“It just takes one yes”: how Dante made it from prison time for supplying class A drugs all the way to big tech

Written by Lucy Hart.

For most of us, studying rocket science would be a crazy ambition; a reach for the stars. For Dante*, it couldn’t have been more so. Having served two prison sentences for Class A drug supply and carrying a weapon, the only skills he had were the maths he’d learned from dealing and his tenacity to get to the top. 

But Dante now works at a global leader in technology, and volunteers with us at Breakthrough, just five years after leaving prison himself. He knows his story breaks the norm. He wants to share it to show those in the “cold box” of prison that there’s a route out, and to show the rest of us that all it takes to enable a change is a single “yes” in a sea of noes.

*Name has been changed and some details have been left out or edited for privacy

Tell me a little about your life growing up: what was your home set-up? Who was around you?

My brother is my only blood relation in this world. From what I know, our father left the family when we were really young, and our mother passed away when I was just a year or two. 

My brother and I were put into care. We were lucky to get foster parents who, while they weren’t necessarily educated in the highest sense, did give us a set of life skills, I would say. Hard work, determination, perseverance, resilience: it wasn’t that they were telling us these things were important; more that we saw it in their daily struggle.

I come from an area in Leeds called Beeston. It won’t take you much research to find it’s highly deprived. It’s diverse too; lots of different ethnic backgrounds and influences. What I remember is a lot of time without adult supervision. Our aunt and uncle – which is what we call our foster parents – were working full time, and me and my brother used to be hanging out in the street. We weren’t up to anything at that point, because we were so young, but we were starting to pick up small cues about what street life involves. 

When did the idea of turning to crime come about in your life?

At the age of 14, in year 9, that’s when I’d say I started to divert to a different path. I started to look into how I could get instant gratification. I wouldn’t have expressed it that way at the time, but I could see the guy with the shiny stuff, and no matter how he’d got it – whether legal or otherwise – I wanted it for myself.

My immediate crowd were all in on that. In London, you’d call it gang related; in Leeds, you stick with your ethnic group, so that’s what I was in. It started out with simple things, like going out thieving. You do it once or twice, you get away with it, you feel good about that, and tell your friends… It snowballed from there. 

I was first arrested at 15 for stealing a mobile phone. I was let go, but I vividly remember the words of the police officer; she told me: “there’s a route you’re going down, and there’s only one way it ends”. I didn’t listen to her at the time – or my uncle and aunty when they came to collect me from the police cell and gave me a talk – but her words ring in my ears to this day. 

Within the next few months I’d been arrested again, this time for fighting. This is the first offence on my criminal record, for carrying an offensive weapon. I told the police I was carrying for protective reasons, but now I can say it was really for offence. They didn’t want to take me through the court system, so they sent me home. And from then on, it’s a bit of a haze, really – not in the sense that I can’t remember what happened, but in that it all happened so fast that I can’t really put my finger on what triggered each step. 

It’s not like I was a lone wolf through all this. My group were all the same age, the same background, and we were all doing it; it was very normalised. We were just left to our own devices on the street, and at that age you’re not in a position to choose something more conducive to a better future for yourself.

What were the circumstances that led to you being convicted?

At about 19, I needed money, so I got into the group selling class A drugs in my area. I didn’t even consider getting a nine-to-five; I saw everyone else doing it so thought “why can’t I?” 

I was arrested at 20; all my friends got caught up in the same operation because we were selling to an undercover police officer. I clearly remember the judge telling me that while he understood it was my first offence, and that as such it would be life changing to put me in prison, he had no other choice than to incarcerate me because of the amount of drugs I’d been caught with. My sentence was reduced because I was under 21, so I received two years for Class A drug possession and intent to supply.

I served the first three months in a Young Offenders’ Institute, then the remainder in an adult prison. Being in there with other young offenders was eye opening for me. Before that I’d thought the hand I’d been dealt was bad, but there I realised that others had it much worse. It started to put things into perspective.

When I moved into the adult prison, I was seeing these older guys who had been caught with £100k of drugs and saw them as manly, as impressive. I was seeking role models at that age and found them in these hardened criminals. I spent most of my time planning what I’d do once I got out.

What happened when you first left prison? What led to your second conviction?
The first day I got out, I went straight back to the people I was buying from before I went in. They were more than happy to give me more and let me get myself back up and running. That was the next four years, really.

At 25, I was arrested again. This time I got nearly five years, and served half of that in prison. I wasn’t eligible for going on tag or into a category D open prison because my behaviour was really violent towards the other inmates. I was so sick of everything. I felt that’s how my life was going to be; in and out of prison, make some money, go back in.. and on and on. 

What was the first step on the path to where you are now?
Half way through my second sentence, I had something like an epiphany. I was looking at the people around me, and 90% were the same people I’d been doing time with during my first sentence. Even in my second sentence, the same people had left and come back in again. 

And it struck me: what is happening here? This is a system that’s designed so that once you’re caught, it becomes impossible to get out; you’re socially conditioned to stay in it. These kids are just that: kids. They’re 18, 20; they don’t have the capacity to look beyond what’s happening in their immediate circle. I was about 26, and decided I couldn’t succumb to it. 

What happened next?

