Inside Juvie: A Teacher’s Story, page 1
Disclaimer:
While this book is inspired by the author’s lived experiences, names, characters, institutions, locations, events, and incidents have been changed and fictionalised for dramatic effect and to protect people. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual institutions and events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © Paul A. MacNamara
First published 2024
This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without written permission.
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PO Box 303, Newport, NSW 2106, Australia
Phone: 1300 364 611
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Cover design and typesetting: Think Productions
For Emma
Matilda and Eva
Dedicated to the Laurence’s of this world
The children now love luxury; they have bad manners, contempt for authority; they show disrespect for elders and love chatter in place of exercise. Children are now tyrants … they contradict their parents … and tyrannise their teachers.
Attributed to the philosopher Socrates (470–399 BCE)
Contents
Chapter 1 - Admissions
Chapter 2 - The Abused, the Traumatised and the Lost (and That Was Just the Staff )
Chapter 3 - Induction
Chapter 4 - No Effect
Chapter 5 - Brand Awareness and Postcodes
Chapter 6 - Every Letter in the Alphabet
Chapter 7 - Simultaneous Occasions
Chapter 8 - Our Values and Principals
Chapter 9 - Unaccompanied Minors
Chapter 10 - Reincarceration
Chapter 11 - A Joker to All Who Knew Him
Chapter 12 - A ‘Fourgone’ Conclusion
Chapter 13 - I Threw a Brick Through a Window
Chapter 14 - The Past, Present and Emerging
Chapter 15 - Incident Advice
Chapter 16 - The Violence and the Silence
Chapter 17 - Swear Mothers
Chapter 18 - The Darkest Guy in the Room
Chapter 19 - It was Torture, Cuz
Chapter 20 - The Boneyard
Chapter 21 - Assistance Required
Chapter 22 - The Language of the Unheard
Chapter 23 - Epilogue or What’s News?
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
Admissions
Strutting around like a prized rooster, with his ginger comb of hair and bright white skin shining in the sunlight, Reggie stood proud up on the roof waving his shirt in circles above his head. Four other boys sat among the smashed-up solar panels, bashed-in skylights, kicked-over air-conditioning units and ripped-out TV antennas – just taking a break from the destruction. It had been a long night. There was broken glass on the pavement below. From the ground you could see the whirlybird vents were crushed and sitting on their sides, corrugated iron roofing sheets were ripped up and guttering had been kicked off – one length seemed to be hanging by a single nail as it swung in the breeze. Below the dangling drainpipe was a team of youth officers who were kitted up in riot gear – helmets and visors, transparent thermoplastic shields, protective vests, leg and forearm guards – the whole shebang. A tactical squad from the nearby prison was positioned to the side with batons ready for action. Both units stood at a distance away from the building to avoid being hit by the debris that the teenaged inmates hurtled down in their direction.
When I had left work the previous afternoon there wasn’t even the slightest hint of trouble. But now? Now the whole centre was in full lockdown. Police cars with flashing lights were in the carpark and the Admissions phone rang off the hook as the media caught a sniff of the rampage. A Youth Justice drone hovered overhead relaying the scene outside back to the large, multi-screened closed-circuit TV in the command post. A suited-up officer on the ground recorded everything as evidence on a handheld camera. Standing nearby was another officer holding a megaphone, though he was not talking in that moment.
I had arrived early to work that morning and was told by the admissions officer to remain upstairs and out of the way. Sitting in my office, I could hear the commotion but could not see anything. Tension was mounting and I was on my own in the school building, so I took a walk down the corridor. As I entered the photocopying room, from the window I could see Reggie waltzing around on the unit roof. He was clearly enjoying his moment in the spotlight, gesticulating and grinning at the guards. He gave them the bird with both hands, his index fingers rapidly going up and down in large, exaggerated movements. He was also giving them a gobful of advice and abuse. In response the senior officer raised the megaphone to his mouth. I slid open the window so as to hear anything being said. The officer was trying to entice the kids down with the lure of pizza and fried chicken. After all, they hadn’t eaten since yesterday evening.
Reggie walked precariously close to the edge of the roof. ‘Come on, ya gronks! Come on up and fucken get us!’ he goaded the youth officers below. The other boys followed suit and soon they were all up on their feet yelling at the adults with their shirts off, brandishing them like flags of protest. It was only a little after 7 o’clock on a summer’s morning, but the day was certainly heating up.
In prison something like this would not be allowed to continue for so long. It had been 11 hours since the boys had climbed up onto the roof. In a jail they would have used tear gas or water cannon by now. The prisoners would be down and confined already. But this wasn’t big boys’ jail. This was juvie, and I had made the transition from an education officer in the adult correctional setting to a classroom teacher in juvenile detention.
Reggie stepped back from the overhang of the roof and directed his gaze in my vicinity. I was at least a football field away but he could see me in the open window. He waved and smiled like he was greeting an old friend. All the officers looked my way. I slunk back from the open window. I did not want nor need to be the focal point of a riot. Before I could close the sliding window, Reggie had sashayed a little closer along the rooftop in my direction and yelled, ‘I might not be able to make it to your class today, Tommy!’ He looked down at the riot squad and back at me. He shrugged his shoulders and laughed maniacally. ‘I’ve got a little bit goin’ on in my life at the moment.’
