Tuesday, June 9, 2026

The Return-to-Work Coordinator: They Walk Away, and We’re Left With the Damage - April 2022

What happens when people who are directly involved in serious failures simply move on, while the injured worker remains trapped with the consequences?

There is something deeply disturbing about discovering that the people who were directly responsible for implementing a worker’s recovery simply disappear once the damage has been done.


In my case, the person identified on the Injury Management Plan as the employer’s return-to-work coordinator was responsible for coordinating communication between me, my nominated treating doctor, and allied health professional.


Yet that coordination never occurred.


The return-to-work coordinator became effectively unreachable. Phone calls went unanswered. Messages and emails disappeared into silence. I was never provided with the consent forms required to facilitate communication with my treating practitioners. No return-to-work plan was developed with my involvement. No rehabilitation provider was engaged. No meaningful collaboration took place. No trauma-informed support existed.


But somehow, despite all of that, my private information still managed to travel…


…not to my treating team…


…not to support my recovery…


…but into the hands of the very people whose conduct had already caused me harm.


The systems that were supposed to facilitate communication with my treating professionals appeared unwilling to do so. Yet information seemed capable of moving in other directions entirely. For an injured worker trying to understand what was happening, it created a profound sense of vulnerability, confusion, and distrust.


What troubles me most is that none of this occurred in isolation. The return-to-work coordinator was not acting within a vacuum. The senior executive overseeing employment relations and SAFETY at the university was, in fact, the primary source of the workplace stressors that led to my workers compensation claim. Yet the same individual continued to exercise influence over processes that were supposedly designed to support my recovery.


It was the return-to-work coordinator’s manager — the National Manager of Employment Relations and SAFETY — whose conduct formed a central part of my claim, continuing to direct and oversee actions within a statutory scheme that should have existed to protect an injured worker, not expose them to further harm.


As I reflected on these events, I was reminded of an article by workplace researcher Dr David Yamada titled “When Superficial Civility Supports Workplace Abusers and Their Enablers.” 


The article explores how organisations can sometimes prioritise appearances, politeness, and procedural formality over genuine accountability, allowing harmful conduct to continue beneath a veneer of professionalism. The concept resonated deeply with my experience, where communications often appeared courteous on the surface (especially to the SafeWork NSW inspector who then shockingly said to me “I’m not here to play he said she said”), while substantive concerns about safety, recovery, and worker welfare remained unaddressed.


When Superficial Civility Supports Workplace Abusers and Their Enablers:

https://newworkplace.wordpress.com/2014/06/11/when-superficial-civility-supports-workplace-abusers-and-their-enablers/


Going back to my story, from early 2021, after the damage was done, the return-to-work coordinator disappeared from the university.


Years later, my family discovered, through publicly available information, that she had moved into a work health and safety position within a NSW government agency. According to publicly available employment information, she commenced employment with the NSW Environment Protection Authority in early 2021.  


What makes this particularly difficult to process is that she was not the only person who appeared to move on without accountability.


An insurer representative directly involved in my matter, the person I had tried to get answers from, including who would be the replacement case manager, also suspiciously left and later suspiciously re-appeared in a role elsewhere within the NSW public sector.


One moved into Transport for NSW. (See https://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2026/03/sira-nsw-and-illusion-of-regulation.html?m=1


The other moved into the NSW Environment Protection Authority as a work health and safety manager.


Meanwhile, I remained where I had always been.


Still trying to recover.


Still trying to understand what had happened.


Still trying to obtain the return to work support and statutory entitlements that should have existed from the beginning.


The worker remained behind.


The financial damage remained behind.


The psychological injury remained behind.


The unanswered questions remained behind.


From my perspective, that is where public trust begins to erode.


People understand that employees change jobs. That is normal. What they struggle to understand is how serious concerns can be raised, extensive documentation can exist, significant harm can occur, and yet the people involved simply continue progressing into new and often more senior positions without any visible examination of what happened previously.


It creates a perception that accountability applies differently depending on who holds power and who does not.


Whether I agreed with it or not, my family eventually decided to contact the NSW Environment Protection Authority and inform them of what had occurred during this person’s employment at the university. The EPA correspondence contained allegations concerning failures to fulfil obligations under the Injury Management Plan and concerns regarding privacy and communication failures.  


What happened next was unsettling.


Shortly after those concerns were raised, my family reported receiving calls from a private number. Not once, but twice.


When the calls were answered, the person on the other end allegedly hung up without speaking.


No explanation.


No conversation.


Just silence.


That pattern was disturbingly familiar.


