Five Years at the Desk: Reflections from a Local JP
Today, 21st of July, 2026, marks exactly five years since my appointment as a Justice of the Peace by the Governor of Victoria.
Whenever I hit a milestone like this, I tend to look back at what set me on this path in the first place. For me, becoming a JP was born out of a mix of family legacy, local necessity, and a bit of personal adaptation.
I had always wanted to find a meaningful way to give back to my community. My uncle who lived in NSW was a volunteer firefighter, but because I live with a nerve injury, joining the local CFA as a frontline firefighter wasn't a physical option for me. Still, the drive to serve was there, driven also in part, by a great-aunt, who was also a JP.
The turning point came when I first moved to the outer western suburbs of Melbourne. I needed a document witnessed for myself and I couldn’t find a local JP at the time. I realised that if our community was lacking this vital service, I could probably step up and help fill the gap. So I signed up.
Five years later, sitting behind a JP desk on Monday and Thursday nights at local police stations provides a unique, unfiltered window into the community. It is a front-row seat to people navigating the best, worst, and sometimes the most mundane moments of their lives.
A lot of people I meet assume that the role of a JP is limited, they think we simply stamp statutory declarations and certify copies of driver's licences. But the reality of the role is more vast and complex.
We actually witness around 500 different types of documents, each representing a completely different milestone or transition in someone's life. On any given Monday night, I might have a lovely young couple in front of me signing a notice of intention to marry, perhaps followed by a gruff older pair wanting to sign their divorce affidavit.
JPs also handle other crucial legal instruments like powers of attorney, witness police check documents, health professionals registration documents, and we also sign yearly "proof of life" documents that allow elderly people from abroad to claim their overseas pensions.
Because the scope of the paperwork is so broad, the variety of people walking through the door is just as diverse. This brings me to one of the questions I get asked sometimes: "How do you handle difficult people?" Over the years, observing people from almost every conceivable background walk through those station doors, I've come to the conclusion that:
"People of all backgrounds range from the delightful to the difficult."
The truth is, 99.9% of the people I see in my role as a JP are great. They are usually polite, appreciative, or simply looking to get their paperwork sorted so they can get on with their evening. However human nature is universal, and that remaining 0.1% certainly keeps things interesting. Because my desk is located inside a busy police station, I often get a front-row seat to broader station drama that has absolutely nothing to do with my work.
I've watched fist fights break out in the lobby between members of the public waiting for assistance, and I once had an irate individual, furious over a police matter, mistake me for a plain-clothes officer. He got right up in my grill, red in the face, yelling at me in a language I don't even speak, After I figured out the language he was speaking, I used a language translator to talk to him, and I calmly escorted him out the door.
As for challenges directly related to my actual JP duties, I occasionally face general anger when I am unauthorised to witness a specific document, and probably the worst instance was when someone blatantly attempted to bribe me to sign an illegal document.
Whilst these transgressions are thankfully quite rare, my rule for those situations is simple. Anyone who crosses the line of integrity or basic human respect is first politely asked to leave. If that request is not followed, for reasons of safety, I will ensure the offending person is escorted out of the station by a Member of Police.
Another question I get asked is: “Do you get paid to be a JP?"
No we are volunteers, and sometimes, out of pure gratitude, people will try to pay me for my services or offer me a gift. While the sentiment is appreciated, accepting anything is strictly against our Honorary Justice Code of Conduct. Whenever someone reaches for their wallet or offers a token of appreciation, I just smile and tell them:
"One of the few things these days that is free is to see a JP."
In the midst of a cost-of-living crisis, many people are just genuinely appreciative when they hear that. If they went to a lawyer to get a statutory declaration witnessed, they could easily pay well over a hundred dollars for a few minutes of work. Some pharmacists are charging $5 a page these days, and I don't blame them, it's not their core job, However, for me, making people smile and hearing a sincere "thank you" as they walk out the door is all the payment I need. Because the community sees the value of this service firsthand, there is another question I’m increasingly being asked by the civic-minded people I see: "How do I become a JP?"
My honest, albeit frustrating, answer?
"Right now, you can't become a JP."
Victoria has around 3,700 appointed JPs, of which only approximately 1,900 are active. When you compare that to other states like NSW, which has over 60,000 JPs, the queues I sometimes see stretching out the door of my local police station make it clear our system is under strain, yet the door for new JP recruits remains firmly shut.
