The Sensible Sentencing
Following Garth McVicar’s quiet stepping down from the Sensible Sentencing Trust after 17 years, his successor, daughter Jess McVicar, might be the positive influence the flailing lobby group needs, writes Kelly Dennett.
In October 2001, Garth McVicar and his youngest daughter Jess, then 16, travelled to Auckland from Hawke’s Bay so Jess could attend an interview. A farmer at his 1200-hectare station at Te Pohue, McVicar told her they’d pop in to the Auckland District Court to see a trial unfolding: that of Mark Middleton, who was accused of threatening to kill his step-daughter’s murderer, Paul Dally.
In 1989 Dally had kidnapped, raped and killed Karla Cardno. She was buried alive in a lonely grave at Wellington’s Pencarrow Head. The crime shocked the country and prompted stranger danger warnings. Middleton pledged to harm Dally, who admitted the crime and is serving a life sentence.
The trial heard evidence about Cardno’s injuries and a few months later McVicar recalled that he had looked down at Jess and realised it could just as easily have been her. ‘‘I went home and said to my wife, ‘we are going on the road’,’’ McVicar said at the time.
A movement began. Soon after, about 30 supporters travelled to McVicar’s farmhouse to draw up a plan of attack. The country had had enough of violent crime, and the way victims had become an afterthought. Anguish over what had happened to Cardno all those years ago was peeled open again with overwhelming public sentiment that Middleton should never have been prosecuted.
The Sensible Sentencing Trust was born, and the country was introduced to McVicar, a straighttalking farmer poised as the speaker for angry middle New Zealand. The trust formed two distinct operations – a lobby side, and a victims’ advocacy side (called The Sensible Sentencing Group Trust). Membership quickly grew and supporters ballooned to 135,000 the following year. More than 3000 people became donors and chapters were set up in far-flung corners.
‘‘Our main goal is getting tougher sentences for violent offenders,’’ McVicar said at the time. ‘‘It’s not a ‘throw away the key’ mentality, but for those people, life has to mean life.’’
Jess McVicar remembers the Middleton case well. She and her dad had been surprised with the level of troubling detail, and McVicar told her he would never have brought her if he’d known. But, Jess McVicar says, she’s glad she heard it. ‘‘It gave me the open view of things that go on in our country. These horrible things happen all around us. Most people my age don’t see that stuff.’’
And once you’ve seen it, it’s hard to unsee it. ‘‘I decided that once I’d done my studies I’d do what I possibly could to make New Zealand safer. I made a promise to myself.’’
Now the 35-year-old is the new face of the Sensible Sentencing Trust following her dad’s quiet exit in December, after 17 years. Unlike the trust’s launch, McVicar’s departure barely caused a ripple and Jess admits she still gets calls from unaware reporters asking to speak to her dad. McVicar stepped away amid Justice Minister Andrew Little labelling him ‘‘loopy’’ and the appetite for tough-on-crime rhetoric at a low.
As national spokesperson Jess
McVicar is a new shot at what some say is a badly needed image overhaul for the trust, which has foundered in recent years with some missteps from Garth, including applauding police for shooting dead a mentally ill man (which he has never resiled from), and just days before his departure, having to make an embarrassing apology for a trust volunteer erroneously labelling a man a paedophile on its website. (‘‘We cocked up,’’ was the last public comment from McVicar, in December.)
Jess initially joined the trust’s twee youth division, which spoke out about adolescent crime, before last year taking the helm in consultation with the trust’s management team who agreed the McVicar name and values should be carried on. She lives with her partner of nine years, and two dogs, in Auckland, where the pair run an arboriculture business.
McVicar’s rural background has followed her to the City of Sails, where she loves getting outdoors. A well-earned break is heading back to the McVicar family farm for some R&R. Her day is typically spent running the business until late afternoon, and then it’s trust work until late. That includes having conversations with victims, making plans to support them at parole or court hearings, and administrative work. She’s focussing on the trust’s social media presence, which she hopes will draw support from its typical over-50 supporter base.
Garth McVicar was prepared for the trust to fold after deciding to step down to spend time with family – the deaths of his parents sparking some soul-searching – and admits the vigour of the group’s launch mellowed over the years.
So did the public’s eye-for-an-eye appetite. In 2001 newspaper letter writers cried they were ‘‘fed up’’ with crime (in 2001, Timaru trust organiser Lynette Karton remonstrated, ‘‘In 1952 there were two murders in New Zealand, and 99 in 1999.’’) Now, experts say a government bent on lowering the prison muster through rehabilitation causes less of a public feeding frenzy.
Jess McVicar muses that her generation has been brought up differently, perhaps taught to recognise social problems and their contribution to crime more. People her age are less likely to speak up as loudly, she thinks. ‘‘If they do, they’re kind of on the other side of the fence, I guess you could say.’’
In 2001 the country was about due for sentencing and parole reforms (both acts were introduced in 2002) after a series of horrific murders, and outrage over what was seen as a system that put offenders first. In January 2001 the family of Paeroa farmer Steven Slavich were disgusted after his killer, Shane Rogers, was granted prison leave to attend the Mystery Creek Fieldays. In October 2000, Taffy Hotene was jailed after raping and murdering Auckland journalist Kylie Jones shortly after he was paroled following his attacks on three other women.
In September 2001, pizza delivery driver Michael Choy was killed by a group of young people. In December 2001 William Bell walked into the Mt Wellington Panmure RSA and beat to death three, and seriously injured a fourth, Susan Couch. In February 2002 Jules Mikus was arrested and charged with murder in the cold case death of Teresa Cormack, 6.
In 2002, Susan Couch’s brother Stephen Couch joined the trust and called for capital punishment and a three strikes law. That same month figures showed 40 per cent of offenders on parole were breaching their conditions. Rita Coskery, Michael Choy’s mother, joined the trust, calling for tougher sentences, and in July that year hundreds of people marched to Parliament to place 1200 crosses on its steps, one for each homicide victim since 1991.
By the end of 2002, the impact of sweeping reforms in the United Kingdom, resulting in tougher sentences there, reached New Zealand. The Sentencing and Parole Acts replaced the Criminal Justice Act. According to the Australia & New Zealand Journal of Criminology the changes reflected the ‘‘punitive, penal populism’’ rhetoric of the time. McVicar’s popularity soared, and he was a frequent guest on current affairs shows.
But somewhere along the way the media tired.
‘‘For all the differences Garth and I had, New Zealand owes that man and all the people he worked with a debt of gratitude.’’ Ruth Money, above
Former trust member Ruth Money thinks McVicar’s Conservative Party run in 2014 – he eventually left the party – was the ‘‘beginning of the end’’. She left shortly afterward.
‘‘It was well intentioned, but not at all street smart to align yourself with a political party, let alone that one,’’ Money says (Money has for years advocated for Rachel MacGregor, who was sexually harassed by former Conservative leader Colin Craig). Money thinks society has matured, in that people are likely to humanise the context around offending, and the trust has suffered brand damage and a loss of credibility for not acknowledging this. She reckons the way forward would be a complete rebrand that states their position and purpose clearly.
But, Money says, there is no doubt the trust provides a much-needed service for victims.
‘‘For all the differences Garth and I had, New Zealand owes that man and all the people he worked with a debt of gratitude, because I genuinely believe there is no way that victims would have been at the forefront of communication now with the sector.’’
Money is now a high-profile independent victims’ advocate, who has become the go-to commentator on justice matters. Jess McVicar