A concerned friend of mine had experienced something similar after interactions involving senior management connected to the university. Viewed in isolation, any one of these incidents might seem insignificant. Viewed together, they contribute to a broader pattern that leaves people feeling watched, unsettled, and unsafe. (See http://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2026/02/when-safety-is-denied-at-threshold-may.html). 


I cannot prove who made those calls.


What I can say is that they occurred, they were reported to me, and they added to an already profound sense of unease, fear and distress. 


What also continues to trouble me is the response I later received from the regulator.


When I formally complained to the NSW State Insurance Regulatory Authority in January 2021, one of the explanations offered was that the return-to-work coordinator was “qualified”. (See http://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2026/01/when-regulators-close-ranks-systemic.html where SIRA NSW stated, on record, that it had liaised with SafeWork NSW and that: the employer’s Return to Work practices were “compliant” with workers compensation legislation, and the Return to Work Coordinator was “appropriately trained and qualified”).


But qualification was never the issue.


A person can be “qualified” and still fail to perform their duties.


A person can hold professional credentials and still engage in conduct that causes serious harm.


Lawyers are qualified.


Doctors are qualified.


Executives are qualified.


Qualifications do not answer the fundamental question.


The question is whether the person actually performed the role they were employed and authorised to perform.


Did anyone independently verify whether the obligations under the Injury Management Plan were fulfilled?


Did anyone verify whether communication occurred with the worker?


Did anyone verify whether communication occurred with the nominated treating doctor?


Did anyone verify whether communication occurred with the psychologist?


Did anyone verify whether the required consent processes occurred?


Did anyone verify whether a return-to-work program was actually implemented?


Or was it simply assumed that because somebody held a qualification, they must have been doing their job?


That response has always troubled me because it appears to confuse competency on paper with accountability in practice.


And perhaps that is the larger question that remains unanswered throughout this entire story.


How did a system designed to support injured workers allow so many failures to occur simultaneously?


And why did the employer allow it to happen?


Because qualifications are not what injured workers rely on.


They rely on actions.


They rely on safeguards.


They rely on people actually doing the jobs they were entrusted to do.


In my case, those safeguards never arrived.


And years later, I am still living with the consequences…


…Including the institutionalised wage that continues to this day…


Source: contemporaneous record of events - Document 303.


——


NOTESafeWork NSW would do well to take WHS reports coming from frightened staff in complex organisations like universities, seriously from now on. A life could depend on it. 


There’s no excuse regarding a SafeWork NSW inspector telling a vulnerable employee “I’m not here to play he said she said” and “all they’ll do is show me their policies and I don’t want to ruffle feathers”, then leaving the poor soul in the hands of the very perpetrator to continue engaging in harmful and reckless conduct. 


That attitude from SafeWork NSW has cost me years of my life and almost my life. The conduct of SafeWork NSW has been so serious, I now don’t feel safe directly engaging with the NSW WHS regulator anymore. 


It’s finally been escalated via the proper systemic channels. 

Monday, June 8, 2026

The Ethics of Silence - April 2022

By 2022, I had already spent months pleading for the implementation of a lawful injury management plan, for a safe return-to-work process, for basic protections that should never have required begging in the first place.

When I directly reached out on LinkedIn to the Deputy Vice-Chancellor of Ethics, I wrote to him as a long-serving staff member in crisis.


In my message, I wrote about the implementation of the injury management plan being “non-negotiable” because it was both “the law” and “my employee and human right.”  


I wrote about the fear of losing my home because my income and entitlements had been withheld.  


I wrote about the university’s failure to provide a safe work environment and my concerns regarding the conduct of senior staff.  


I wrote about the emotional and psychological toll this had taken on me and my family.  


And I pleaded, again, for someone to finally intervene before more damage was done.


As I’ve already written, he read the message, viewed my profile, then he blocked me on LinkedIn.


That was it.


Just silence.


What made it even harder to process was what was happening publicly at exactly the same time.


While I was privately pleading for help from the Deputy Vice-Chancellor of Ethics, his LinkedIn feed was filled with posts about:

  • flourishing at work,
  • ethics,
  • wellbeing,
  • diversity,
  • culture,
  • mental health,
  • and what it means to live a “good life.”  

One post discussed whether “flourishing at work” was possible.  


Another spoke about ethics being “an exceedingly practical subject” connected to mental health and “what’s real.”  


Another discussed “ethics and culture” in workplaces.  


I remember staring at those posts in disbelief - viewed via a friend’s LinkedIn account because I had been “blocked” by the DVC of Ethics. 


Privately, I was living the exact opposite of everything being promoted publicly.


There was no flourishing.


There was no psychologically safe workplace.


There was no practical ethics.


There was no meaningful intervention.


