‘Alex’s death is saving lives’

When it comes to sexual abuse, we all must find the courage to see things in ourselves or our families that we don’t like or that we are ashamed of.

Virginia Tapscott. “he truth is we can’t really control if or when sexual violence occurs, we can only control how we respond to it.” Picture: Sean Davey.

It’s been almost two years since my sister died of a drug overdose. She was haunted by a history of sexual violence at the hands of family members and living with the pain became an insurmountable task for her. In a quiet motel room by the beach, while the rest of us were sleeping, her life ebbed away. I’m still half looking for her. I want to send her a text message several times a day. I want to show her what my kids look like when they’re sleeping – I’d caption the photo “Like they’ve been hit with a tranquilliser dart”. It was a running joke between us.

We had an unspoken, solemn bond of the kind that can only be forged in a mutual crisis. Alex helped me hide from our step grandfather in the night. She would hear him ambling down the hallway on his way to sexually abuse us and rouse me from my sleep whispering “Come on, Gin”.

I first told our story in the pages of The Weekend Australian in September 2020, a few months after Alex died. I felt compelled to start speaking about the impacts of sexual violence and it resonated so strongly with readers that I decided to take it a step further.

Alongside journalist Steve Jackson we began travelling around the country recording conversations with people who knew about the sexual abuse my sister and I had endured. I wanted all the details of what exactly happened and who knew. Other victims of my step grandfather made themselves known to me and we were able to record “MeToo” moments in real time.

This was the making of My Sister’s Secrets, a podcast released by this newspaper and supported by the Judith Neilson Foundation. While one of the perpetrators within our family passed away years ago, one remains at large. When my sister initially disclosed to me, two weeks before she died, that she had been raped as a young woman I had to accept that she did not want to press charges. When she died I knew I couldn’t live a day longer with the injustice and the secret-keeping. This podcast uncovered a string of other victims of my sister’s rapist. While it’s devastating to know one man has affected so many lives, it’s also some form of closure for me.

Alex and Virginia on the farm in 1993.

With the final episode of My Sister’s Secrets being released this weekend I know it’s brought us closer to justice for my sister, Alex. I want vindication for her. I wait for the day that one of his victims is ready to report him to police.

If not for Alex, I know the podcast has brought thousands of other victims around the world closer to justice. Perhaps it’s been a private MeToo moment they needed to keep going, or the validation they’d been seeking. Maybe it’s helped them gather strength to one day be able to walk into a police station. I can’t help my sister now but I can help others like her feel less alone and to let go of any shame or self-blame they may have harboured.

I’m proud of the way the podcast has made people feel safe to talk about their experiences of sexual violence. Every single disclosure informs real societal change. It arms those around us with knowledge that will determine how they, in turn, respond to sexual violence within the family unit and within their social circles into the future.

Discussing sexual violence publicly not only reaches other victims, it reaches perpetrators themselves. This podcast will have fallen on the ears of sexual predators who are in the pre-offending stage or ­already actively offending. These conversations could change their path. It might seem like wishful thinking but I believe mounting ­social pressure will force them to reconsider their actions – it will eventually cut through the layers of excuses and denial.

I’m proud to come from a family that has been brave enough to support me in examining our mistakes in an attempt to highlight part of the solution. People seem to want me to be more angry at my mum but I’ve got nothing but admiration for her. She has come through such adversity and is now prepared to lay herself bare, letting others run a microscope over her decisions and make their judgments. She is resolute and unafraid of what people will say – she just wants a different future for her grandchildren.

Our story may be in the past but it offers parents or caregivers of a child abused today a window into the future. What you do now is critical and could determine the trajectory of that child’s life. Changing how caregivers or bystanders respond to situations of sexual violence will save lives.

Virginia (left) and Alex (right) on Virginia's wedding day.

We all must find the courage to see things in ourselves or our families that we don’t like or that we are ashamed of. We must address the shortcomings and the ugliness for the sake of others. Facing up to ourselves is the hardest part.

I think I’m also largely without anger because I refuse to shift blame onto people other than the offenders. Sure, it’s taken a few years and a whole eight episodes to completely wrap my head around the way people reacted in some instances but ultimately I think I have always known that the fault should remain with the perpetrator. The podcast helped me to see that people close to victims and perpetrators often experience a kind of vicarious trauma that can be quite debilitating and makes it difficult to respond appropriately. The damage of sexual violence is far-reaching and crippling.

Listeners have repeatedly called me brave but that doesn’t at all match up with how I feel. I think I’ve just become accustomed to the feeling of fear. It sort of washes over me now so I care less and I guess I do things maybe others wouldn’t. Nan had a psychotic Burmese cat that used to hide under beds and lounges, leaping out to attack any legs that happened by. Coco taught me that the threat of the attack is the worst part – the feeling that he could be waiting around any corner. The truth actually comes as a relief if you live in fear of it long enough.

