Part One: They Walked Against Gender Violence. I Was There Begging to Be Kept Safe - November 2022

On 25 November 2022, Bayside Council sent an email inviting the community to a walk against domestic and family violence the following morning.

I saw it that night.

I was not in a good way. I was frightened, exhausted and without the support I needed. I had spent years reporting what I experienced as workplace abuse, intimidation and the withholding of my entitlements, trying to get someone with responsibility to listen and intervene.

The email named people who would be there: Linda Burney, the federal member for Barton and Minister for Indigenous Australians; Chris Minns, then NSW Opposition Leader; Steve Kamper, the member for neighbouring Rockdale; and Superintendent Rohan Cramsie, Commander of St George Police Area Command.

These were people I needed to reach.

So on 26 November 2022, I went.

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A community invitation—and a desperate opportunity

The council’s invitation encouraged people to wear orange, bring banners and “make some noise against domestic violence.”

The walk would finish at Depena Reserve, with speeches, information stalls and a community barbecue.

For others, this was an opportunity to gather and show support. For me, it was also a chance to reach leaders whom ordinary reporting channels had failed to bring within reach.

I already felt that approaching Chris Minns had led nowhere. Steve Kamper represented the electorate across the boundary from mine: had I lived on the other side of my street, he would have been my state MP.

Linda Burney represented me federally. I hoped I could pass her a note and ask for help concerning my university employer and the failures I had encountered when seeking intervention from the Fair Work Ombudsman.

Perhaps, face to face, someone would finally understand the urgency.

I shouldn’t have had to attend a public event in that condition to seek help keeping myself safe. But there I was.

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The distance between representation and access

My recollection of Linda Burney that day is of an overwhelming sense that she should not be approached.

I remember another person, a young man, appearing to want to approach her too. I cannot speak for him. I can describe how it felt to me: even a few metres away, the message seemed to be don’t come closer.

She gave her speech and left soon afterwards. I didn’t see her engaging with community members in the time I was watching.

My opportunity disappeared.

So I turned to councillors. Could somebody pass my note to Linda Burney? Could somebody help me reach the person representing us federally?

I was asking across local, state and federal leadership for something painfully basic: someone to listen, take the reports seriously and help stop the harm.

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What I said to the police commander

When Superintendent Rohan Cramsie spoke, I kept saying under my breath:

Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.

That was how far my trust had collapsed.

After my experiences seeking protection, I could no longer hear assurances about safety without thinking about the gap between those words and what had happened to me.

But I still hoped he would prove me wrong.

As he left the podium and headed back towards the police stall, I called out to him. As I remember it, I said:

“Superintendent Rohan Cramsie, I need to speak with you. I’ve left my details at the stall, and I expect you to get in contact with me.”

I wanted him to contact me. I wanted an appointment. I needed to discuss the police response and the failures that had left me feeling unprotected.

This was a direct request for help, made to the commander at an event about keeping people in our community safe, especially women.

See also:

When Even Home Wasn’t Safe - June 2022

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The written plea behind that encounter

On 27 November 2022, the day after the walk, I wrote to the local representatives and their team, explaining the distress behind my attempt to reach them:

“It’s the work-related equivalent to a domestic violence case. No one listened and no one protected me and kept me safe.”

That was the comparison I made from my lived experience: fear, intimidation, financial pressure, isolation, and repeated attempts to obtain protection that led nowhere.

I asked for my note to reach Linda Burney. I also wrote:

“Can someone also remind Commander [Superintendent] Rohan [Cramsie] to call me to make an appointment to meet with him.”

And I asked the question that should have mattered at that community event:

“If no one listens, how are we going to improve the support network and systemic processes as a community?”

On 29 November 2022, I wrote again, describing how frightened I had become even of opening government correspondence. I needed human support to face responses from institutions whose previous handling of my reports had compounded my distress.

An email arriving was no longer reassuring. I needed human support to face what it might contain.

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Who would put their words into practice?

By then, I felt as though I was losing my grip under the strain of having to plead, repeatedly, for safety.

I was asking for the conduct I had reported as fraud to be investigated and stopped. I was asking for my entitlements, for cooperation with my injury management plan, and for a safe way to return and recover in my role.

I was asking someone to act before the damage grew worse.

I didn’t know who had the decency, courage and integrity to do that. I had approached people and institutions whose responsibilities should have made them sources of protection. Instead, I kept finding myself alone with the consequences.

In my correspondence, I put it plainly:

“I need a break before I break.”

That was the person standing among the speeches, stalls and public declarations of solidarity.

A woman from their own community, trying to reach them.

• What does a public commitment to keeping women safe mean when a woman standing there tells you she is frightened and needs help?

• Who follows up after the microphone is switched off?

• Who makes sure the note reaches its recipient?

• Who calls?

I went to that walk because I still hoped somebody would turn the words into action.

Source: contemporaneous record of events - Documents 572, 574.