And there was certainly no dignity in what was happening to me.


What affected me most was what the blocking represented.


It represented an institution choosing distance over due diligence and respectful engagement.


“Risk management” by not complying with statutory obligations, over humanity.


Image over accountability.


Because by that point, I had repeatedly raised concerns regarding workplace safety, injury management failures, statutory non-compliance, and the withholding of my entitlements.


I was trying to survive financially.


I was trying to preserve my health.


I was trying to save my home.


And instead of meaningful engagement from someone responsible for ethics oversight, I experienced disappearance.


A Final Reflection


As I look back on this period, I often think about a simple question raised in an article titled  “What If We Applied the Golden Rule at Work?”⁠. 


The article explores a principle that most of us learned as children: treat others as you would wish to be treated yourself.


Simple in theory.


Yet the author argues that workplaces frequently drift away from this basic ethical standard. Decisions become driven by power, hierarchy, process, self-interest, or organisational protection rather than empathy, fairness, and respect for the human beings affected by those decisions.


The article asks readers to imagine what workplaces would look like if people genuinely applied the Golden Rule in their daily interactions, particularly when dealing with conflict, disagreement, vulnerability, or power imbalances.


Reading it, I could not help reflecting on my own experience.


Throughout this ordeal, I repeatedly asked for things that I believe most people would want for themselves if they found themselves injured, distressed, and dependent on others acting ethically.


I wanted communication.


I wanted honesty.


I wanted transparency.


I wanted a safe workplace.


I wanted my lawful entitlements respected.


I wanted somebody to listen.


I wanted somebody to care.


And perhaps most importantly, I wanted to be treated as a human being.


When I contacted the Deputy Vice-Chancellor of Ethics, I was seeking the very principles that universities, leaders, and ethics programs often promote publicly: dignity, respect, compassion, fairness, and concern for the wellbeing of others.


Instead, after my message was read and my profile viewed, I found myself blocked.


For someone already struggling under the weight of prolonged workplace harm, financial devastation, isolation, and institutional silence, it carried a deep message.


It left me wondering whether the Golden Rule still had a place inside the institutions that teach ethics, speak about human flourishing and dignity, and encourage their students to become leaders of integrity.


If the positions were reversed, if another member of staff had reached out to me in obvious distress, fearing the loss of their home, their livelihood, their health, and their future, I know I could not simply have turned away.


And perhaps that is the question that continues to stay with me:


If we truly applied the Golden Rule at work, how different would this story have been?


That moment also forced me to confront another devastating question:


What does “ethics” actually mean inside institutions when a distressed worker pleading for lawful protections becomes something to block out rather than respond to?


That question still remains…


While the institutionalised wage theft continues…


Source: contemporaneous record of events - Document 302



Reference:


Yamada, D. (2010, 18 October). What if we applied the Golden Rule at work? at 


Should we apply Practical Ethics or Practical Wisdom to such systemic issues? 
 

Sunday, June 7, 2026

Once We Repaired Things — Part 7 - Non è una buona giornata

Montalcino

I arrived in Montalcino in the late afternoon.


The bus wound slowly up the mountain roads, and I remember looking out the window in disbelief at how beautiful it all was. The light was beginning to change. The town was glowing softly against the hillside, and as we drew closer, little lights were starting to switch on across the stone buildings.


It looked unreal.


Ancient. Quiet. Safe.


I had wanted to visit this part of Italy for a very long time, and when I finally arrived in Montalcino, I walked slowly up the main street toward the clock tower, trying to take it all in. I still remember the feeling of standing there looking upward at the old stone buildings and narrow streets, dragging my suitcase behind me over the incline while trying to work out where my bed and breakfast was located.


I was exhausted.


Not holiday tired.


Life tired.


And despite the beauty surrounding me, I was carrying far more with me than luggage. 


When I finally found the bed and breakfast, I remember climbing the steep stairs to the entrance with my bags and feeling completely overwhelmed by where I was. I stood there in awe.


I had travelled to one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen. The lights were coming on across the hillside. People were gathering in restaurants and piazzas. Life was unfolding all around me. Yet I felt completely alone, not only because I was travelling by myself, but because the people whose support mattered most seemed unreachable. The beauty was real. The loneliness was real too.


And instinctively, like most people do when they experience something beautiful, I wanted to share it with someone.


So I took a photo.


I believe it was the clock tower near where I was staying. The lights were coming on, the streets were glowing softly, and I felt something close to peace, even if only briefly.


I sent the photo to Paul.


Partly because he was of Italian background. Partly because he was planning to travel to Italy himself not long after me. But mostly because I wanted to share the moment with someone who would appreciate it. 


