Ralph Jackman's memoir about his time as a teacher in a youth detention centre reveals a broken system

When Ralph Jackman first met 15-year-old Jimmy, the boy was pacing up and down, kicking the door, mumbling to himself and yelling at passers-by.

Jimmy had moved home 50 times since the age of seven; he had severe ADHD and was addicted to ice, the drug that had already destroyed his family.

Jackman was a former sports reporter who changed career midlife to retrain as a teacher.

This was his first day in his first job, thrown in at the deep end at Parkville College, the school campus attached to maximum security Parkville Youth Justice precinct in Melbourne's inner north.

Baptism of fire doesn't come close.

The school opened in January 2013 as a government initiative to provide education to students aged 10 (now 12) who are detained in the youth justice system or placed in a secure-care setting.

Jackman was hired in 2021; his role was to teach boys on remand while they were awaiting trial.

The towering walls and endless coils of razor wire at the entrance struck an ominous chord. Jackman was issued with a bunch of keys — he says he felt like a character from 1980s TV drama Prisoner — and a "duress alarm", a panic button to summon the Safety and Emergency Response Team (SERT) when needed.

He was furnished with tales of riots and assaults on staff, concussion and broken fingers.

All at once, danger became part of his daily work routine.

Jackman confesses he was in tears by lunchtime on that first day, felled by the enormity of the task ahead.

But then, that afternoon, Jimmy gave him hope.

On the advice of his team leader, Jackman read to Jimmy Horrid Henry, a book his own eight-year-old daughter was reading.

Jimmy struggled with literacy, and in a flash, Jackman became his lifeline.

"I really want to learn to read," was the boy's heartbreaking request on that first day.

"When you hear a story like that, you can't help but get passionate about what a place like Parkville can do for these kids," Jackman tells ABC Arts.

He went home inspired: "Why hadn't I become a teacher sooner?"

Telling untold stories

Jackman's debut memoir, Detention, pulls no punches as he describes the stark realities of teaching boys dealing with issues ranging from domestic violence to racism, poverty and gang crime.

It's clear he fervently believes in the power of education, and reading about his crusade to connect with his students and change their lives is deeply affecting.

Jackman says his main motivation for writing the book was to "give a fuller picture of the boys I was lucky enough to work with".

"Youth crime has dominated the media for a long time, and for most of us, the only thing we really know about these young people in youth justice is hearing about what they've allegedly done on the six o'clock news. There's no context of their lives, what has happened to them. I felt their story needed to be told."

In the months that followed that formative first day, Jackman's perspective on the boys was "totally changed".

"I was moved by the experience of working with them and learned a lot from them that I felt others would benefit from hearing," he says.

Early on, in a bid to gain trust, he agreed to answer his students' questions about his own life.

It sparked an amusing interrogation until one boy asked him to share the saddest day of his life. It was a powerful moment.

"That took me by surprise," he says. 

Jackman proceeded to talk about his emotions on the day he came home from school to find his mother gone and his father a broken man. He was nine years old. Jackman and his four siblings — the youngest, the actor Hugh Jackman — had no warning of their mother's departure.

"It was a massive shock when Mum left, something I couldn't really process or understand, and I think I went off the rails," he reveals.

A human rights crisis

Being vulnerable and sharing confidences with his students were some of the many ways Jackman forged bonds with them, and the educational breakthroughs he describes in the book are impressive.

But it's apparent there was a lot wrong at Parkville, too.

The facilities, the attitudes of some and a staffing and funding crisis meant that instead of being taught, the students were regularly confined to their rooms for days on end.

"I really saw the impact of the isolation on a couple of my students. There were attempted suicides and lots of self-harm," Jackman says.

By his second year of teaching, Jackman started to believe the College was violating his students' rights under the Children, Youth and Families Act 2005 and Victoria's Charter of Human Rights and Responsibilities Act 2006.

It consumed him, and when he tried to confront the principal, Jackman was "surprised and angry" by the antagonism and pushback he faced.

But he didn't give up, and as he recounts in his book, what happened next pushed him to the brink and led to his resignation.

Jackman says he wants readers "to see that young people caught up in youth justice are as capable as any other kids on the 'outers' [those outside prison walls], and that all of society will benefit if they're guaranteed the basic things all young people need to reach their potential … access to education, access to good people."

This book is Jackman's courageous call to action. He has no doubt the justice system and Parkville will not like what he has revealed, but he hopes to raise awareness of what he sees as a human rights crisis.

Detention by Ralph Jackman is published by Allen & Unwin.