By Erya Hammett and Ellis Marlowe

Imagine, if you will, a child—barely past the threshold of double digits. This child, with a heart still tender and a mind yet to fully grasp the moral complexities of the world, finds themselves entangled in the unforgiving machinery of the criminal justice system. They are confronted not with understanding but with accusation, not with compassion but with condemnation. In our rush to label them as criminals, we strip them of their childhood, their potential, and their very essence.

The statistics are grim, and the implications are chilling. According to the Victorian Council of Social Service (VCOSS), in a paper written at the start of the decade, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children, who constituted at the time a mere 5 percent of the population aged 10-17, made up about 60 percent of the young inmates in youth jails. This is not simply a failure of the justice system; it is a reflection of our society’s deep-seated prejudices and inequities.

More recently, in the labyrinthine corridors of justice, where the innocence of youth is so often overshadowed by the harsh glare of punitive measures, Anna Alexander’s discourse about balancing justice and maturity stands as a poignant reminder of our collective moral obligation. The stark contradiction she presents in her recent paper for the Australian Strategic Policy Institute —where a 10-year-old is deemed too immature for the complexities of social media yet held accountable for criminal actions—invites us to confront the uncomfortable truths of our societal values. It is a harsh irony, indeed, that we are willing to imprison children for their transgressions while simultaneously denying them the tools to navigate the very world they inhabit.

The roots of youth offending are entangled in the broader societal malaise of poverty, instability, and systemic neglect. Alexander deftly articulates that the specter of youth crime is not merely a reflection of individual failings but rather a manifestation of deeper, pervasive social issues. The plight of First Nations children, who face layers of disadvantage and intergenerational trauma, underscores a narrative that demands our attention. Here lies the tragedy: while we clamor for tougher penalties, we often overlook the urgent necessity for restorative justice and community-driven solutions that can heal rather than punish.

Alexander challenges us to envision a world where the age of criminal responsibility is raised, where children are not funneled into a system that seeks to break them but are instead embraced by a comprehensive safety net of support. It is a call to action, an appeal for a holistic approach that recognizes the humanity within each young person. To prioritize prevention and empowerment over punishment is not merely a policy choice; it is a moral imperative that speaks to the very essence of who we are as a society. In the end, it is not just the children who stand at the crossroads of justice; it is the very soul of our nation that hangs in the balance.

Unholy triumverate

We have allowed trauma, dispossession, and systemic racism to define the narrative of these children’s lives, and in doing so, we have crafted a cycle of despair that is difficult to escape.

What is it that drives a society to criminalize its children? Is it a failure of imagination, a lack of empathy, or perhaps a deep-seated fear of the very innocence we are so quick to dismantle? We stand on the precipice of a moral crisis, one that challenges our understanding of right and wrong, good and evil. The United Nations Committee on the Rights of the Child has implored nations to set the minimum age of criminal responsibility at 14 or higher, yet we persist in our outdated beliefs, shackling children to a system that is ill-equipped to deal with their vulnerabilities.

In the murky waters of doli incapax, we find a presumption that children lack the capacity for criminal responsibility—a notion that is applied inconsistently, often leaving the most vulnerable to navigate a labyrinthine justice system. The very act of arrest and detention inflicts wounds that run deep, often resulting in a lifelong struggle to reclaim their dignity. The criminal justice system is not a sanctuary; it is a storm that engulfs the child, tearing them from their families and communities, and exposing them to environments that harden their hearts and minds.

We must ask ourselves: what does it mean to be a child in a world that sees you as a threat? The answer is simple and yet profoundly complex. It means living in a reality where your worth is measured by your mistakes, where your potential is overshadowed by the stigma of criminality. This is a reality that we have created, and it is one that we must dismantle if we are to honor the promise of a just society.

Moral Imperative

Raising the age of criminal responsibility is not merely a legislative change; it is a moral imperative. It is an acknowledgment that children are not miniature adults, but fragile beings in need of guidance and support. It is a commitment to compassionate responses that recognize the underlying traumas that lead to offending behavior, and it is a call for prevention and early intervention that prioritizes their well-being over punishment.

As we stand at this crossroads, we must choose to empower our children rather than condemn them. We must invest in their futures, offering them the tools to heal and thrive within their families and communities. To do otherwise is to perpetuate a cycle of despair that robs us all of our humanity.

In the end, it is not merely the fate of these children that hangs in the balance; it is the soul of our society itself. We can choose to break the chains of injustice, or we can continue to bind ourselves to a legacy of suffering.

The choice is ours, and it is one that we must make with the utmost urgency and clarity of purpose. For in the eyes of every child lies the reflection of our own, and in their liberation, we may yet find our redemption.