EveryMan’s Men’s Transitional Program, March 2024

When John opens the door to his unit in Canberra’s North, he greets visitors with warmth and certainty. Two years ago, John entered prison for the first time at the age of 72.

“I’d spent my life working up and down the east coast, in classrooms, workshops, with community groups. I had a strong marriage, four kids, and a degree in theology. Prison was never something I imagined for myself.”

John emigrated from Europe with his family as an infant. They settled in Dandenong, Victoria, a working-class hub for migrant families like his in the 1950s. He left school early to complete an apprenticeship in cabinet making and later retrained to work in education. 

“I always loved learning and asking the big questions. That’s why I went into theology and philosophy. It was never about preaching, it was about trying to understand what makes us human.”

In 2021, a grave mistake resulted in a two-and-a-half-year prison sentence. It shook the foundations of John’s identity.

“Walking into prison at my age felt like falling through my entire life. I was ashamed, afraid, like the ground had been pulled from under me. But I had to face it. You can’t heal from something you’re pretending didn’t happen.”

Those early weeks were harsh and isolating.

“Noise, fear, uncertainty. It’s primal. I spent countless hours in my cell just trying to make sense of what I’d done.”

John’s reflective nature eventually helped him find purpose behind bars. He completed intensive therapeutic programs, tutored others in reading and writing, and became a mentor to those navigating incarceration for the first time.

“There was a young autistic man who barely spoke, he didn’t know how to pass the time. I helped him. That gave me something to hold onto.”

As his parole date approached, John felt both hope and fear. He had no home, no income, and no local connections. Like nearly half of all people leaving Australian prisons, he faced the very real threat of homelessness. 

Data from the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare shows that 48 percent of people exiting custody expect to be homeless or in unstable housing at the time of release.

“I had nowhere to go, no income, no community ties locally. Then I got a call from EveryMan.”

That phone call changed the course of John’s release. Through EveryMan’s Men’s Transitional Program, he gained secure housing and wraparound support. His caseworker visited regularly to help him meet parole conditions, attend appointments, while working through personal grief, following the death of his youngest son.

“My case manager doesn’t just tick boxes. She asks questions that matter. She challenges me. And she listens.”

“At 73, people assume you’re done changing. But I’m proof you’re not. You just need the right kind of support.”

The impact of stable housing on reducing recidivism is well-documented. Research by the Australian Housing and Urban Research Institute indicates that individuals who access public housing after being released from prison are less likely to reoffend.

EveryMan’s structured and person-centred approach, combining housing, parole advocacy and counselling, has helped John not only reintegrate but rebuild his sense of self.

“I now believe in what happens when someone shows up for you. Not out of duty, but because they believe you can come back from your worst day.”

John’s parole runs until May 2026. His goal is simple: to keep walking forward, one honest step at a time.

“I’m 73. I’ve made mistakes. But I’m not a mistake. I’ve still got work to do.”

I carry shame, but I still have a name.

Written by Stacey Murray