As someone who has never stood far from the realities of Bermuda's criminal justice system, I have earned the right to speak plainly. And what I have to say is this: we are failing the people inside Westgate and in doing so, we are failing ourselves.

Bob Marley’s Exodus mandate — set the captives free — was never just about opening a gate. Real freedom means a man walks out of that facility with a skill in his hands, a mind trained for the workforce and a support structure that does not collapse the moment he hits the street. What we are offering instead is a cell, a clock and a return ticket.

Recent headlines about Westgate have once again exposed what those of us paying attention already know. Reports of early release of high-risk individuals, allegations of abuse and gaps in oversight are symptoms of a deeper institutional failure. The question we must now ask — loudly, publicly and on the record — is: what are the people responsible for this facility actually doing to reduce the likelihood that these men return?

Because the answer, right now, is not enough.

Bermuda's correction system is oriented around containment, not correction. The distinction matters enormously. A man held under maximum security conditions with limited educational hours available in a day and family ties strained by the regime does not leave as a reduced risk.

He leaves as a concentrated one. The gang is still there. The conditions that made him available to it are unchanged. What the institution has given him is a reinforced understanding of a world he was supposed to leave behind.

There are not enough programmes teaching transferable, marketable skills tied to the actual jobs available in this economy. Substance abuse support remains largely surface-level rather than the sustained, evidence-based treatment that produces lasting change.

And when a man is released, the support structure — mentorship, employment assistance, peer groups — is barely there. We send him back into the same community, often the same street, with the same gaps that brought him to us in the first place and then act surprised when the cycle repeats.

The Netherlands holds approximately 61 prisoners per 100,000 people — and has been closing prisons because its rehabilitation philosophy works. Bermuda holds roughly 170 people in a single building, on an island of 65,000, where every Cabinet minister can reach every neighbourhood before lunch. The Dutch Government could not know every person in its system by name. Ours can. That proximity is not a comfort. It is an indictment of every failure to act on it.

We do not need a study to tell us what programmes are missing. We do not need a task force to draft a report on what vocational training could look like. We need the people responsible — in government, in the corrections service and in the private sector — to be asked directly, on the record: what is stopping you?

That is the conversation this story should spark. The knowledge and the people needed to fix this already exist on this island. Lived experience, proven community workers, working rehabilitation models — all available. What is missing is the institutional humility to not step aside but rather do more to encourage and incentivise the community to work in tandem together.

We know from experience that there are people that are ready and willing to assist but are not being embraced.

We know what works. Vocational training matched to real employment opportunities in Bermuda. Sustained substance abuse treatment, not a box-ticking course. Re-entry support that includes job placement assistance and peer mentorship. Public-private partnerships that give employers a genuine incentive to hire returnees. These are not radical ideas. They are proven ones.

Rehabilitation done right lowers recidivism. It stabilises families. It reduces the cost — human and financial — of a criminal justice system that consumes resources without producing lasting results. Investing in this is not charity. It is fiscal sense and social responsibility in the same breath.

The spotlight is now on those who hold the keys. Not in accusation, but in expectation. The community deserves to know what programmes currently exist inside Westgate, what has been proposed and not funded, what has been funded and not built and what the plan is for the men who will walk out of that facility this year and next.

We talk constantly in Bermuda about accountability and responsibility. Those words mean nothing if we are not willing to give the people we hold accountable the real tools to change.

Accountability without opportunity is just punishment with better branding.

The cycle — no skills, no job, offending, prison, repeat — is not inevitable. It is a choice. A choice made in budgets, in programme approvals, in the political will to treat correction as a genuine governing priority rather than an administrative inconvenience.

We can break it. The question is whether the people in the room where decisions are made are willing to be measured by whether they did.

"Unity in the community world vibe, fighting with peace and not for it."

• Gladwyn Simmons is one of the founders of The Emperial Group