Beautiful texts during a fishing trip with a revolving door criminal in ‘Uit de bak’

His mother had already understood it when he once took a hundred guilders from her to buy candy, says 48-year-old Christian. She had dragged him home by his ears. Yet it had gone from bad to worse: the first coke at carnival at the age of sixteen, in prison, out of prison, “I also plastered in between”. At one point his parents were happy when he was incarcerated: “At least then I would be safe.”

Christian, a revolving door criminal for thirty years, is fishing with Dwight van de Vijver in part two of the six-part report series Uit de bak (EO). He is determined to stay out of trouble now, but over the course of the fishing trip (they don’t want to bite), Van van de Vijver’s gaze gradually becomes darker. Because as much as Christian wants to, his lyrics make people fear a relapse. They are beautiful lyrics. “There is a difference between a scum and a crook. It’s just there for me. You can only turn it around. I’m not going to lie and say, I’m pissing holy water now.”

Open-minded people, that’s Christian’s preference. “I prefer to hang out with crooks. Better that than someone in a smart suit who sticks to all the rules.” Christian ignores for a moment that scum can also dress in a neat suit. Later in the fishing conversation, Van van de Vijver was only really shocked when Christian explains that he finds theft a particularly tiring industry. You spend a lot of time in crawl spaces. “It is very hard work. Would you like to come along sometime?”

There you are, an ex-police officer who has just entertained his viewers about the three Ws (home, work and other half) that are essential for preventing recidivism among former inmates. It would have made for some spectacular television if he’d accepted Christian’s invitation, but he’s just making sure they’re home by six. That hard demand of the probation service is checked with Christian’s ankle bracelet. He already had warnings. “Just a few minutes late.”

Declaration of urgency

In the conversations with Aduar, another developer, a fourth W loomed: wait. He is back in the Netherlands after long years in a prison in the Dominican Republic, but he does not have a house and he does not receive an emergency declaration because he still has a student loan; the municipality wants him to go through debt restructuring first. The despondency can be felt on the man’s face. “My head is going to go crazy.”

No, then Robert! This 33-year-old Rotterdammer was picked up by Van van de Vijver at the gate of the prison and is now brimming with energy. “I never want to see this building again. Not even from the outside.” The first two years in (he stabbed someone) he had been smoking weed, then he had kicked the habit, and now in the prison gym he has pumped up into a powerful figure of good cheer. On his way to his mother, he buys a flower. When he gets back into the car with the bunch, he confesses: “I was totally panicked in that flower shop, man. Pay, how was that again?” This unfamiliarity with normal life falls under ‘detention damage’, explains Van van de Vijver – the transfer of knowledge is sometimes a bit forced in Uit de bin.

In a next scene, Robert makes his way to the second W: work. He can learn a trade for three months via the ‘professional garden’. In a room with metal braids, a twinkle appears in his eye. Moments later, he is standing with a pair of pliers in his hand, tightening a piece of iron wire around a metal rod. “Two strokes. And now cut.” Robert twists the thread two turns and cuts. He says: “I think it’s wonderful, man. This is the start. It keeps getting more beautiful.” Do say so.

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