17-05-2025
'I spent my son's childhood in prison for a murder someone else committed'
Families of people in prison for 'joint enterprise' have come together to tell their story on stage, as part of Bradford City of Culture 2025
In 2007, trainee midwife Laura Mitchell was on a night out at a pub in Bradford, when a fight broke out over a taxi. In the aftermath, she went to look for her shoes in the carpark of the Kings Head, which had slipped off in the chaos.
Next morning, she says she woke up at home to find out Andrew Ayres, a 50-year-old man who had tried to break up the fight, was dead.
The young mum, aged 22, went to the police station to give a statement and was arrested for murder under a controversial law known as 'joint enterprise'. According to this law, being involved in the taxi row and her presence in the car park meant she was as guilty as the man who stamped on Andrew Ayres and killed him.
"I don't remember everything that happened in court," she says. "I passed out, all I could think about was my son. He had turned six the day before. I couldn't cope with the loss of my son – I was in the corner crying. For the first two weeks, I couldn't even look at a picture of him, I just wanted to scream. I couldn't speak to him on the phone, it was too painful."
Laura was given a life sentence with a minimum term of 13.5 years, meaning her son would be a man by the time she was able to be his mother again. "I'd never heard of Joint Enterprise until it happened to me," she says. "At the start I thought it would be ok. I'd never been in any trouble. I knew I hadn't done anything wrong.
"The police didn't come and arrest me, I went to the police station. I had faith in the system. But the longer things went on the less I believed in it. I had to be put on medication, I couldn't cope. I realised, 'the truth doesn't matter, or why am I here?'
18 years later, Laura is out of prison on life-time license. She has a job, but has never been able to become a midwife. Her son is almost 24, and she is haunted by the years she spent in prison.
Next week, her story – woven together with other joint enterprise stories campaigners believe are miscarriages of justice – will be told on stage in Laura's home city, as part of the Bradford City of Culture festival. The grassroots campaign, JENGbA (Joint Enterprise Not Guilty by Association), has partnered with political theatre pioneers Common/Wealth, to produce an immersive show, Public Interest, on which Laura is assistant director.
Billed as part music video, part-theatre, the show premieres at new pop-up venue Loading Bay in the basement of a disused city-centre warehouse. The story is told using rappers and DJs, drill, grime and bassline – the very music so often weaponised against young people.
JENGbA's work has also inspired a new podcast, 'In It Together', hosted by actor and director Maxine Peake. "We want and expect the British justice system to work for us but there are some areas where the law isn't working," Maxine, who starred in Say Nothing, Peterloo, and Silk, says.
'When I was approached to take part, I agreed immediately as I had personally met families affected by this controversial law. I was honoured to share their stories, hear about the personal impact from ex-prisoners and learn from the lawyers and academics who took part."
Another adviser on the show is Bradfordian Ishy Hussain Ashiq, 58, whose younger brother Abid is serving 30 years for aiding and abetting a murder under joint enterprise, despite working in another city on the night of the crime.
Shazad Talib Hussain was tragically shot in a Bradford backstreet in 2004. Abid – who bought and sold cars – had sold a vehicle a few days before the shooting, that was used as the getaway car. The then 26-year-old was sentenced to 30 years with no parole.
"When he got convicted, it felt like the world was crashing down," Ishy says. "We lost one of our brothers recently and he couldn't go to the funeral. My mum has had a couple of heart attacks in those years. She won't leave the house if she knows he's going to call that day – she puts her life on hold."
The issue of joint enterprise extends far beyond Bradford. The law dates back to a cart race in 1846, where one driver was said to have encouraged the other driver, who fatally struck a pedestrian. 177 years later, 10,000 prisoners are serving life sentences convicted as secondary parties – most of them young black men.
JENGbA was set up by two extraordinary mums, Jan Cunliffe and Gloria Morrison. Jan's teenage son Jordan – who is blind, and was waiting for transplant surgery in both eyes – was convicted of the joint enterprise murder of Garry Newlove in 2008. Gloria's son's best friend was convicted of murder under joint enterprise, and also given a life sentence.
While they never forget the victims of the crimes, the two women say that JENGbA was born on kitchen tables across the UK, as families – and especially mums – came together in grief and disbelief after finding their children sent down for decades.
Their campaigning, and Jordan's story, inspired the Jimmy McGovern drama, Common, which told the story of a boy called Johnjo O'Shea whose trip out for pizza ends in a life sentence. McGovern's script lays the blame on class politics. One of his characters says: "it's not about innocent or guilty, it's about getting working class scum off the streets, that's how they see our kids, scum, scallies…"
Thanks to JENGbA's campaigning, in 2016 the Supreme Court reconsidered the joint enterprise doctrine, and found the justice system had 'taken a wrong turn'. But after campaigners' hopes of overturning dozens of wrongful convictions failed to materialise, JENGbA and Liberty are now calling for Joint Enterprise to be scrapped altogether.
As pressure on prison overcrowding mounts, ending joint enterprise could be an idea that's time has finally come.
For Laura, Abid and their families, the immersive production at Bradford 2025 is more than theatre. "I want people to know that this is real, this is still happening, that what they're seeing isn't fiction,' Laura says. "This can happen to anyone. I'm on life-time license. That's always there. I can't go on holiday. I'm not allowed to be a midwife. Prison has stolen the possibility of me having more children. I've missed out on so much."