It was simply:

“Look how beautiful this is.”


But sometime afterward, I realised I had been blocked. Sitting there alone on the other side of the world, that feeling was horrific.


In that moment, I felt profoundly alone. It felt eerie. 


When someone suddenly cuts off communication without explanation during a period when you are already emotionally vulnerable, it feels shattering.


It frightened me.


What made it worse was that I was already not okay before I boarded the plane to Italy.


I hadn’t travelled there because life was wonderful.


I travelled there because I needed to escape.


At that point, I was already struggling under the weight of what had been happening professionally. I was exhausted from trying to hold myself together inside an increasingly unsafe work environment while simultaneously carrying grief, confusion, isolation, and unresolved personal pain.


I now understand it for what it was.


A flight response.


I fled.


But what I discovered in Montalcino was something deeply unsettling:

you can travel thousands of kilometres away and still not escape what is happening to you.


Even there, surrounded by beauty, I could not sleep properly.


I had nightmares while I was in Italy.


Nightmares about work.


Nightmares about returning to Sydney.


Looking back, those nightmares and that dread feel almost like a warning from my own nervous system. I couldn’t have known what lay ahead, but somewhere inside me I already sensed that I was not safe.


At the time, I didn’t yet understand why my body seemed so frightened all the time. The worst of what was going to happen professionally hadn’t even occurred yet. The institutional escalation, the retaliation, the worsening psychosocial harm, the isolation and procedural cruelty that would follow — all of that still lay ahead.


The worst of what was going to happen personally hadn’t occurred yet either. 


But somewhere underneath it all, my nervous system already knew something was terribly wrong.


I was carrying dread long before I had language for it.


Most mornings, I would sit by the window in the dining room of the bed and breakfast with my journal.


The view was breathtaking.


Beyond the piazza below were restaurants beginning their day, stone buildings catching the morning light, and beyond them the rolling Tuscan hills stretching endlessly into the distance. It was everything I had imagined Tuscany would be.


People travel across the world hoping to find places like this.


And yet I would often sit there crying, because what was happening inside me had travelled there too.


I was carrying everything with me.


The uncertainty.


The loneliness.


The fear.


The grief.


The growing dread about returning home.


I could not leave any of it behind in Sydney.


It sat beside me every morning while I wrote in my journal and looked out across one of the most beautiful landscapes I had ever seen.


Giulia, the owner of the bed and breakfast, was kind. She would smile and say to me, “Ma Vicki, è una buona giornata.”


And she was right.


It was a good day.


The sun was shining. The countryside was magnificent. I was in a place I had dreamed of visiting for years.


“Lo so, Giulia,” I said.


“I know. But not in my heart.”


That was perhaps the saddest part.


I could see the beauty.


I simply could not feel it.


What lives in your heart, your soul and your spirit doesn’t disappear simply because you board a plane. It comes with you.


And despite being surrounded by beauty, I felt completely alone.


I didn’t want to go home.


But I couldn’t stay there either.


Looking back now, what unsettles me most is that the feeling I experienced in Montalcino was not entirely new. The fear I felt when communication was abruptly cut off touched something deeper. Soon after, I would experience greater forms of exclusion and silencing in both my personal and professional life. 


With my university employer, it was while trying to raise concerns about psychosocial safety and workplace harm. Different circumstances. Different people. But the same unsettling feeling of having decisions made around me while my own voice seemed to disappear from the narrative. The truth. 


With Paul, what hurts most is the deeper realisation that I was never really seen properly to begin with.


I had already shared enough of myself for someone to understand that I was carrying significant grief and hurt. I had already indicated that my life experience wasn’t  simple and that I was trying very hard to navigate it honestly and tread carefully this time.


And yet, instead of actually getting to know me over time, I felt as though assumptions were made about who I was based on other people, other experiences, other projections that had nothing to do with me.


I became a version of somebody else. Not myself.


That is an incredibly difficult thing to carry when someone represented your last genuine hope that perhaps there was still emotional safety, authenticity, and kindness left in the world, especially when you’re already drowning elsewhere in your life.


Looking back now, that moment in Montalcino feels almost like a premonition, of what would continue personally, and of what was still to come professionally.


Because over time, the pattern became impossible to ignore.


Blocked personally.


Blocked professionally.


Silenced personally.


Silenced professionally.


Excluded from conversations about my own life.


Reduced to assumptions instead of listened to as a human being.


By the time I boarded the plane home to Sydney, I was deeply frightened…


Of returning to my life.


To be continued…

 

Montalcino - Piazza del Popolo e Palazzo dei Priori

For readers interested in the workplace context, see: