When the news first broke about the firebombing of Jordan Shanks' home—the man better known to millions as Friendlyjordies—it felt like a scene ripped straight out of a gritty crime thriller. Most people followed the drama through their phone screens, watching the charred remains of a Bondi residence and wondering how a YouTube investigation could lead to literal flames. At the center of the legal fallout that followed was a name many hadn't heard before: Tufi Junior Tauese Auelua.
He wasn't a shadowy mastermind or a public figure with a verified checkmark. He was, as a judge later described him, "muscle."
The Man in the Middle of the Friendlyjordies Arson
Understanding the role of Tufi Junior Tauese Auelua requires looking past the sensational headlines. By the time he was sentenced in late September 2025, a much clearer—and more tragic—picture had emerged. This wasn't just about a single night in November 2022. It was about a man who had spent much of his adult life behind bars, caught in a cycle that seemingly culminated in one of the most high-profile arson cases in recent Australian history.
The facts are pretty stark. On November 23, 2022, a group used a stolen Mercedes with cloned plates to pull up to the Bondi home. They had surveilled the place. They poured petrol at three separate spots. The resulting fire destroyed the front veranda and caused significant damage to the hallway and a neighbor's property. Luckily, Shanks wasn't home.
A History of Violence and the "Muscle" Label
During the proceedings at Coffs Harbour District Court, the details of Auelua’s life began to surface. He was 39 at the time of sentencing. He wasn't just some random guy off the street; he was someone the legal system knew well. Judge Michael McHugh didn't mince words, noting that Auelua’s history was littered with violence. He was basically being used by third parties to do their dirty work.
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"He's being used as muscle for third parties to harm others." — Judge Michael McHugh.
It’s a pattern we see often in organized crime circles. The people at the top rarely get their hands dirty. Instead, they find men like Auelua—men with specific psychological profiles and histories that make them vulnerable to being "used."
The Psychological Breakdown
One of the most revealing parts of the case was the medical assessment. Auelua had been diagnosed with:
- Intermittent explosive disorder
- Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)
- Antisocial personality disorder
His own defense barrister, Alex Cassels, gave a description that sticks with you: he called Auelua "a little boy in a very large body." It's a heavy contrast. On one hand, you have a man capable of carrying out a targeted arson attack. On the other, you have someone struggling with deep-seated psychological issues and a history of trauma. Honestly, it makes the whole situation feel less like a movie and more like a systemic failure.
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The Alameddine Connection and the Motive
The police were quick to link the attack to organized crime groups in south-west Sydney, specifically pointing toward the Alameddine crime network. While Tufi Junior Tauese Auelua was described as an associate of the network, he wasn't officially accused of being a member. This distinction is important. It suggests a "for-hire" relationship rather than a deep-seated ideological loyalty to a gang.
The motive? It’s widely believed the fire was retaliation for a video Shanks made. The YouTuber had been digging into the Coronation Property Group and alleged links to organized crime. The "message" was sent loud and clear. In fact, by February 2024, Shanks actually pulled the video down, basically telling his audience that the threats had become too much.
The Sentencing: "I'd Rather Die Than Return"
In September 2025, the gavel finally came down. Tufi Junior Tauese Auelua was sentenced to five years in jail. The scene in the courtroom was unexpectedly emotional. Appearing via video link from Nowra prison, Auelua didn't offer excuses. He apologized "from the bottom of my heart."
He told the court he believed in God and was truly over the life of crime that had eaten up his 20s and 30s. His quote, "I'd rather die than return back to jail," carries a lot of weight when you realize he still has years left to serve. With time already served, he’s looking at being eligible for parole in July 2027.
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What This Means for Public Safety and Accountability
The case of Tufi Junior Tauese Auelua is a reminder that the digital world and the physical world aren't separate. What happens on a YouTube channel can have devastating real-world consequences. It also highlights the way organized crime operates in 2026—leveraging "muscle" to silence critics through intimidation and violence.
So, where do we go from here? If you're following these types of cases, here are a few things to keep in mind:
- Look for the "Why": Often, the person arrested isn't the one who wanted the crime committed. They are the tool, not the architect.
- Media Literacy Matters: When a creator like Friendlyjordies says they are being threatened, it isn't always "clout-chasing." Sometimes, as we saw here, the threat is very real.
- Systemic Reform: The diagnosis of Intermittent Explosive Disorder and PTSD in defendants like Auelua points to a need for better mental health intervention within the prison system to break the "muscle-for-hire" cycle.
The story of Tufi Junior Tauese Auelua is still being written, at least until 2027. For now, he remains a cautionary figure in the intersection of online journalism, organized crime, and the Australian justice system.
Next Steps for Readers:
To stay informed on the evolving landscape of organized crime and its impact on media in Australia, you should monitor the official NSW Police media releases for updates on the "Joint Criminal Enterprise" involving the other three men allegedly involved in the 2022 attack. Additionally, following legal commentators like those at the NSW Bar Association can provide deeper context on how "muscle-for-hire" sentencing is shifting in response to gang-related violence.