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I was in custody in the male system in Victoria. I am still on parole, so this is an evolving thought process, but what I have experienced so far is a lot of stress.
In my opinion, the system is extremely bureaucratic. I’d explain it with this analogy: you need an OHS risk assessment before you can change the light bulb. Fill out three forms… the forms will be lost. Meanwhile, the room is dark, so someone falls over. In response, more legislation will be passed. And you’ll need to fill out four forms. Everything is now fixed.
If parole was ever about rehabilitation, it’s not really the feeling I get now. It feels more like an exercise in assessing the risk to the community, not about reintegrating people.
The Parole Board will use a hierarchy of control to assess the risk you pose. If you are a high risk, you will not get parole. If you are low risk, you will get a raft of measures to engineer a sense of control. Many of these measures will interfere with your reintegration.
It feels like it’s fine for someone to fail to reintegrate and/or breach parole – as long as the community is blissfully unaware of it. New crimes make the news. People get upset. But getting back on the drugs because you sat at home all day, threw a dirty and went back in – no one cares.
In 2022-23, almost two-thirds (61 per cent) of applications for parole in Victoria were approved (619 people). Of these, 66 went on to breach. I was maybe a year into my parole by the time I got it. Some people get parole with three months left on their sentence. So the odds of them breaching are very low.
So please, don’t feel targeted by it all or upset if you breach or get knocked back. It’s just how it is all set up. Parole is succeeding at what it was set up to do: make the community and victims’ counsel feel safe. I mean, they aren’t. They just feel safe. And that’s the point.
If the aim was for the community to actually be safe, huge reforms would need to be enacted to keep people in prison/parole all engaged with society. In prison, you lose everything – your job, home and family, then get isolated inside – sometimes for years and years. While isolated, you’re never given a chance to fail. Everything is micromanaged for you. Then, you get out on parole with a raft of restrictions. This really sets you up to fail. It needs to be fixed, but that takes political and community desire, a desire that just isn’t there.
I was in custody in the male system in Victoria. I am still on parole, so this is an evolving thought process, but what I have experienced so far is a lot of stress.
In my opinion, the system is extremely bureaucratic. I’d explain it with this analogy: you need an OHS risk assessment before you can change the light bulb. Fill out three forms… the forms will be lost. Meanwhile, the room is dark, so someone falls over. In response, more legislation will be passed. And you’ll need to fill out four forms. Everything is now fixed.
If parole was ever about rehabilitation, it’s not really the feeling I get now. It feels more like an exercise in assessing the risk to the community, not about reintegrating people.
The Parole Board will use a hierarchy of control to assess the risk you pose. If you are a high risk, you will not get parole. If you are low risk, you will get a raft of measures to engineer a sense of control. Many of these measures will interfere with your reintegration.
It feels like it’s fine for someone to fail to reintegrate and/or breach parole – as long as the community is blissfully unaware of it. New crimes make the news. People get upset. But getting back on the drugs because you sat at home all day, threw a dirty and went back in – no one cares.
In 2022-23, almost two-thirds (61 per cent) of applications for parole in Victoria were approved (619 people). Of these, 66 went on to breach. I was maybe a year into my parole by the time I got it. Some people get parole with three months left on their sentence. So the odds of them breaching are very low.
So please, don’t feel targeted by it all or upset if you breach or get knocked back. It’s just how it is all set up. Parole is succeeding at what it was set up to do: make the community and victims’ counsel feel safe. I mean, they aren’t. They just feel safe. And that’s the point.
If the aim was for the community to actually be safe, huge reforms would need to be enacted to keep people in prison/parole all engaged with society. In prison, you lose everything – your job, home and family, then get isolated inside – sometimes for years and years. While isolated, you’re never given a chance to fail. Everything is micromanaged for you. Then, you get out on parole with a raft of restrictions. This really sets you up to fail. It needs to be fixed, but that takes political and community desire, a desire that just isn’t there.
My parole journey has been what I hope is an outlier. I can’t say if it is or not. It’s just my journey so far.
I was assessed as low risk to reoffend and told I had no programs to do. Later when I came up for parole, I was ordered to do another assessment. This, I was told, is due to me doing such a long time in prison. A ten-and-a-half-year sentence. They wanted to ensure I was now not a risk due to my long sentence.
I was still no risk.
I then had my mother’s address knocked back due to her having a serious mental health issue – one she has had her whole life. I lived with her when I was a child. It was fine for me when I was six but apparently not now. My second address was knocked back due to being too isolating. Meanwhile, being a trans girl in a men’s prison in regional Victoria is not in fact too isolating. My third attempt was accepted.
I was given an alcohol bracelet to ensure I didn’t use alcohol despite taking medication that was alcohol based (my doctor eventually stopped my meds because they were worried I couldn’t prove it was my meds, not booze). Then I was told to do AOD counselling, despite not having these things involved in my offending. I asked why and was told it was because the stress of being on parole may cause me to start using substances in order to cope.
So I got out on parole. And every minute of every day I expected the police to breach me for something. I don’t know what. But something. It was very unsettling.
About six months into my parole, I was granted permission to move to a new address. A few weeks later I was banned from surrounding streets and the local train station, without explanation. So I had to move.
Honestly, it’s been hard work. My advice is to be realistic, don’t get your hopes crushed. Or maybe I’m just an outlier. It could be very easy and chill for you!
My parole journey has been what I hope is an outlier. I can’t say if it is or not. It’s just my journey so far.
I was assessed as low risk to reoffend and told I had no programs to do. Later when I came up for parole, I was ordered to do another assessment. This, I was told, is due to me doing such a long time in prison. A ten-and-a-half-year sentence. They wanted to ensure I was now not a risk due to my long sentence.
I was still no risk.
I then had my mother’s address knocked back due to her having a serious mental health issue – one she has had her whole life. I lived with her when I was a child. It was fine for me when I was six but apparently not now. My second address was knocked back due to being too isolating. Meanwhile, being a trans girl in a men’s prison in regional Victoria is not in fact too isolating. My third attempt was accepted.
I was given an alcohol bracelet to ensure I didn’t use alcohol despite taking medication that was alcohol based (my doctor eventually stopped my meds because they were worried I couldn’t prove it was my meds, not booze). Then I was told to do AOD counselling, despite not having these things involved in my offending. I asked why and was told it was because the stress of being on parole may cause me to start using substances in order to cope.
So I got out on parole. And every minute of every day I expected the police to breach me for something. I don’t know what. But something. It was very unsettling.
About six months into my parole, I was granted permission to move to a new address. A few weeks later I was banned from surrounding streets and the local train station, without explanation. So I had to move.
Honestly, it’s been hard work. My advice is to be realistic, don’t get your hopes crushed. Or maybe I’m just an outlier. It could be very easy and chill for you!
I’d never have guessed at the amount of movement happening within the prison system. Not just within a particular prison – that in itself was eye-opening – but movement between prisons.
Prisons de-individualise and dehumanise people. This is often more apparent for people who already do not fit the mold of a “normal person”, such as those with autism spectrum disorder (autism).
The entertainment and news media loves to show a confrontational and violent “don't back down” version of prison life, but what they don't show is the genuine care and openness between strangers in prison.
I am raising this issue in the hope that sharing my story will spark change in the future.
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