On Notice…Again: What Leadership Knew Before They Chose Inaction - February 2022

By 7 February 2022, this was not the first time the Vice-Chancellor had been formally put on notice regarding serious workplace health and safety concerns, psychological injury, workers compensation failures, and ongoing harm.

A courier-delivered package had already been sent directly to the Vice-Chancellor’s office on 2 November 2021.

That matters because it removes any suggestion that what followed was the result of misunderstanding, lack of awareness, administrative oversight, or failure of communication.

The leadership of the university had already been informed.

They had already been given the opportunity to intervene.

 

And yet, three months later, I was forced to write again — this time not only to the Vice-Chancellor, but also directly to the Deputy Vice-Chancellor of Ethics.

  

Repeated notice establishes knowledge. What followed raises questions about institutional response and accountability. 

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This Was Not a First Warning

The letter dated 7 February 2022 was not an introduction to the issues.

It was not a new complaint.

It was a continuation of a matter that had already been escalated to the highest level of the institution.

It reiterated, in explicit terms, that I had raised a work health and safety issue in July 2019 relating to psychosocial hazards, unsafe systems of work, bullying, harassment, discrimination, lack of role clarity following restructuring, and the severe impact those conditions had on my health.  

The letter further explained that instead of receiving protection and support after raising those concerns, I experienced isolation, marginalisation, threats regarding my employment, and escalating adverse treatment once Human Resources became involved.  

I set out that workplace processes lacked transparency, that false allegations had been made, that deeply personal family matters irrelevant to the workplace issue had been improperly drawn into the situation, and that I had repeatedly attempted to secure respectful and transparent communication regarding what was occurring.  

I also stated that a workers compensation pathway had already been triggered, yet the university had failed to implement a lawful return-to-work process, despite those obligations existing under workers compensation legislation.  

Importantly, the letter directly asserted that both the employer and insurer had failed to comply with their obligations to communicate, cooperate, and support recovery in accordance with the statutory framework governing workplace injury management.  

This was not vague correspondence.

It was structured.

It was detailed.

It was grounded in legislation.

And it was sent directly to senior leadership.

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What Leadership Was Explicitly Told

The letter made clear that the situation had escalated far beyond an ordinary workplace dispute.

It set out that:

• Workplace harm had escalated into psychological injury
• Workers compensation obligations had not been complied with
• A lawful return-to-work plan had not been implemented
• Ongoing conduct was continuing to trigger trauma and prevent recovery
• Isolation from colleagues and support systems had continued despite recovery recommendations
• Senior HR and WHS staff were alleged to have engaged in conduct contrary to their obligations under workplace health and safety legislation

I explicitly wrote that my recovery was only possible if the harassment ceased, if safe boundaries were respected, and if lawful return-to-work obligations were finally implemented.  

The letter also made clear that I was requesting reinstatement under the provisions of the Workers Compensation Act 1987 (NSW) and referenced protections arising under the Fair Work Act 2009 (Cth) regarding adverse action and workplace rights.  

This was a formal escalation outlining alleged breaches of legal obligations and requesting intervention from those responsible for governance and oversight.

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The Deputy Vice-Chancellor of Ethics Was Now Directly on Notice

The significance of the February 2022 letter is that it no longer involved only the Vice-Chancellor.

The Deputy Vice-Chancellor of Ethics was now directly placed on notice as well.

That matters because the issues raised were not only legal questions.

They were ethical questions.

Questions about:

• The treatment of a worker who had raised safety concerns
• The management of psychosocial risk
• The handling of psychological injury
• The failure to implement injury management obligations
• The conduct of executives responsible for workplace health, safety, and wellbeing

The contradiction was impossible to ignore.

This was a university publicly committed to dignity, ethics, community, Catholic Social Teaching, and the wellbeing of staff and students.

Yet the reality being described in the letter was one of escalating harm, institutional isolation, and repeated failures to protect a worker after a workplace safety complaint had been raised.

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Proof of Receipt — Not Once, But Twice

This is not speculation about whether leadership knew.

The February 2022 letter was delivered to the Vice-Chancellery and signed for on behalf of the university.  

That evidence sits alongside the earlier courier-delivered package sent on 2 November 2021.

Two separate formal notices.

Two separate deliveries.

Two confirmed points of institutional knowledge.