I started writing letters to universities around Leeds asking what I could do with myself, as someone with no prior education – no GCSEs, no A Levels – or work experience. It was just me and what I’d learnt on the street. I still have those letters. 

I wrote to ten institutions, and only one got back to me with a reply. A couple of others sent prospectuses, but what was the good of that? I didn’t know the education system – what course I would do, how I’d start, where I’d get the money from, where I’d live. I have so much respect for the university that got back to me. They told me they liked my profile, and sent me a full letter explaining how I could apply for a foundation year; that I didn’t need qualifications; that it was designed for mature students coming back after a long period away from education.

They took me onto the engineering foundation course, if you’ll believe it. As soon as I started, I promised myself that not only would I be a convict who had made it to uni, I would be the top student. I’m very tenacious, and it worked. I was the best student in my cohort, won awards, all that.
When I finished that foundation year the idea of going back to Leeds had become quite harrowing to me. The time in between my sentence and my foundation year had just been seeing the same crowd, them asking if I wanted to get back in on it. The same crowd who had never thought to visit me while I was inside. It was hugely important to me to pull myself out of the area I was in.

So I applied to unis in London. Again, just one accepted me, knowing my background. And it’s not like it was any old degree; I studied aerospace engineering – literally rocket science. I smashed that. I got the third highest score in my degree. I was awarded a scholarship to do my masters in Artificial Intelligence. The whole way through I was working different part-time jobs while educating myself.
When I finished my MSc, I got a job as a software engineer at one of the world’s leading companies, and that’s where I am now.

What or who has helped you on this path? 

In my brief three decades of life, I’ve learnt that the most unlikely people come to your aid. People who don’t know you, and take you as you are. A few professors on my university course really helped me out – not that I told them my whole story. And my brother; he left crime too, first for full-time work and now he’s in education. So he is by my side. 

The biggest thing for me was that I started reading. I picked it up in prison, and even now I make sure I read an hour a day. It’s changed my perspective so much. I’ve read all the great novels; I love history; but biographies are my favourite – reading about the impossible situations people have found themselves in and still got out. It’s helped me hugely, not just in the ability to articulate my own thoughts and feelings, but in terms of considering others’ perspectives and how those can be integrated with my own.

The self-help books I’ve read have helped me be more strategic in my long term thinking; that and playing chess. I play competitively, and it sits well with me – that logical aspect of thinking long term but on a small board.

What’s hindered you?

You know what’s not helpful? Probation. I was on probation for nearly two and a half years. And bless the probation officers as people, but they were really, really bad at their job, and you’d get the same answer if you asked anyone who’s been through it. 

The problem is, they think of you as a criminal. They couldn’t comprehend that I was starting university; when I went to my PO and explained that I needed to switch so that I could meet my requirements while studying, it took so much time and hassle. I was almost recalled to prison because they couldn’t get the paperwork sorted.

That person is meant to be your support; be lifting you up and showing you that there’s another path. But they literally couldn’t comprehend that I’d got out. 

How do you think of yourself now?

It’s weird to put this whole journey into words; it’s been a long one. I always believed in myself, but not to this extent. For a guy like me, with no formal education, to have reached this level of career… It's a lot. 

On one hand, I’m a really successful software engineer – you have to go through four or five interviews to get a role here, and it’s really thought of as the top player in this industry. On the other, I will never put down the part of me that’s a convicted offender. At work, I feel out of place. I have those street smarts, the hustle. I stick out like a sore thumb. 

This might come off wrong, but I am proud of having experienced prison. Not of my offences, but of the resilience it’s taken to get through that. The only reason I’m reluctant to share my history with people, is that I don’t know how my employer would feel about me going public with it; they obviously know about it from my background checks, but I’m still relatively new to the company, and I don’t know what their position is. 

Longer term, I’m interested in moving abroad; there’s a lot of software opportunities opening up in the Middle East. Because here, for life, I have to declare my crimes. Yes, after seven years I can stop declaring on a basic form, and that’s only a couple of years away, but any job that needs slightly enhanced security, whether to work with kids, or in finance or security, I wouldn’t have a chance. 

Why do you volunteer with Breakthrough now?
A lot of people ask me this; like why would I go back into that environment? But from the first moment I chose this path, I started incubating the idea of how I could take those experiences and help other people. I couldn’t see why I would have been handed this lot – foster care, prison twice, rocket science, global tech – for no reason.

And it’s not like I heard about Breakthrough, and applied and that was that. I’d been reaching out to institutions for the past five years, desperately trying to get into prisons to talk to people, to show there is hope, which most people forget when they’re in that cold box. No one would let me. They didn’t get back to me. I really thought that all the accolades I’d achieved would have got them to take me more seriously.

I have a lot of respect for Dee. Not just with what she’s trying to do in terms of directly recruiting prison leavers, but also because she was the one “yes” that’s allowed me to get into prisons and model for others what their lives could look like. 

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Dante comes with us into prisons to talk with inmates about his experience and to train them up in the tech skills he’s developed in his career. He sees a need for younger guys, especially those who are BAME, to see role models in the spheres of tech and engineering. For us, Dante is already a role model and we can’t wait to see where he goes next. 

Join Dante and other volunteers, with lived experience of prison or with experience of the tech world, to add a “yes” to a prison leaver’s path.