Why weren't Cassius Turvey and Cleveland Dodd safe in Western Australia?

Australia Broadcast Center

21 hours ago

WARNING: This story contains references to suicide and self-harm and will be distressing for some readers.
In Western Australia, two First Nations families are on parallel tracks, seeking justice for their teenage sons taken from them before their time.
On the surface, there are few similarities between the deaths of Cassius Turvey and Cleveland Dodd, beyond them being Aboriginal, living in Perth, and their tragic deaths in their teens.
But the pain their families are left with is the same. Against the natural order of things, two mothers have buried their sons. Two boys who should have been safe and protected — but weren't.
In 2022, 15-year-old Cassius Turvey was walking home from school when he was "hunted" and viciously attacked by a gang of men. He died in hospital 10 days later from his injuries. He wasn't safe to walk home in daylight in the eastern suburbs of Perth. He wasn't safe in his community.
Last week, Cassius Turvey's murderers were sentenced to life in prison. On the steps of the courthouse after the sentencing, his mother, Mechelle Turvey, proclaimed it was "justice".
"There are no words that can fully capture the devastation of losing someone you love to violence," she said.
"Cassius was not just part of my life, he was my future.
"I will never see him grow older, never hear his voice again, never feel the comfort of his embrace … no parent should have to visit the grave of an innocent 15-year-old child who did nothing wrong."
In 2023, 16-year-old Cleveland Dodd was a child being held in Casuarina Prison, an adult detention centre, albeit in the "juvenile wing".
He attempted to end his own life using a hanging point in his cell and died in hospital a week later. The first child in Western Australia to die in custody.
He wasn't safe under the watch of the state. He wasn't safe from known risks to his life.
This week, the inquest into Cleveland Dodd's death will hear closing arguments. There is hope his death will lead to reforms to make other children in detention safer.
In a statement, Cleveland's mother, Nadene Dodd, told the inquest she thought her son would be "safe" in detention.
"I thought my son was safe … and that he would leave detention rehabilitated … better, not worse off," she said in a statement.
"My son didn't deserve to be treated the way that he was treated. My son didn't deserve to die."
It raises the question: where are First Nations children safe? Where can they be allowed to grow up — and do all that comes with it? To learn, to make mistakes, to grow? Where is the safe place for them?
In recent years, across the country, a slew of new legislation has been introduced by governments to get "tough on crime".
These laws have often been spurred on by high-profile crimes and calls from the community and commentators for governments to take action to "protect" the community.
These include "adult-crime, adult time" laws in Queensland, "post and boast" laws in New South Wales and soon Victoria, enhanced stop and search powers in Victoria, and new "street gang" laws proposed in South Australia.
These laws will all target young people, with a view to stopping criminal activity from becoming ingrained behaviour, and have all been designed with "community safety" in mind.
But that "safety" comes with unintended consequences, the brunt of which is usually borne by Indigenous communities.
Over-policing of Indigenous communities leads to more Indigenous people in prisons, where they are less likely to be bailed, disproportionately locked up and over-represented among deaths in custody.
But there is no guarantee these laws will have the desired effect. In fact, research shows that over-policing of young people leads to poorer outcomes, an increased likelihood of being on remand and further contact with the justice system.
It can be the first domino to fall in what can lead to adult offending, jail time and all of the well-documented risks that come with being Aboriginal in prison.
Risks that took Cleveland Dodd's life, and almost 600 other First Nations people since the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody in 1991.
The coronial inquest into Cleveland Dodd's death will make findings on the factors and events leading up to his death in 2023 and whether there were institutional failings.
This will include looking at whether the juvenile wing, Unit 18, was a safe place to house young people, and the numerous warnings provided about conditions inside it.
Removing hanging points from prisons was a recommendation of the royal commission 35 years ago, but many still remain and in some cases, as reported by The Guardian last month, the same hanging points have been used in multiple suicides in prison.
But there have been no reactive law changes to make children in prisons safer following Cleveland's death. No snap legislation to make the conditions he died in illegal, and Unit 18 remains open with children kept in detention alongside adults, despite calls for the unit to close immediately.
It is hard to imagine many reasons why the first child to die in detention in WA would not mark a turning point, a moment in which the state government would say "never again".
Cleveland's death has largely been met with silence by legislators.
The issue of racism has been threaded through Cassius Turvey's murder, after his attackers used racist slurs as they "hunted" Cassius and his friends down.
At the time, the police commissioner, Col Blanch, was quick to dismiss notions of the attack being racially motivated, saying Cassius was "in the wrong place at the wrong time".
But in the community, the fear was real; it was palpable. Mothers knew their children weren't safe to be visibly blak and walking through their suburbs.
After Cassius's killers were sentenced, Mechelle Turvey said her son had been "racially vilified".
"That's the truth. If anyone thinks their actions were not racially motivated, many Australians would be left scratching their head," she said.
The West Australian Supreme Court did not prosecute whether Cassius had been the victim of a racially motivated attack, but Justice Quinlan said the use of racist slurs "rippled" throughout the community and created "justifiable fear".
"It's no surprise … that the kids would think they were being targeted because they were Aboriginal, and the attack would create justifiable fear for them and for the broader community that this was a racially motivated attack," he said.
"The fear is real and legitimate. You are responsible for that fear."
Despite this, there has been no "tough on crime" response — no move by legislators to toughen up laws against racial attacks, refuse bail to offenders or increase police powers to address racially motivated crimes.
The need for Indigenous communities to feel safe has not spurred on reactive legislation that could see harsher punishment for using racist slurs, despite hate speech being a known precursor to racially motivated violence.
The safety of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people is too often compromised by members of parliament needing to be seen to be doing their best to "protect the community" — despite the numerous studies and experts telling them what the consequences for First Nations people will be.
After the justice processes for Cassius and Cleveland have concluded and their families left to grieve away from the spotlight, the question will remain: will anything be done to protect Indigenous kids from the communities that harm them?