At the level of executive leadership, one notice is enough to trigger obligations.

Two removes any doubt.

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The Legal Framework Was Put Directly Before Them

The February letter explicitly referred to obligations arising under multiple legislative frameworks, including:

• Work Health and Safety Act 2011 (NSW)
• Workers Compensation Act 1987 (NSW)
• Workplace Injury Management and Workers Compensation Act 1998 (NSW)
• Fair Work Act 2009
• Privacy Act 1988
• Workplace Surveillance Act 2005 (NSW)
• Anti-Discrimination Act 1977 (NSW)

The letter further alleged failures regarding lawful injury management, return-to-work obligations, communication with treating practitioners, and protection from ongoing psychosocial harm.  

This was a legal and ethical escalation placed directly before those responsible for institutional governance.

⸻

What Happened Next — When Escalation Met Delay

After exhausting internal pathways, I turned to my local electorate office for Kogarah, because the failures I was dealing with involved state-based regulatory systems responsible for workers compensation and work health and safety oversight.

And yet, even there, the experience became increasingly unsettling.

I was asked again to provide the university leadership’s contact details.

Not for the first time.

Not for the second time.

But repeatedly.

This stood out because the contact details for the university’s executive leadership are publicly available and easily accessible.

Still, I complied.

I provided the details again.

I explained the urgency.

I described the harm.

And I asked for help.

In my correspondence, I wrote:

“Please help... This experience has been more traumatic than my dad’s suicide.”  

At that point, this was not procedural correspondence.

This was a person in significant distress asking for intervention after repeated institutional failures.

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The Phone Call That Never Happened

A phone call with the university was then scheduled.

For a brief moment, it appeared that meaningful engagement might finally occur.

That there might finally be intervention at a level capable of resolving the situation.

But the call never happened.

It was cancelled.

I was informed that it would be rescheduled.

No timeframe was provided.

No immediate follow-up occurred.

Just another delay.

Another deferral.

Another moment where action was replaced by waiting.

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When Delay Starts to Feel Structural

At some point, repeated delay stops feeling incidental.

It starts to feel structural.

By this stage, I had already experienced:

• Internal workplace failures
• Workers compensation failures
• Regulatory inaction
• Ongoing psychological harm
• Repeated obstruction of recovery processes

What followed no longer felt like disconnected administrative failures.

It felt like institutional protection activating across multiple levels.

The issue had been formally escalated.

Leadership had been notified.

External offices had been contacted.

And yet there was still no decisive intervention to stop the harm.

Instead, there was delay.

Distance.

Deferral.

That has a human impact.

While systems pause, redirect, and defer, the person at the centre of the situation continues living through the consequences.

⸻

Repeated Notice Changes the Nature of Responsibility

Under the Work Health and Safety Act 2011 (NSW), officers of organisations have due diligence obligations.

Those obligations require officers to:

• Acquire and maintain knowledge of workplace risks
• Ensure appropriate systems exist to eliminate or minimise risks
• Verify that those systems are actually functioning

Repeated formal notice directly engages those obligations.

By February 2022, the university’s leadership had:

• Repeated notice of psychosocial harm
• Repeated notice of alleged workers compensation non-compliance
• Repeated notice of ongoing injury and failed recovery processes
• Repeated notice that harm was continuing

At that point, the issue was no longer whether leadership understood.

The issue became what leadership chose to do — or not do — after being informed.

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Why This Matters Beyond One Workplace

What makes this especially confronting is that these issues are no longer isolated or obscure.

On 7 May 2026, in the Parliament of New South Wales Legislative Council, psychosocial workplace harm and institutional accountability were debated directly in the context of universities and workplace governance.

The Hon. Anthony D’Adam discussed the growing recognition of psychosocial injuries and employer obligations to assess and manage those risks.  

Importantly, he referred to the French concept of “inexcusable fault”, where employers may be held liable if they knew, or should have known, about workplace dangers and failed to protect workers.  

He also referred to the France Telecom case, where company executives were ultimately imprisoned after systemic workplace practices were linked to employee suicides following organisational restructuring.  

Most significantly, he stated:

“Evidence from the inquiry into the governance of universities in New South Wales shows that psychosocial hazards are often managed extremely poorly at universities.”  

And then:

“That has some disturbing similarities to the circumstances that produced the French Telecom case.”  

