day, I witnessed a heartbreaking transformation - bright-eyed babies growing into troubled adults, their potential dimmed by circumstances beyond their control.

This community, unintentionally created by Glasgow City Council's housing policies, became a "Zero-point" area - a last resort for society's most vulnerable: people with rent arrears, sociopathic families, people with mental health and alcohol problems, and ex-prisoners all found themselves concentrated in this urban crucible. The collapse of Glasgow's heavy industries in the late '70s and early '80s delivered the final blow to the community's fragile self-esteem.

In cramped flats and rundown houses, I saw young mothers struggling to connect with their children. Some doing anything to make ends meet, others lived in constant fear of abusive partners with little or no family support. The air was thick with the greasy smell of fast food - a cruel reminder of how the community had lost the ability to cook nutritious meals from raw ingredients: seventeen fast food outlets still line a hundred-yard stretch of street.

Violence lurked in the shadows, addiction prowled the streets. The area became the drug capital of the city, offering easy money to those with few other options. Yet, remarkably, I never felt at risk. Instead, I experienced a warmth and sense of humour that I've rarely encountered elsewhere.

Our health visitors were warriors in this battlefield of broken dreams. I watched them fight tirelessly, arming new mothers with knowledge about parenting, nutrition, vaccinations, and oral hygiene. They kept a vigilant eye out for signs of abuse and neglect. Our practice had far more families on the "At Risk" register than others in Glasgow - each name a silent testament to the challenges we faced.

Despite the hardships, the community's heart beat strongly. Charity collections here often outstripped those in wealthy suburbs. Recovering addicts, having walked through fire themselves, volunteered selflessly to help others in distress. The empathy and resilience I witnessed daily humbled and inspired me.

Now, as I look back, I see signs of change. New housing developments are attracting residents with higher aspirations. The area boasts one of Scotland's best indoor skateboard facilities.

The fight is far from over. The drug trade continues to lure too many young people with the promise of easy money. But there's hope. The community that once supplied Glasgow's industries with a hardworking labour force is finding new ways to rebuild and redefine itself.

This neighbourhood, this crucible of human experience, taught me more about resilience, empathy, and the indomitable human spirit than any medical textbook ever could. It's a place where hope and heartbreak walk hand in hand down every street. As I reflect on my years of service, I carry with me the weight of countless stories - of lives lost, of battles won, of a community that refuses to be defined by its struggles.

The journey from innocent child to troubled adult isn't inevitable, but without intervention, it's all too common. By understanding the complex interplay of social, economic, and cultural factors that contribute to offending behaviour, we can work towards more effective prevention and rehabilitation programmes. Only then can we ensure that the babies born in this community today have a brighter future than those I first held four decades ago.