Long after the courtroom empties, my mind returns constantly to the presence of young people in the system.
Working in this environment has made me think deeply about what happens before a young person ever enters a courtroom. Hearing the charges read out, I am often reminded that the legal moment in front of us is only one part of a much larger story, one that often includes missed opportunities for guidance, support, and intervention long before the system became involved.
And the truth is, there were.
The path into the youth criminal justice system is layered and complex, but one issue that continues to stand out to me is the absence of mentorship. There are so many ways we as adults could be stepping in before contact with the criminal justice system through guidance, grassroots activities, community care, honest conversations, and simply being present. Long before a courtroom ever becomes part of someone’s life, there are countless moments when support could have changed a trajectory.
What stays with me most is not only that young people enter the system, but how often meaningful intervention seems to arrive only once they do. By then, the situation has already escalated. The courtroom serves a vital role in the administration of justice, but it should not be the place where young people first encounter structure, accountability, or adult guidance. Those things should be reaching them much earlier.
That is the part that lingers.
I do not believe young people should be left to raise themselves. When young people are forced to navigate life without steady guidance, other influences often step in to fill that space. Sometimes that is peer pressure. Sometimes it is their environment. Sometimes it is unaddressed pain. And sometimes, over time, those influences can lead young people into contact with the criminal justice system.
That is why I keep coming back to prevention.
We cannot keep waiting until a young person is standing in court to ask what went wrong. We cannot keep expecting formal systems to carry responsibilities that communities, mentors, families, and everyday adults should have helped shoulder much sooner. The issue is not that the court exists. The issue is that mentorship is arriving too late.
That is why grassroots activities matter. Real change does not happen only in formal spaces. It also happens in community centres, schools, youth programs, neighbourhood initiatives, workplaces, and ordinary moments of care. It happens wherever someone chooses to invest in a young person before their life reaches a crisis point.
Mentorship does not always have to be grand.
It can look like a quick conversation in passing, a moment at work, or checking in on someone who seems to be drifting. It can even be a thoughtful comment online. We often underestimate how much a small interaction can matter, but a few honest words at the right time can shift how a young person sees themselves and the direction they are heading in.
I know that personally, since one of the strongest mentors in my own life has been my mother. It was her standards while I was growing up that grounded me and gave me lifelong habits. Her presence reminds me that mentorship is not always loud or formal. Sometimes it looks like consistency. Sometimes it looks like accountability. Sometimes it looks like someone seeing more in you and refusing to let you settle for less in yourself.
Sometimes mentorship is simply about stepping in when necessary.
Too often, people mistake intervention for intrusion. In reality, saying something, offering guidance, or redirecting someone early can be an act of care. Presence matters. Young people need people around them who are willing to notice.
As we grow older and move further into our own adulthood, we have a responsibility to take that seriously. The things we have lived through should not only teach us privately; they should shape how we show up for others. Experience should make us more attentive, not more detached from our communities. It should make us more willing to guide, to mentor, and to be present for those coming after us.
That does not mean judging young people. It means refusing to abandon them.
The question of why youth are ending up in the courthouse is layered, but it should always be paired with another question: what kind of support are we offering them before they ever get there? Are we guiding them? Are we building community around them? Are we intervening early enough? Or are we leaving them to navigate everything alone, only to react once the consequences become visible?
Working in criminal and family court has made one thing clear to me: by the time a young person enters the system, many opportunities for guidance have often already been missed.
That is why mentorship matters. That is why community matters. That is why presence matters.
The courthouse has its role. But it should never be doing the work a community was meant to do first.