Jailed at 10, Sheltered at 16: The Double Standards of Growing Up in Australia

Disclaimer: Readers please be advised this article mentions institutional racism against Aboriginal people and the incarceration of children.

I can’t stop thinking about a paradox that speaks volumes about how we treat children in this country. In the Northern Territory, children as young as 10 years old—many of them Aboriginal—can be jailed under a law that claims to protect communities. At the same time, our society debates whether 16-year-olds should even be allowed to use social media for fear of what it might do to their mental health. 

It feels like we’re living in two different worlds: one where children are disposable and blamed, and another where they are shielded, even when their actions cause harm. 

10-Year-Olds Still Have Baby Teeth 

The image of a 10-year-old in prison is devastating, and yet this is the age of criminal responsibility in many states and territories across Australia.. These children are barely old enough to comprehend the consequences of their actions; many forced to endure trauma and neglect that no child should face. For Indigenous kids, this system isn’t about “early intervention” or second chances—it’s a pipeline from poverty and systemic discrimination to prison. 

The Northern Territory government has defended its decision to lock up kids as a way to reduce crime, but this approach ignores the roots of the issue: overpolicing, systemic racism,  under-resourced schools, a lack of mental health support, kids being taken away instead of families being provided support, and intergenerational trauma in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities. 

Meanwhile, research—and simple human empathy—shows us that criminalising children does nothing to reduce crime. It simply creates traumatised adults who are trapped in the criminal justice system, unable to escape the stigma of their childhood mistakes.

Sheltered at 16, but Only for Some 

At the other end of the spectrum, white teenagers who bully or harm others often receive a vastly different response. Parents rush to shield them from consequences, and schools frame their behaviour as mistakes or phases. In some cases, these same teenagers are considered too fragile for platforms like TikTok or Instagram because of the potential impact on their mental health. 

Don’t get me wrong: protecting young people from harm is important. But why does that protection only extend to some kids? Why do we see white children as needing support, while Indigenous children are seen as a threat? 

This double standard extends to parenting, too. When white children bully others, society is quick to shift the blame to social media influences, and we rarely talk about holding their families accountable. Contrast this with the way Indigenous families are scrutinised and blamed at every turn when their children fall into trouble.

The problem isn’t accountability itself—it’s that we refuse to apply it fairly. If we truly want to create a safer, more just society, we need to hold systems accountable for failing all children, rather than punishing some while excusing others. 

What Kind of Country Are We? 

This isn’t just about laws or policies; it’s about what kind of society we want to be. Are we comfortable with a justice system that punishes the most vulnerable and spares the privileged? Are we okay with looking at a 10-year-old and seeing a criminal instead of a child? For me, the answer is clear: we need to raise the age of criminal responsibility and invest in support systems that address the real causes of youth crime, and dismantle the structures that perpetuate racism. 

Let’s start by asking: why are we so quick to jail some kids and protect others? Until we confront that question, nothing will change. 

Facing Reality: Conversations We Shouldn’t Have to Have 

At 10 years old, I had a conversation with my mum about how to protect myself from the police, how to stay calm and respectful in situations that might put me in danger because of my race. For white children, this conversation would be unthinkable, but for Aboriginal kids, it’s a reality. 

This isn’t the kind of bullying we usually think about when we talk about kids on the playground. Indigenous children experience bullying in ways that extend far beyond teasing in the schoolyard. It’s woven into the very fabric of how society perceives us—from microaggressions in classrooms to the deeply entrenched stereotypes that target their communities. It’s the way our culture is ignored or erased in education. It’s the constant exposure to systemic racism that paints us as “problems” before we even have a chance to prove our worth. 

Many Indigenous children must face issues  so much bigger than what we usually consider “bullying” or “misbehaviour.” They are born into a world where their very existence is politicised, criminalised, and overlooked by mainstream society. For these kids, bullying is not just something that happens between classmates—it’s something they face daily as a result of a system that sees them as disposable. 

The Harsh Reality for Indigenous Kids in Australia 

The situation is dire for Aboriginal children, especially in the Northern Territory, where they face disproportionately high rates of detention. According to the Australian Institute of Criminology, Indigenous youth make up 40% of all young people in detention, despite comprising only 3.8% of the total population. The emotional and psychological toll of this is beyond comprehension. Instead of being seen as children who need support and care, these kids are treated as criminals before they can even understand the concept of crime.

Confronting Double Standards That Perpetuate Harm 

The truth is that Indigenous children face challenges far beyond what we see on the surface. Their struggles are not just about bullying—they are about survival in a system that is not designed for them to succeed. We need to stop ignoring this reality and start making meaningful changes to the way we treat all children.

Programs like AIME Mentoring, which pairs Indigenous students with mentors to help bridge educational inequalities, and Deadly Choices, a health-focused initiative that empowers young people to make positive lifestyle decisions, show what is possible when solutions are mob-led. National advocacy groups like SNAICC have been instrumental in pushing for reforms that keep Indigenous children connected to their culture and communities, offering practical recommendations to reduce overrepresentation in out-of-home care.

The Raise the Age campaign highlights another critical issue—the incarceration of children as young as 10, a practice disproportionately affecting Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander kids. Increasing the age of criminal responsibility to at least 14, as recommended by medical and legal experts, would be a crucial step toward breaking cycles of trauma and disadvantage.

These initiatives demonstrate that the answers are already there, led by those who understand the challenges firsthand. Until we confront the question of why some kids are treated as criminals and others as fragile—and commit to supporting children instead of punishing them —nothing will change. It’s time to act, not just for the sake of justice but for the futures of all our children.

Until we are willing to confront the question of why some kids are treated as criminals and others as fragile, nothing will change. 

Let’s raise the age of criminal responsibility. Let’s provide support systems that heal, not harm. And most importantly, let’s make sure that every child—regardless of their race or background—gets a fair chance at a future, free from discrimination and injustice. 

Until then, we are failing our most vulnerable.