What began as a documentary idea focusing on the rehabilitation and rehumanisation of incarcerated people soon became something far more personal: a long journey of advocacy, accompaniment and relentless hope.
By Si Paros
In 2021, in the depths of fighting Lyme disease, I experienced a profound pull, an unexpected dual calling, as my body painfully made space for the Spirit to stir. One was a call to the desert, an invitation to live and teach in a deeply spiritual, remote Aboriginal community.
The other was a call to justice, to shoot an US documentary that aimed to go against the grain of Hollywood-style Law and Order narratives and, instead, present a piece that would rehumanise those so often forgotten, to shine a light in the darkness for those in desperate need of compassion.
Two very different geographies, but both part of a pilgrimage I’ve been on ever since.
By 2023, I was teaching full time in one of the most isolated Catholic schools in the country. Surrounded by red dust and sacred land, I found space to sit with the second call more deeply: the story of Robert J Ruark, a man wrongfully convicted of murder in the US.
What began as a documentary idea soon became something far more personal: a long journey of advocacy, accompaniment and relentless hope.
Catholic Social Teaching urges us to defend the dignity of every person, especially the most forgotten. In 2021, while researching ideas for a film on the rehabilitation and rehumanisation of incarcerated people in the US, I came across Robert’s case.
He had been behind bars since 2008. His trial had been riddled with inconsistencies; all testimonies and defence were suppressed. I kept returning to his story, not because it was sensational, but because it was silenced.
As I delved deeper, I realised that I was no longer simply documenting injustice. I was being invited to walk with it. I had no legal background, no platform and no personal stake. But I had faith.
My daily life is simple. By day I teach children whose ancestors have walked this land for thousands of years. By night, another part of me is navigating a clemency campaign in the US, corresponding with lawyers, coordinating a documentary release and advocating for a man most Australians have never heard of.
These two worlds, remote community and global justice, may seem disconnected. But, in truth, they nourish each other. The desert teaches me patience. On country teaches me listening. The children remind me that love can be both fierce and healing. All of this sustains me as I advocate across oceans.
Pope Francis reminds us that solidarity is not just about feeling for the disadvantaged but walking with them. That is what I try to do each day, not just in the classroom, but in this advocacy.
Traditionally, pilgrimage conjures images of walking along roads, fatigued, to sacred destinations. But I believe we are all on interior pilgrimages, especially when we walk in the direction of hope. My journey with Robert is not one of comfort. It is marked by dead ends, delays, silence and occasional despair. But it is also marked by faith.
The clemency campaign is now well underway. The documentary is nearing release. A website, petition and media strategy have been built entirely from the grassroots. I’ve poured my savings, my time and my heart into it. Not because I believe I can save anyone, but because I believe we are not called to pass by on the other side of the road. I walk because the Gospel compels me to.
The Church speaks often about hope. But the kind of hope I’ve discovered through this work is gritty, resistant and sacramental. It’s the kind of hope that won’t let go, even when no one is watching. It is social justice as spiritual practice.
Hope, in this sense, is not a feeling. It’s a discipline. It’s choosing to keep telling Robert’s story, even when people stop listening. It’s trusting that truth, even when buried, still has power. It’s trusting that justice delayed does not mean justice denied.
As I walk this path, I am reminded again that the Church is not a building. It is the people who walk together. It is those who bend down like the Good Samaritan, who stop, who stay, who speak.
Accompaniment is not glamorous, and often it is not recognised. But it is holy. This journey has made me more Catholic, not less. More convicted in the vision of the Church as a voice for the voiceless, as a defender of human dignity.
And while I still live and teach in the desert, my heart walks daily into prison corridors, courtrooms and media campaigns. It is a strange path, but it is mine. And it is deeply Catholic.
There are many of us who are pilgrims, walking strange roads. You may not be called to social justice advocacy. But perhaps you are being asked to accompany someone in grief, or poverty, or sickness. If so, you are a pilgrim too.
The Church does not need more experts. It needs more pilgrims, more walkers. More witnesses. More people who believe that even in the darkest places, Christ is present, and so are we.
As I prepare to release the documentary and continue the clemency push, I do so not with certainty of outcome, but with certainty of call.
I was asked to walk. And so I do.
To learn more or follow the journey, please visit JusticeForRobert.com
This reflection by Si Paros was awarded second prize in The Good Oil 2025 Writers’ Award.
This article was published in the November 2025 edition of The Good Oil.