It was two years to the day since I had last set foot inside a jail and here I was watching five of my students running amok on the roof at Oleander Youth Justice Centre.
‘All that’s left for you to do is sign,’ the suit simpered back at me.
‘So, let me get this straight. The jail closes as of Friday. All the crooks will be shipped out by then and everybody who works here either has to transfer to another jail or take one of these redundancy packages, yeah?’
‘Tommy … it is Tommy, isn’t it?’ He looked down at his paperwork again. He was probably 30 years old but he looked more like 20. His suit was sharp and expensive. His hair was thick and slick and his cologne filled the tiny office. It was late in the afternoon and this guy had had 15-minute meeting after 15-minute meeting since 10 am when the official word of the closure of the correctional centre had been announced by the commissioner’s right-hand man. Commissioner Ned Bacon was too toxic a figure to attend in person. After all, he had been denying in the media that the department had any plans of closing a jail right up to two days ago. His deputy put the commissioner’s absence down to ill health.
‘Sorry, Tommy, it’s been a long day,’ the suit sighed, ‘but … as the deputy commissioner pointed out in his speech this morning, our main priority is our staff.’ He shot me a quick, closed-lip grin. ‘Through the great efforts of our workforce,’ he continued, ‘recidivism rates have dramatically dropped and the prison population across the state has dipped to below 10,000. No-one will be worse off after this closure. It is a necessary change because this correctional centre is no longer fit for purpose.’
‘Fit for purpose? It’s a jail, isn’t it?’
Without a change of expression, he continued. ‘So, what we’re offering is the equivalent position on the equivalent salary at the nearest jail or up to one year’s salary depending on time served. All in all, it’s a very generous offer.’
‘Yeah, on the surface it is a generous offer, but the nearest gaol is 200 kilometres away, which means I’d have to relocate my family.’
‘Or you could take the payout. Let’s see … ah, that’d be 26 weeks’ pay in your case. Not bad. What do you say?’
‘It’s a big decision. Not one I can just say yes to right now. I mean, we’ve only just found out the place is closing down today. I’d have to talk to my family.’
‘Of course, of course. As I said, our priority is our staff. Go home, talk to your wife. There’s no rush. You don’t have to sign anything today.’ The corners of his mouth raised in a micro-smile. ‘We will be back here again tomorrow. We fly back to Sydney at four in the afternoon.’ Now, he beamed at me. Purposefully, he then handed me my options in writing. ‘My task is to get this done as effectively and efficiently as possible,’ he said as he clicked the end of his pen in a mission-accomplished manner, ‘so I’m here for you …’ he quickly glanced down at his sheet of names, ‘…Tommy.’
I stood up and he shook my hand. As he did, I wondered how someone in head office could think it was a clever idea to send the immaculately attired, young Slick as the harbinger of bad news. He fiddled with his gold watch and adjusted his silk tie as he provided the details about their jobs suddenly vanishing to a hundred working class stiffs. I walked out of the office in some sort of trance and in walked an overseer in his early sixties who looked like he was coming in to identify a corpse.
When I got back to Education, the other teachers were sitting around a table and discussing their options over cups of tea and coffee. Yvette, who was also our union representative, was reading through the preamble of the document. Mairi, who had a young family, was resigning herself to the upheaval of transferring to a jail 600 kilometres away. She had no family or connections there, but the department seemed to be scattering us all around the state, wherever they had a vacancy to fill. And it wasn’t just Education staff, it was the same all over the prison. Some people were close enough to retirement to be content with the settlement, others were going to take the money and look for some other kind of work, some were going to uproot their families, sell up and leave town, and others wanted to stay and fight. Last week we were all (mostly) happily going about our business; today everything was turned on its head.
Suddenly, Yvette piped up: ‘It says here all unions were consulted prior to the decision to close the centre and all unions support the redundancies or transfers. Federation hasn’t mentioned anything. I’m gonna call ’em!’
The Teachers’ Federation was a formidable union and it turns out they were not ever consulted during any stage of the negotiation process. Over 100 employees were losing their jobs in the closure and they fell into two main categories: prison officers and office staff. And it was around a 70/30 split. The prison officers had their own union, the pugnacious Association of Prison Employees, and the rest of the staff including high ranking officers, office assistants, healthcare workers, psychologists and counsellors came under the Public Sector Union. That is if they were affiliated with any union at all. But there were also four teachers at the jail and they didn’t come under either of those unions.
‘I’ve talked it over with my wife and kids,’ I said the following day.
‘That’s good, Tommy,’ Slick the Suit glowed. ‘And which did you choose?’ he asked, looking down at his sheet of names wanting to tick an option.
‘We don’t like either of ’em.’
‘Pardon?’
‘We don’t like either alternative. We don’t want to move. We have family, friends, schools here. You know, networks. Roots. So, the transfer’s not a viable choice.’
‘Well, there’s the redundancy package. Half a year’s salary. That’s not to be sneezed at.’
‘No, you’re right. It is generous but …’
‘But what?’ He seemed genuinely amazed.
‘But the fine print says if I take a redundancy package, that precludes me from working for the state government for the next two years and I’m a teacher. That means I couldn’t work in a government school for two years. Ninety per cent of the schools up here are government run. I would have six months’ pay and what do I do for the next 18 months?’ I queried.
‘Look, it’s a generous offer. Everyone agrees. The commissioner. The premier. The unions.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s another thing. I’m in the Teachers’ Federation and they say they haven’t agreed to anything.’ Slick’s eyes lit up and I saw a brief crack in his composure.
‘Everything is above board here. Your colleagues have all agreed to terms.’
‘I’m not sure that’s true, actually.’ I knew Yvette hadn’t signed a thing.
‘Tommy.’ He sat straighter and looked sterner. ‘You have a real opportunity here. A chance—’
‘I agree,’ I said, cutting him off. ‘But I’m staring at unemployment, mate. My union feels I should be able to transfer into any government teaching position I have qualifications for. Not just a teaching job in Corrections. Isn’t that a third possibility?’
He looked down at his list of names and locations again. Clearly, there was only option A and option B. ‘Look. These are what I’ve been authorised to offer you, OK? I strongly advise you to take one.’
‘My union has strongly advised me to take neither.’
The suit dropped his cheerful charade and glared at me and then his watch. He would have to board his plane to Sydney soon and he wanted all loose ends tied but knew he wasn’t going to get it. And I wasn’t the only thorn in his side. Others were holding out for more time and the commissioner wasn’t going to be happy.
In the next few days, the Industrial Relations Commission ruled that all relevant parties had not been consulted and teachers could transfer into teaching positions outside of Corrections. Good news for me, but now I had to wait for a match. As a result, for the next two months I turned up to work at the jail as they slowly mothballed it. Only a maximum of 40 prisoners on remand would be housed at the facility. They were only there awaiting court appearances and then were quickly moved out. The prisoners had no access to programs such as education. In the interim, I was still employed as a teacher but had no access to the inmates.
It was a truly bizarre situation. In the first week I would report to the Education Unit of the jail as usual, but now I was on my own. Even the senior education officer had left. I had no-one to report to and I had no-one to teach. I was the only person in the entire building. It was an eerie feeling being inside a jail in a large building all alone. Working in a jail you already operate with a heightened level of awareness and that didn’t stop, even though I knew there were no prisoners around in that section of the complex. Every little sound was amplified in the now cavernous unit and the prolonged periods of silence were just as off putting as any slammed gate. And the gates that were normally bolted shut were wide open now. From the tearoom I could see across to the exercise yard. All the cell doors were left open too. Everything was being removed by the prison officers. Every bit of furniture. All the fittings. All the computers. Every piece of metal including the beds. The place took on a ghostly atmosphere. I was as relieved as I was surprised when one afternoon a guard came by with a bunch of cardboard boxes.
‘Oh, I didn’t know someone was still around. How long will you be here for?’
‘I don’t know. I’m waiting for a notice of transfer.’
‘Well, OK.’ He looked at me with suspicion, which I guess is second nature for a prison guard. I didn’t recall ever seeing him before, so he probably thought I was a stranger. ‘You need to pack up all the educational resources. Anything and everything you want to keep or to send to Sydney. Put it all in these boxes and mark it ‘Education’. It’s a good thing you’re here, mate. It saves me the trouble of having to do it.’ He turned to leave and then pirouetted. ‘Oh, and have it done by Thursday. We are going to close the minimum-security section by the end of the week and you’ll have no access to this side of the jail after that.’
When the Edjo Unit closed, I relocated to the Programs Unit, which was situated in what until recently was the maximum security sector. It was now the Remand Centre. All the workers and bosses in Programs had gone too, apart from one counsellor who was left to attend to the remandees. I would see him in passing but we had very little contact with each other on a daily basis. The few prisoners on remand spent most of their time in their cells or at appointments dealing with legal matters or in transit to and from court, so I only saw the occasional one or two in the exercise yard. They showed no interest in me. Neither did the guards or the senior officers. I still had to go through security processing every morning when I entered the prison – retina scan, key allocation, bag check etc. – and the reception guards all knew I was a teacher, and they all knew Education no longer ran, but no-one ever asked me what I was doing there. No-one seemed to care or mind. Even the newly appointed governor of the jail would smile or wave when he saw me, but we never spoke.
I sat in an office with a single chair and computer that used to be occupied by a psychologist. No-one ever came by. Day after day I would open my email and check to see if any teaching position was available. Out of the blue I got a call from Sydney from the principal of Corrections Education for the whole state. He was astounded that I was still there but offered no suggestion as to what I should be doing apart from sending the boxed-up resources to head office. He then wished me well and hung up. So much for effectively and efficiently as possible.
