Archaic law that prevents gang rape survivor from telling her story
An archaic law prevents this Tasmanian woman from telling her harrowing story. This is why she is fighting to have it changed.
A gang-rape survivor who is not able to speak using her real name due to an archaic gag law that exists only in Tasmania and the Northern Territory explains why the law should be changed.
As one of many rape survivors impacted by this law, I would like to explain the harm the law causes and the reasons why I want to tell my story under my real name.
As rape survivors, we didn’t get a choice in what happened to us, but we should get a choice in what we can say about it.
I understand that the law is intended to shield survivors from the impact of being identified, but as an adult and someone that has survived what I have, I believe I should have the choice to use my name without legal ramifications for myself or others.
Without my name or my face, it is not my story, it is just my words, and I am just another number. This is dehumanising in the extreme.
Already my story has been told many times by many people other than me: police, prosecutors, defence barristers, journalists and, most of all, the town gossips.
Burnie is a small place and, in 1993, the story of the 16-year old girl who was gang-raped in a paddock on Christmas Eve quickly got around town. Within hours it was on radio and then in the newspapers. One journalist somehow managed to find out the exact location of the paddock where it happened to me. A part of me was left dead in that paddock that Christmas so I can’t tell you what it felt like to flick on the TV one day and see that place again, and another person sharing intimate details about a story that was not hers to share.
I’ve had to tell my story too, of course. Over and over, in fact. Just never on my own terms.
Through police interviews, counselling sessions and during the multiple trials spanning two years, I was forced to relive every detail of what happened to me. At times, court felt like being raped all over again. I don’t think I’ll ever forgot spending my 18th birthday on the witness stand being drilled with questions and being told I wasn’t telling the truth. I still find that one hard to forgive.
Back then in the 1990s, the courts were open and anyone off the street could walk in and sit down and listen — and people did. Small towns can crucify you, and in those days victims were never protected by the courts. The result was that my identity quickly became public knowledge, and my story, public property.
And now I want it to be my property again: my story to tell on my terms.
In total, I’ve now waited 25 years, and it’s been a long, complex process of recovery. There were times when I was younger when I didn’t want to talk about what I had been through at all. But as I got older I realised there is healing in talking about and sharing my experience with others.
I’m hoping that telling my story in public under my real name will help other survivors feel at ease to talk about the trauma they have been through too. I want to say to other survivors: You did not ask for this. No person ever asks for it. You will survive. You can get through it with help.
Nor should the topic of sexual assault be taboo and in this day and age no survivor should ever be told that they can’t talk about what happened to them.
Yet my lawyers have recently advised me that because of section 194K of the Evidence Act, I am unable to talk to media or write a book about my experiences under my real name. The only exception is if I seek and am granted a court order exempting me from s194K.
This is an expensive process likely to cost several thousand dollars, which is money I don’t have. A fundraiser has been started, but in the long term, I believe the law must be changed so that other survivors can also speak out without being financially penalised in the process.
It also seems cruel to me that convicted perpetrators are able to speak, yet the survivors are denied this same right. Are we not allowed our voices and names too, if we choose? When we are forced to talk from the shadows it dilutes our stories and robs us of our ability to connect with others. There is power in being able to say my name. Not only does it help shatter the stigma to have survivors speak, but there is educational value too in survivors being able to participate in public debates as full public citizens with unique and valuable insights to share.
I have also been advised that the existing law was supposedly put in place to protect people like me from media exploitation and backlash. While there is always a risk in speaking to media, unfortunately the law assumes that I am not able to assess those risks or make decisions in my own best interest, and that that responsibility must be outsourced to the courts.
But on the contrary I have thought about this from all perspectives. I believe that speaking would be healing and I know that if there were any public criticism or backlash against me, that I am strong enough and wise enough to deal with it. In fact I understand the risks better than most, as in a small town, I have already born the backlash of being outed as a sexual assault survivor.
I think about what I have already endured and I know I have the courage to be named. When I was a teenager, I survived being raped, beaten and told I was going to be killed. Going through that and the court cases was the hardest thing I have ever had to do.
The trials were extremely mentally and physically draining and at one stage, it drove me to the point of suicide. But I knew I had to keep going to see it through to the end. I had this drive to prove my truth and when I gave evidence the final time, I remember saying to myself, “I will not cry and I will not break down because they win every time I do and I will not let them win.”
When the court cases were finally over, I thought I could get back to my life, but everything had changed and in a small town, people continue to gossip. There were also reminders everywhere. The driver of the ute I was taken in was never charged with anything because he left the paddock before the rapes took place and agreed to give evidence against the others. Up until just a few years ago, I would see that same man still driving that same ute around town.
Of course the closeness of small towns can provide healing moments too. After the third trial I was working at a local restaurant as a waitress. One night I had served a woman a meal. I took her the bill and she was looking at me oddly and then she said, “Can I hug you? I was on the jury in your court case and I just want to hug you.”
She started crying and I so I hugged her and said, “I’m going to be OK”. I told her that because that’s what I wanted her to walk away with, not what she had seen and heard in court. I didn’t want her to remember the trauma of court, and I didn’t want her to remember me that way. So I told her I was going to be all right.
But the truth was that I didn’t know for sure that I was going to be OK. I was on so many medications and still suffering nightmares, flashbacks, panic attacks and other symptoms of trauma.
Christmases in particular were a huge struggle for me in the years after I was raped. But then I became a mother and my life changed forever. Suddenly Christmas wasn’t about my pain and suffering anymore. My boys taught me the joy of life again. Over time, I gradually learnt to be present in that moment on that day for myself and my husband and children and whoever shares that day with us.
I sometimes look back at what I went through when I was 16 and wish I could have had someone to reach out to, who knew and understood what I was going through back then. If I had been able to see survivors speaking publicly in the media without shame or stigma back then, it probably would have saved me from a lot of self destruction and confusion that I’ve experienced.
If I could speak to other survivors right now I would tell them this: there is a grieving process that survivors go through and it may take some time, but you will get through it. You are not to blame no matter how much you feel you are to blame. Surround yourself with positive people and don’t be scared to talk about what you went through. Reach out to those in the community that can help. Take one day at a time and know your journey is an important one.
If I could go back in time and give my younger self a pep talk, I would say: it’s OK to be scared and its OK to be angry but don’t stay there too long. Right now you are terrified and confused, but know that it is safe to let people love and support you through this time and the trials you are about to go through. Even though you blame yourself right now and it feels like you always will, you will learn to forgive yourself eventually. In time you will have a beautiful loving family and a life you cherish. So it’s OK to have bad days, but just don’t stay there too long, little one.
We are survivors, not victims, and at the end of the day we are amazing people. We deserve to be heard.
If you or someone you know has been impacted by sexual violence support is available by calling 1800 RESPECT on 1800 737 732.
Nina Funnell is a Walkley Award winning journalist and designed the #LetHerSpeak campaign, petition, and fundraiser in conjunction with End Rape On Campus Australia and Marque Lawyers.