Tragic Loss: RAAF Serviceman's Death Sparks Coroner's Inquiry into Mental Health Crisis

In a tale that intertwines duty, despair, and the intricacies of military life, the South Australia's Coroners Court is currently untangling the tragic story of Gary Sargeant. Yes, you guessed it—this isn’t just any courtroom drama; this is a poignant inquest into the drowning of the devoted RAAF member, who met with an untimely fate in 2020. The backdrop? A certain seaside Adelaide, where the cerulean waves lapped against the shore, quite unlike the storms brewing in his mind.

Sargeant, at just 36 years old, had not only patrolled the skies but had also navigated the turbulent waters of his mental health. With two tours in the Middle East under his belt, one might picture a stalwart soldier, but beneath that uniform was a man grappling with the shadows of isolation and feelings of hopelessness. Perhaps it’s a reminder that even amidst the camaraderie of military life, the inner battles some face can feel more like solitary confinement than brotherhood.

As the inquest unfolds, Deputy State Coroner Naomi Kereru has quite the two-week saga ahead of her. The legal eagle, counsel assisting the coroner, Darren Evans, opened with the sobering truth: Sargeant’s mental health struggles weren’t whispers in the wind—they were screaming to be heard. In September 2020, a visit to the health center saw him classified as "low risk," a label that could hardly encapsulate the tempest brewing within.

On September 9, during an acute mental health episode, Sargeant reached out to the Joint Military Police Station. Despite his palpable distress, he assured everyone he had no plans for self-harm. Alas, sometimes even the loudest cries for help can sound like silence. Military police, perhaps busy deciphering the complex codes of ‘military language,’ ended up with an impression that Sargeant was “paranoid, unwell, and distressed.” But what does that really mean? It’s like trying to understand a foreign film without subtitles; the essence may be lost in translation.

Following an assessment by the base health center, Sargeant was ushered into an unlockable room while awaiting an ambulance. A moment of frailty occurred when he requested a mobile phone charger. When the nurse returned with the wrong one—talk about a metaphor for unmatched needs—he had vanished into thin air. Gone, like the last scoop of ice cream on a hot summer day, leaving a swirl of longing in its place.

It took a staggering 22 minutes to report his disappearance—a stretch of time that could be measured in heartbeats and sinking stomachs. During this agonizing wait, the nurse, presumably still tethered to a bygone era of communication tech, struggled to get an external line. One hour later, the realization dawned: Sargeant had left the base in his car. As if an unseen clock was ticking down, authorities raced against time to locate a man who seemed just beyond their grasp.

When Sargeant's lifeless body was located on the breakwater rocks—a sobering reminder that the sea can be as unforgiving as human nature—what followed were revelations that rocked the foundation of protocols meant to safeguard vulnerable lives. Texts and final calls hinted at suicidal thoughts: a truth that struck harder than a midnight phone call with news no one should ever receive. Expert assessments slated for the court would reveal criticisms about the handling of his mental health care. Irony dripped from the proceedings like raindrops on a somber day; what was intended to protect and serve had, in unfortunate twists, failed him.

The unfolding saga will also delve into the training (or lack thereof) of medical personnel who, armed with good intentions, might not have fully understood the labyrinth of the Mental Health Act. A responsibility that should have been clear—communicate effectively, monitor compassionately, and respond promptly—seemed instead to become a dance of missteps.

As the first witness, Kathleen Mansfield, took the stand, we learned that the urgent referral she received lacked crucial information. In what felt like a personal confession, she admitted, “I regret that I didn’t have access to it.” Moments like these in court feel almost cinematic, the kind of twist that makes you cringe and question, “How could this have happened?”

It’s worth noting that the inquest isn’t merely a reflection of Gary Sargeant’s fate, but a mirror held up to the entire system. A clunky, cumbersome entity that teeters precariously between protocol and compassion. As the tale continues to unfold over the coming weeks—with health professionals and comrades recounting their stories—one can’t help but hope that amidst these dark waves, some light will shine through, illuminating a path towards a better understanding of mental health, especially for those who weather life’s storms in uniforms.