Instead of empowering volunteers, the current system offloads the overflow onto a generic list of designated professionals. I believe this approach suffers from three major flaws.
First, most of these professionals have zero formal training in properly witnessing legal documents. Second, it wastes valuable expertise. A pharmacist should be dispensing medicine, a doctor should be looking after patients and a police officer should be looking after police matters, not tied up with administrative paperwork that JPs are well-trained to manage. Thirdly, and most importantly, it jeopardises integrity. When someone is paid to execute these duties, whether directly or as part of their salary, the absolute impartiality of the role disappears. The strictly unpaid, volunteer nature of a JP, is the very thing that guarantees independence.
I also recognise the significant challenges government departments face in balancing budgets and policy, and I am optimistic that by fostering a closer partnership between the state and our honorary justice network, we can find sustainable, high-impact solutions here in Victoria.
I was recently elected Foundation Chairman for a newly formed Outer West branch of the Association of Honorary Justices (RVAHJ) and our state association leadership is working hard to boost JP recruitment. I look across the Tasman to where I grew up in New Zealand, where a robust, association-led model has successfully trained thousands of JPs.
Their government even empowers JP volunteers to sit on the bench in court to help clear backlogs for offences such as traffic violations. It proves that empowering the community doesn't de-professionalise the justice system; it helps stop it collapsing under its own weight. A dedicated, well-trained young JP appointed today will provide the state with decades of vital, free labour to the public.
A final question I get from people is, “Why are you a JP?”
Where I come from, there is a traditional Māori saying:
“He tangata, he tangata, he tangata.”
It translates simply to: It’s the people, it’s the people, it’s the people.
At the end of the day, the people are exactly why I show up. Behind every piece of paperwork, whether it's an affidavit or a marriage notice, is a person just trying to move forward with their life. For me, living with a physical disability, yet still being able to help the community in this way, is a real privilege.
So here's to the next five years of the delightful, the difficult, and everyone in between!
I had always wanted to find a meaningful way to give back to my community. My uncle who lived in NSW was a volunteer firefighter, but because I live with a nerve injury, joining the local CFA as a frontline firefighter wasn't a physical option for me. Still, the drive to serve was there, driven also in part, by a great-aunt, who was also a JP.
The turning point came when I first moved to the outer western suburbs of Melbourne. I needed a document witnessed for myself and I couldn’t find a local JP at the time. I realised that if our community was lacking this vital service, I could probably step up and help fill the gap. So I signed up.
Five years later, sitting behind a JP desk on Monday and Thursday nights at local police stations provides a unique, unfiltered window into the community. It is a front-row seat to people navigating the best, worst, and sometimes the most mundane moments of their lives.
A lot of people I meet assume that the role of a JP is limited, they think we simply stamp statutory declarations and certify copies of driver's licences. But the reality of the role is more vast and complex.
We actually witness around 500 different types of documents, each representing a completely different milestone or transition in someone's life. On any given Monday night, I might have a lovely young couple in front of me signing a notice of intention to marry, perhaps followed by a gruff older pair wanting to sign their divorce affidavit.
JPs also handle other crucial legal instruments like powers of attorney, witness police check documents, health professionals registration documents, and we also sign yearly "proof of life" documents that allow elderly people from abroad to claim their overseas pensions.
Because the scope of the paperwork is so broad, the variety of people walking through the door is just as diverse. This brings me to one of the questions I get asked sometimes: "How do you handle difficult people?" Over the years, observing people from almost every conceivable background walk through those station doors, I've come to the conclusion that:
"People of all backgrounds range from the delightful to the difficult."
The truth is, 99.9% of the people I see in my role as a JP are great. They are usually polite, appreciative, or simply looking to get their paperwork sorted so they can get on with their evening. However human nature is universal, and that remaining 0.1% certainly keeps things interesting. Because my desk is located inside a busy police station, I often get a front-row seat to broader station drama that has absolutely nothing to do with my work.
I've watched fist fights break out in the lobby between members of the public waiting for assistance, and I once had an irate individual, furious over a police matter, mistake me for a plain-clothes officer. He got right up in my grill, red in the face, yelling at me in a language I don't even speak, After I figured out the language he was speaking, I used a language translator to talk to him, and I calmly escorted him out the door.