Those words were spoken in the NSW Parliament on 7 May 2026.

Not in commentary.

Not on social media.

In Parliament.

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Hansard Reference

NSW Legislative Council Hansard — 7 May 2026

Workplace Psychological Injuries — Speech by The Hon. Anthony D’Adam

NSW Parliament Hansard — Workplace Psychological Injuries (7 May 2026)

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Closing Reflection

They were not told once.

They were told again — with more detail, more evidence, more urgency, and more clarity.

The notices were delivered.

The letters were received.

The obligations were articulated.

The risks were explained.

The harm was continuing.

At that point, the issue was no longer whether leadership understood what was occurring.

The issue became whether those with the authority to intervene chose not to act after being repeatedly and formally placed on notice.

And the institutionalised wage theft continued…

Source: contemporaneous record of events - Document 266.

Once We Repaired Things — There Is No Peace - Part 6

“Do to others as you would have them do to you.” Luke  6:31 

Easter came.

I waited for what had already been agreed. A call, a message, something to arrange that coffee.

Because I needed that conversation.

It was my opportunity to be heard. I needed to understand what had happened. I needed to clarify what had been assumed that simply wasn’t true. I needed to say how it had affected me — in person.

It mattered.

Easter passed and there was nothing.

No message. No follow-through. No acknowledgment of what had been said just weeks before.

That’s when something shifted. It wasn’t just confusion. It was something deeper than that.

I wasn’t being given the opportunity to speak in something that directly involved me. I wasn’t being given the chance to clarify who I actually am, despite already feeling that I had been misjudged, compared to people I am not, and reduced to something that didn’t reflect me at all. And more significantly, the hurt from how I was treated and the need to speak because it involved my future too. It was my last hope. 

It wasn’t only about Paul’s future. It wasn’t only about Paul. 

I felt it clearly.

I didn’t have a voice in it.

And that is a difficult place to be — when something that affects your life, your dignity, your sense of self, is already being decided without you.

I had every reason to speak.

I needed to set the record straight. I needed to bring truth into something that had been shaped by assumption rather than understanding.

And I was not given that chance.

I remember how carefully I approached that first message.

Every word measured. Every sentence restrained. I knew how easily things could be taken the wrong way, and the last thing I wanted was to escalate something that should have been resolved in a simple, respectful conversation.

What had already been said before that moment is important to understand.

In those earlier messages, where I was expected to simply “accept” bad treatment without any conversation or my human right to speak (see https://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2026/04/once-we-repaired-things-text-that.html?m=1) — there was a line in Paul’s text that stayed with me.

He wrote, “MY ex left ME alone to think about MY future.”

I was horrified and shocked at the cruelty. That personal pain and humiliation has stayed with me. It caused me so much grief and daily tears.

His ex was not dating him. I was.

It was my life being affected. My future being spoken about, and, in that moment, placed out of my reach, without any space for me to participate in it.

What made it so difficult was not just the wording.

It’s what it did.

It was hurtful in a way that went beyond disagreement. It was degrading. It diminished me as a person with feelings, with a history, with something real at stake.

And it came at a time when this mattered more than I can easily explain.

I did not come into this unscathed. This was not casual for me.

It was, in many ways, my last hope to build something real, and I had no way of communicating that. No space to explain what I had been through, or why this mattered the way it did.

Because I could not get a word in.

Everything had already been decided.

And that is what stayed with me.

It was the weight of being reduced to something smaller than I am, in a moment where I needed to be seen clearly. 

I was powerless. 

At the time, I was already trying to hold myself together in ways that weren’t visible to anyone else.

As I’ve said, work was becoming increasingly difficult, and I was carrying that alongside everything else, trying to remain composed, trying to function, trying not to let everything show.

I would sit in the chapel at lunch, every day, and I would pray, always with tears. It was too much pain. 

I prayed for clarity, for steadiness, for help with something that didn’t feel grounded or fair. I was afraid. 

So when the tone shifted later, when the call came, calm and normal, suggesting we meet after Easter, it was an opportunity to finally be heard.

I waited a little after Easter, then I reached out.

Nothing.

That silence doesn’t sit quietly. It unsettles you. It interferes with your thinking. It makes you question what changed, what you’ve done, whether you’ve somehow lost the right to even ask.

