I grieve for the childhood my abuser took from me

Two truths and a lie. My go-to; “I put a man in jail” is sure to win me the game but when this game is played as an icebreaker, “I put a man in jail” just frosts everything over. You want to ask, of course – it’s a great truth!

It’s unexpected, but when you hit them with “child sexual abuse” you’ve killed the sun that melts the ice. So I say “sign language was my first language, I’ve been around Australia three times, and I’ve read all seven Harry Potter books”. Much more palatable. Then, after time, something that shouldn’t be a secret becomes a secret. Something that should be talked about, not for accolades but for awareness, is stifled.

“When you’re told you’ll have to go to court and testify against someone five times your age … you grow up pretty damn fast.” Harriet Snaith, now 26, was abused as a child.

When you are a child involved in a court case in Australia, your name is never published. This is for the protection of the child, however, when you are that child, you can’t help but feel removed from your own story and over time, something that shouldn’t be a secret feels like one.

My two best friends in primary school knew, but they weren’t equipped to be the support I needed nor would they have really understood. They still had the rest of their childhood to live. I was always told I was so mature for my age. That’ll happen to an only child constantly surrounded by adults and I would pride myself that I wasn’t like the other kids, I was like a grown up.

When you are 11 and you have to go into the police station and give a statement and the officers taking the statement are both men and there are cameras pointing at you recording you and they hand you an outline of a cartoon girl and get you to circle the parts on her where you were touched; when you’re told you’ll have to go to court and testify against someone five times your age, but you probably won’t win because it’s your word against his, you grow up pretty damn fast.

The real grown-ups decided that the odds were stacked against me and I wouldn’t win at court. We’d have to wait for more girls to come forward so that there were more of us to testify against him. Wait for it to happen to more girls. So, I was sent straight back to “growing up” with my peers and started high school with crippling anxiety. I was going to English classes and singing in choir and picking electives while biding time for other girls my age to be assaulted so that my court case would be stronger.

The legal system is complex and complicated. After six years and countless other girls, we had a court date and two others willing to testify with me. Six years from year six, year 12. We began the trial but shortly after we had to disband for the health and safety of one other testifier. Months later, when I could see my HSC around the corner, the trial was back on. The third testifier had also withdrawn from the trial so we were back to where we started. Me versus him and there was no chance in hell we were waiting any more for any more.

When you’re a 17-year-old girl, everyone’s opinion matters. You’re not sure who you are or who you should be and you are ridiculously aware of yourself, how you look, what you’re saying, who likes you, friends or otherwise. When you are a 17-year-old girl sitting in a building opposite the District Court in front of a camera which is broadcasting your face on a screen to a judge, two barristers, your abuser and a group of 12 strangers who are going to decide if you’re a liar or not, you’re pretty damn self-conscious. They give you a support person but mine was a stock image support person who didn’t really want to be there and started shining his shoes with a handkerchief halfway through me testifying. Testifying, for me, felt like I wasn’t really there, but I was watching myself.

A 17-year-old girl who has to try to recall every minute detail of events that happened six years prior sits in her sterile courtroom broadcasting box with a (male) stranger sitting next to her who (is her support person) has very shiny shoes. She looks nervous as the defence barrister comes onto the screen, preparing for cross-examination. For the next, what feels like an hour, she is called a liar in every way possible by a man who is excessively trained to flatten the truth. She has been trained to respond to him by saying “That is not the truth.” He has been trained to get inside her head, tell her what really happened and provoke her until she snaps or looks weak or gives up.
“That is not the truth”
“That is not the truth”
“No, that’s not what happened”
“I’m not sure”
“No, I’m not”
“Well it was six years ago”
“No”.
“No”.
“WHY would I put myself through this abhorrent process and lose six years of my life waiting for torture if I was lying!” She snapped.
“Answer the question, please”, the judge adds.
“That’s not true.”

Eventually it ends and I can return to my body. The jury deliberate. They find him guilty. I win. But it’s still not over. Sentencing. Victim Impact Statement. This will tell the judge how I really feel about being assaulted and might contribute to additional time in jail.
This time, I’m not being broadcast. I’m in the room. He’s just there to my right. I have a piece of paper in my hand and when the judge calls me, I stand before him and read.

“Thank you for allowing me to express the impact this offence has had on myself and those closest to me. Given the offender has taken this matter to trial, I can only assume he takes no responsibility for his actions and shows no remorse. This more than any other aspect of the court case is what angers me the most.

The assaults have had a profound impact on me. The offences occurred when I was eleven, so all through puberty and my high school life, this has been in the back of my mind. The stress has been exacerbated by the prolonged trials. My trust in humanity and the fairness of “the system” has been tested regularly and my family has broken down with the stress and the misplaced guilt my parents have endured. Shortly after the assaults, I started to experience panic attacks and was diagnosed with anxiety. My anxiety then lead to me missing excessive amounts of school, it impacted on my parents’ lives, jobs and finances.

I have been reluctant to prepare this document as I thought it would give you, the offender, some satisfaction in seeing me as your victim. But on reflection I want the court and you to be aware of the hurdles I have successfully overcome to bring you to justice.

I had the courage to face you in court a number of times, when others couldn’t. I did it even when I had to endure you skulking around the town I live in and “running into me”. I did it even though you had got away with it with other victims. I did it knowing the damage you have done to others.

I have done all this because telling the truth is the right thing. Preying on children is criminal and denying it is pathetic. I trust that in your reflective moments, the realisation will dawn on you that even though “the system” is stacked in your favour – you have been brought to justice.

I only hope that you now get to spend a lot of time in jail, contemplating the damage you have done, with no opportunity to hurt any more children.”

The sentence wasn’t very long and a few years later I saw his name in the paper, he’s back at it, just in his new hometown because he isn’t allowed to return to mine. Was it worth it? My friends are graduating from uni, degrees I didn’t get into because my ATAR wasn’t high enough. Was it worth it?

Now, at 26, I’d say it was worth it. But I wonder if my indecisiveness stems from being called a liar so much that I too, question my mind. At 26, I grieve for my childhood, and I’m angry that one person had the ability to take that away from me for their own satisfaction. I wonder how much it hurt my parents and how much guilt they still carry even though it wasn’t their fault. I wonder why we never talk about it and if maybe we should. At 26, I wonder how I’ll teach my children signs of grooming without making them scared of the world. At 26, I would encourage others with a similar story to go forward and report it. Yes, the legal system is flawed and trials are horrific and hard but if in the three years he was locked up for what he did to me, one child was spared from being abused, I did the right thing. At 26 I’m learning to focus only on things I can control and while these days I tend to shy away from the hard things, but I know that they tend to have the greatest rewards. At 26, I still haven’t read all seven Harry Potter books.

Harriet Snaith is a Sydney-based freelance writer.