As for challenges directly related to my actual JP duties, I occasionally face general anger when I am unauthorised to witness a specific document, and probably the worst instance was when someone blatantly attempted to bribe me to sign an illegal document.
Whilst these transgressions are thankfully quite rare, my rule for those situations is simple. Anyone who crosses the line of integrity or basic human respect is first politely asked to leave. If that request is not followed, for reasons of safety, I will ensure the offending person is escorted out of the station by a Member of Police.
Another question I get asked is: “Do you get paid to be a JP?"
No we are volunteers, and sometimes, out of pure gratitude, people will try to pay me for my services or offer me a gift. While the sentiment is appreciated, accepting anything is strictly against our Honorary Justice Code of Conduct. Whenever someone reaches for their wallet or offers a token of appreciation, I just smile and tell them:
"One of the few things these days that is free is to see a JP."
In the midst of a cost-of-living crisis, many people are just genuinely appreciative when they hear that. If they went to a lawyer to get a statutory declaration witnessed, they could easily pay well over a hundred dollars for a few minutes of work. Some pharmacists are charging $5 a page these days, and I don't blame them, it's not their core job, However, for me, making people smile and hearing a sincere "thank you" as they walk out the door is all the payment I need. Because the community sees the value of this service firsthand, there is another question I’m increasingly being asked by the civic-minded people I see: "How do I become a JP?"
My honest, albeit frustrating, answer?
"Right now, you can't become a JP."
Victoria has around 3,700 appointed JPs, of which only approximately 1,900 are active. When you compare that to other states like NSW, which has over 60,000 JPs, the queues I sometimes see stretching out the door of my local police station make it clear our system is under strain, yet the door for new JP recruits remains firmly shut.
Instead of empowering volunteers, the current system offloads the overflow onto a generic list of designated professionals. I believe this approach suffers from three major flaws.
First, most of these professionals have zero formal training in properly witnessing legal documents. Second, it wastes valuable expertise. A pharmacist should be dispensing medicine, a doctor should be looking after patients and a police officer should be looking after police matters, not tied up with administrative paperwork that JPs are well-trained to manage. Thirdly, and most importantly, it jeopardises integrity. When someone is paid to execute these duties, whether directly or as part of their salary, the absolute impartiality of the role disappears. The strictly unpaid, volunteer nature of a JP, is the very thing that guarantees independence.
I also recognise the significant challenges government departments face in balancing budgets and policy, and I am optimistic that by fostering a closer partnership between the state and our honorary justice network, we can find sustainable, high-impact solutions here in Victoria.
I was recently elected Foundation Chairman for a newly formed Outer West branch of the Association of Honorary Justices (RVAHJ) and our state association leadership is working hard to boost JP recruitment. I look across the Tasman to where I grew up in New Zealand, where a robust, association-led model has successfully trained thousands of JPs.
Their government even empowers JP volunteers to sit on the bench in court to help clear backlogs for offences such as traffic violations. It proves that empowering the community doesn't de-professionalise the justice system; it helps stop it collapsing under its own weight. A dedicated, well-trained young JP appointed today will provide the state with decades of vital, free labour to the public.
A final question I get from people is, “Why are you a JP?”
Where I come from, there is a traditional Māori saying:
“He tangata, he tangata, he tangata.”
It translates simply to: It’s the people, it’s the people, it’s the people.
At the end of the day, the people are exactly why I show up. Behind every piece of paperwork, whether it's an affidavit or a marriage notice, is a person just trying to move forward with their life. For me, living with a physical disability, yet still being able to help the community in this way, is a real privilege.
So here's to the next five years of the delightful, the difficult, and everyone in between!
Kyle Lockwood JP
21 JUL 2026
Please note, the experiences and opinions expressed above are my own and do not reflect the experiences and opinions of Honorary Justices in Victoria as a whole.
If you want to help the statewide campaign to recruit more JPs, please click here.
Or scan the QR code below, they’d love to hear your stories.
21 JUL 2026
Please note, the experiences and opinions expressed above are my own and do not reflect the experiences and opinions of Honorary Justices in Victoria as a whole.
If you want to help the statewide campaign to recruit more JPs, please click here.
Or scan the QR code below, they’d love to hear your stories.
