Why Grace has come home at last

Ostracism drove Grace from Tasmania, but a new kindness shows the power of changing attitudes, says Nina Funnell

TWO years ago, a young woman wandered into my life, requesting help to tell her story. At age 15, she had been groomed and repeatedly sexually assaulted by her 58year-old high school maths teacher, Nicolaas Bester. At age 16 she had found the courage to report him, first to the school, then the police and finally through the courts.

By age 22, she had made the decision that she wished to waive her right to anonymity and speak out publicly, hoping that her story might educate others on the warning signs of grooming, and prevent other children from being targeted by predators.

At 22, Grace Tame had already defied the odds. According to the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse, it takes most victims an average of 23.9 years to tell anyone — if they tell anyone at all.

It is even less common for child victims to come forward if they are still under the care of the institution where the abuse has occurred; if the perpetrator still has access to them; or if the victim has a history of prior mental illness.

In Grace’s case, every single one of those factors were present.

So from the first time I met Grace Tame, I knew she must be uncommonly brave and resilient. I knew it was a privilege to be entrusted with the responsibility of helping her tell her story. And, having spent a decade reporting on sexual violence, I knew we would likely encounter various roadblocks and legal blockades, as is routine in this kind of reporting.

What I didn’t know, and what I couldn’t have predicted, was that it was going to take us two long years of campaigning

from two different continents, to cut through the legal red tape which has kept her and other sexual assault survivors in Tasmania gagged.

This is because in Tasmania and the Northern Territory, it is a crime for any journalist to name a sexual assault survivor, regardless of their consent. Those found responsible can face heavy fines or up to six months imprisonment.

In response, in November we launched the #LetHerSpeak campaign for sexual assault gag-law reform, along with campaign partners End Rape On Campus Australia, Marque Lawyers and the Mercury. The campaign was the result of hours and hours of strategising over Skype calls, from opposite sides of the globe, Grace living in Los Angeles, and me in NSW.

After the launch, the campaign soon took on a life of its own with celebrities including John Cleese and Alyssa Milano joining with more than a dozen public sexual assault survivors (including Bri Lee, Saxon Mullins, Tara Moss and Sarah Monahan) to push for reform. More than 5000 people signed the #LetHerSpeak petition and a Mercury poll found 92 per cent of Tasmanian’s support change so that victims can speak out under their real names, if they so choose.

Last week, I flew to Hobart and met Grace in person for the first time. We hugged and later I handed her a copy of the list of 5000 names of people who signed the #LetHerSpeak petition. Many signatories had left notes of encouragement, several from individuals who disclosed their own histories of abuse.

As a community, we cannot underestimate how invaluable that kind of swell of support is for sexual abuse victims, many of whom fear that they will be mocked, blamed or shamed if they speak out publicly.

In Grace’s case, that support has been all the more meaningful because when she first came forward, at 16, she was mercilessly mocked and bullied by peers who, at that age, had not acquired the life experience or maturity to understand the inherent power imbalance between a much older teacher and a schoolgirl in the grip of anorexia.

In the playground Grace was called a “homewrecker” (due to Bester’s married status at the time), and a “sl--”. Around Hobart she would overhear others gossiping and sneering about her case.

To make matters worse, in Tasmania the law that Bester was charged under is called “maintaining a sexual relationship with a person under the age of 17”. (By contrast, in other Australian jurisdictions the equivalent charge is called the “persistent sexual abuse of a child”).

Language matters. And legal language which sanitises sexual abuse or which implies a level of consent, mutuality, volition, or even enjoyment, significantly skews the public’s understanding of the dynamics of power and control present in abuse.

Adding further insult to injury, the media then took their cue from the name of the law, reporting that the abuse constituted a “relationship”. Some went so far as to call it a “tryst” or even an “affair”.

This only further fuelled schoolyard gossip and before long, Grace was excluded from friend’s homes.

In response, Grace, who had once been an A-Grade student and scholarship holder, dropped out of school. She spiralled, abusing alcohol and other drugs. (Later, Grace did eventually go on to complete Year 12 at a different school, even securing an ATAR of 98.3. But the impact of that ostracism had been so severe that on completion of Year 12, Grace turned her back on Hobart, moving overseas to escape.)

So can you imagine the surprise we all got last week when, reading through the names on the petition, Grace discovered that dozens of her former school peers and teachers — including some

students who had previously tormented her — had signed in support of her right to speak. As I watched her read out the names, it was as if something shifted and settled inside her. It’s amazing how breakthroughs in healing which might take years to achieve in therapy, can occur in a single moment through simple acts of kindness from others.

And now, today, after a long and weary fight, Grace Tame becomes only the fourth sexual assault survivor in the state of Tasmania to ever be granted a court order allowing them to speak out in full. That process has taken months and cost about $10,000 in legal fees.

It’s a victory and a milestone and a day worth celebrating for many reasons.

But we know there is still work ahead. The law in Tasmania is being reviewed, and unless and until it is changed other survivors remain gagged.

But now, the fight for change has one powerful new public voice on its side.

And that voice matters.