And then you find yourself doing something you wouldn’t normally do.

You reach out again, because something important has been left unresolved, and you’re trying to bring it back to a place where it can be addressed properly.

That’s what that coffee represented.

A chance to clarify.

A chance to be heard.

A chance to restore some sense of dignity in a situation that had already been humiliating and severely frightening and painful.

Because it had already taken something from me.

I already felt misjudged.

I already felt reduced to something I am not.

And still, I was trying to approach it with care, with respect, with a willingness to resolve it properly.

But there was no space given for that.

No acknowledgement of the impact.

No recognition that I was responding to Paul from hurt, from confusion, from being placed in a position where I had no control over how I was being perceived or decisions affecting my life too. 

Just silence.

That silence did more than delay a conversation. It removed it and was replaced with fear and uncertainty. 

It took away my opportunity to speak, to clarify, to participate in something that directly involved me.

And in that, there was something profoundly disrespectful, because at the core of it, this was never about anything unreasonable.

It was about being treated as a human being.

Someone who deserved to be heard.

Someone who had the right to respond.

Someone whose voice should not have been removed from her own story.

And yet, that is exactly what happened.

There came a point where the silence started to take on a different weight.

I found myself wondering if something had happened to him. Whether he was okay. Whether there had been an accident. I didn’t know. Maybe that is catastrophising. Maybe it comes from what I’ve already lived through — when you lose someone to suicide, silence can carry a different kind of fear.

Call it trauma. Call it whatever you want.

But that is where my mind went.

And all of this was happening while I was already carrying more than I should have been carrying on my own. At work, I was navigating an environment that had become increasingly toxic — where I was being watched, judged, undermined, and stripped of my ability to lead and work in the way I always had. My professional life was already being shaped around me, without me.

And now, my personal life as well.

I remember driving to work one morning, trying to hold it together, and feeling that panic rise — the kind that comes when you don’t have information, when you don’t have clarity, when something important has been taken out of your control.

That’s what silence like that does.

It destabilises you.

It removes your footing.

It leaves you trying to make sense of something you were never given the chance to understand.

When I got to the office, I checked my phone.

There was finally a message from Paul.

“Hi Vicki, I’m well. Just busy with work and life in general.”

The message itself carried something I felt immediately.

Aloofness. Coldness. Indifference.

As though none of it had mattered.

As though the coffee that had been suggested, didn’t match what had come before.

That mismatch is what unsettles you the most, because you start to question what you’re dealing with. Whether you’re seeing things clearly. Whether the person you thought you were speaking to is the same person in front of you now.

It plays with you. Emotionally, yes — but also at a deeper level, because after everything I had already been through, I felt it immediately.

That coldness. That shift.

And the thought that followed was not calm or measured.

It was instinctive.

Not again.

Not another situation where I would be misread, dismissed, or reduced to something I am not. Not another space where I would be denied the ability to speak and then judged for not being understood.

I had already been carrying enough. I was extremely frightened. 

Here I was again, trying to steady myself in the face of something that felt familiar in all the wrong ways.

There was no acknowledgment.

No pause to recognise what had been left unresolved.

No effort to restore what had already been offered — a simple conversation.

Just distance.

And I was left holding all of it, while trying to remain composed. Trying to stay professional. Trying to contain what I was feeling in a space that was already demanding everything from me.

And there was nowhere for it to go.

I went to Italy with this heaviness crushing my heart, soul and spirit. When there is nowhere for it to go, it goes with you. 

There’s no escape. 

Even in peace, I wasn’t at peace.

I had changed places. The landscape was different. The air was softer. Everything around me suggested stillness, distance, space to breathe.

But none of that reached where it needed to.

What had been left unresolved did not stay behind. It did not loosen with distance or fade with time. It came with me — quietly, persistently — sitting beneath everything, shaping how I felt, how I moved, how I tried to steady myself in moments that should have felt lighter.

That is the part that is difficult to explain.

From the outside, it looks like you’ve stepped away. That you’ve moved forward. That you’ve found some form of peace.

But internally, nothing has been put down.

Because I was never given the chance to.

I was never given the space to speak, to clarify, to restore what had been taken from me in that silence.

And so it stayed.

Not as noise. Not as chaos.

But as weight.

Carried quietly, into places that should have felt free.

Even when I left, it stayed.

To be continued…