This article contains distressing content and references to suicide.
It’s a balmy winter morning when we meet up with Jayden Summerfield, an 18-year-old metalworker, at the shed where he works in Toowoomba, Queensland. Today he’s making beds for a new prison that’s under construction near the rural town of Gatton.
“It feels kind of ironic that I’m making the things for jails when I’ve just come from them,” he tells The Feed.
Jayden has never been to an adult prison. But by the time he turned 18, he’d cycled through Queensland’s juvenile justice system. He’s out of it now — but is still impacted by his time behind bars and in police watch houses.
Queensland than anywhere else in Australia; and like Jayden, the majority of them are Indigenous.
Before they stand trial, minors are held on remand in police watch houses, holding cells designed for adults who have been arrested and are being processed, including drunk and disorderly people.
It’s meant to be temporary, but with overflowing, some children spend weeks on end in the watch house.
Since age 11, Jayden has been in police watch houses around 25 times and in youth detention centres more than a dozen times.
The worst, he says, is ‘the box’: a small, windowless isolation cell within a watch house, typically reserved for violent or suicidal adult offenders. In Queensland, they are also used for children.
For years, there have been human rights concerns about the use of adult watch houses to hold young offenders in Queensland and their treatment there. Children as young as 11 are being held for weeks in these facilities.
A joint investigation by The Feed and Guardian Australia obtained exclusive footage revealing what happens to children inside these solitary cells known as ‘the box’. In one instance, a First Nations teenage girl with a severe intellectual disability is restrained by three police officers.
Part of Jayden’s job as a metalworker is building beds for adult prisons. Source: SBS
In response, the Queensland Police Service said in a statement, “Any complaints of mistreatment or inappropriate action taken within a watch house are treated seriously and will be subject to an investigation.”
The police said they do a risk assessment of arrested children and take their physical and mental health needs into account. They also said isolation cells are used for offenders who pose a danger to themselves or others and need to be separated.
“If the person becomes violent, aggressive, or exhibits harmful behaviour, the use of a violent detention cell is considered to help ensure the safety and welfare of the person, watch house staff and other people in custody,” the statement read.
Queensland Youth Justice Minister Di Farmer said that young people were held in watch houses and youth detention centres because a court had deemed them a risk to themselves and the community.
“We, of course, don’t want them in those watch houses for long periods of time, but it’s why we make sure that we have a strong system of accountability and transparency around those young people being held there,” she said.
According to Farmer, the average time young people were held in watch houses last month was five-and-a-half hours. And the longest time was 17 days.
Inside a watch house
Jayden was 11 when he was first put into a watch house. He said the longest he’s ever spent there was two-and-a-half weeks straight.
“It does your head in. It feels like you are in there for months. You don’t even know what day it is,” he said.
“You feel like you’re dead — it’s not a good place.”
Conditions in watch houses varied, Jayden said. Some cells only had thin mattresses and a toilet. Made of concrete, the cells were cold — especially in winter.
“Usually you hope they give you two blankets so you can at least put one as a sheet and then one as a blanket. Because if you sleep on that just by skin, you get rashes.”
Asked about the food, he replied, “Depends how hungry you are. But it’s pretty bad.”
Jayden said he often had to share the small space with four or five other boys. They would talk or sleep to pass the time. He’d read a book if he could get hold of one.
“Sometimes, they’ll give them to you, you just gotta ask,” he said. “There’s nothing else you can do unless you’re in a cell with a TV — you just lay [sic] there. And even with the TVs, you can’t even hear from your cell. So you’re just watching a screen.”
If there were no books or a TV — he would just lie down and try to sleep.
Falling asleep was challenging, he said, because of stress from the uncertainty of how long he would be held, and the discomfort of sleeping on a concrete floor.
Jayden’s life is back on track after his time in watch houses, but still holds scars from his time. Source: SBS
Jayden said he was put in isolation cells ‘a couple of times’, and it was worse than being in a regular cell. They were tiny, windowless rooms without a toilet or a mattress.
“All you’re doing is just sitting there, thinking … waiting to go. That makes time go even slower. Ten minutes feel like an hour, two hours,” he recalled.
He claimed isolation cells were often used as punishment when children acted out in the watch house.
“Most of the time [children were put into isolation cells], it would be over something dumb,” he said.
“Most people I ever saw going there, none of them try to hurt themselves. It’s always for arguing with the coppers or some shit.”
Life after the watch house
Jayden said his life is better now. He’s got a full-time job and a place to live. But memories of his time in watch houses still haunt him.
He believes watch houses and youth detention don’t deter young people from crime.
“I know boys that’s been locked up for a year. Within a week, they’re doing crime. It’s not about ‘build more jails and make time harder’. They need to invest more into youth justice, help boys who are trying to stop.”
You are who you hang around. So if you’re trying, you can’t be good if you’re around criminals doing drugs.
Tim Spall, a Gija man who used to work as a psychologist in Brisbane, uses equine therapy with Indigenous kids — many of whom have been through the juvenile justice system.
Tim Spall is a Gija man who uses horses as therapy for children who have been through the juvenile justice system. Source: SBS
He said he’s lost count of how many children he’s worked with who have taken their own life: “over 50, closer to a hundred”.
“For some kids, they genuinely see it as their only option to escape whatever experience that they’re trying to work through,” Spall said.
He said many Indigenous children he works with have been disconnected from their community and their culture.
“They really struggle with their own identity [and] to feel like they have a sense of belonging. Particularly our First Nations kids feel judged before they’ve had the first chance to get the first word out,” he said.
Spall uses horses as a way of treating trauma and teaching kids to build connection and trust: first with animals, then with people.
Spall uses animals as a way of helping children deal with trauma and build trust. Source: SBS
Like Jayden, he doesn’t think the juvenile justice system deters young people from crime. In fact, he believes they encourage reoffending, making children feel unwanted in the community.
“Society is essentially telling them that they’re a criminal. Once they go into that system – they identify as criminals and that pathway continues,” he said.
Spall said the justice system should focus on keeping children out of watch houses to prevent them from entering the adult criminal system.
“There is no such thing as a bad kid. There are traumatised children.”
“They’re not born naughty, something has happened. And if we want to change that, then we’ve gotta identify what that is and build on that.”
Readers seeking crisis support can contact Lifeline on 13 11 14, the Suicide Call Back Service on 1300 659 467 and Kids Helpline on 1800 55 1800 (for young people aged up to 25). More information and support with mental health is available at beyondblue.org.au and on 1300 22 4636.
If you or someone you know is experiencing, or at risk of experiencing, domestic, family or sexual violence, call 1800RESPECT on 1800 737 732 or visit 1800RESPECT.org.au.
If you or someone you know is feeling worried or unwell, we encourage you to call 13YARN on 13 92 76 and talk with an Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander Crisis Supporter.
Aboriginal Counselling Services can be contacted on 0410 539 905.