Perhaps a more apt example of bravery was my big sister waking me up in the night to hide from our step grandfather. The podcast brought me to the realisation that Alex and I were grossly underestimated by sexual predators. It’s a common theme – a perpetrator assumes that their victims will keep quiet. They get bold and sloppy, they do it too many times with too many different people. Sometimes they can be so bold as to admit what they have done.

All it takes is one victim to start talking and the power dynamic is completely subverted. It becomes apparent that their whole scheme teeters in the balance, relying not only on the victims remaining quiet, but ripples of people around the victim also maintaining a code of silence. Just pull out one pin and the whole thing comes tumbling down.

Rhys and Virginia Tapscott at their home. Picture: Rohan Thomson

Many listeners have expressed concern for my wellbeing – but I would like to assure everyone that there is possibly no better therapy than the conversations in this podcast; the opportunity to pick at the threads of what has troubled me all these years and asking all the questions I’d been busting to ask. So what exactly did you do when you found out he was sexually abusing us? What happened when my Nan caught him in the act? I’d urge people not to be concerned by the toll of speaking out, but rather the toll of keeping it quiet. I’m worried for the people who don’t talk about it.

My Sister’s Secrets is an extraordinary situation where family, friends and strangers have been willing to talk to me candidly about possibly one of the most taboo topics there is. Not only that, but they were willing to talk about it with me while the whole world listened.

It wasn’t even my powers of persuasion that got people behind a microphone. It’s just that, deep down, people know it’s time for change.

The sensitive nature of the subject matter means this area is obviously prone to communication breakdown but it’s imperative that we find a way to reach people who don’t share our world view or who disagree with us. Some of this stuff hurts to hear but it’s still a conversation worth having. We have to be prepared to explain ourselves and our beliefs. We have to be prepared to outstretch a hand to people who aren’t on the same page yet.

Alex at a friend’s wedding in 2016.

The conversation needs to extend even to the perpetrators. We can’t stop them if we don’t understand them. The opportunity to speak to a sex offender on My Sister’s Secrets was groundbreaking for me. How do their thought patterns and urges start out? Is there a window of opportunity to intervene? How do we make them feel safe to access support to address unhealthy thought patterns or ­behaviours?

It’s easier to hate sex offenders and to view the world in binary terms and stereotypes. The goodies and baddies narrative is more palatable. Stereotypes help our brains make sense of an existence where there is too much information to ever possibly comprehend. But I would argue a problem of this magnitude and complexity deserves a far more nuanced approach. It may disappoint many people to learn we have to put away the pitchforks.

Sex offenders don’t exist in some kind of vacuum, devoid of ­social and cultural influence. They have context. They have a story too and the sooner we find out what that story is, the sooner we can change it. To date, we have been confused around the way we discuss mental health in relation to sexual violence. We don’t want to excuse the behaviour, but seriously, call it whatever you want, there is something wrong with their thinking. It’s maladaptive, anti-­social and perverse. They need to go straight to the thought doctor I have spent half my life talking to.

One of the key motivators for everything I’m doing is obviously my kids. All through the making of My Sister’s Secrets I kept thinking I could make sure this never happened to them. I think it’s pretty normal to think that we have some kind of agency over whether rape or child sexual abuse happens to us or within our family.

This way of thinking helps us feel safe in the world but it’s fairly illusory. It renders us unprepared for a crime that doesn’t discriminate and is completely unpredictable in many cases.

The truth is we can’t really control if or when sexual violence occurs, we can only control how we respond to it. Simply believing a victim and helping them take action can drastically minimise psychological harm after the fact. Preventing sexual abuse or assault reoccurring once it has been identified is critical. Helping victims feel safe to talk about what has happened and, ideally, reporting to the police to prevent others being harmed is the best-case scenario.

I’m definitely not qualified to give advice on best-practice models for responding to child sexual abuse or sexual assault but I’d like to know who is and where are they? Where are the public health campaigns? Every time I have a baby I step out the hospital doors with a folder full of pamphlets but not one of them mentions there is a one in five chance that the baby I’m holding will experience some form of sexual violence before they turn 18. Is it not prudent to also be giving parents support in this area? Just a heads-up that the risks are real and this is what you do about it.

If it wasn’t for the fact that my sister died of a drug overdose and had a known history of child sexual abuse I reckon I’d still be none the wiser. Had I not gone looking for it, I would never have received a shred of information about the prevalence of child sexual abuse or what to do in the event it occurs.

Direct information campaigns, shared experiences of sexual violence, mental health intervention, and cultural change in everyday conversations are all solutions canvassed in My Sister’s Secrets. The answers are intertwined and they are everywhere if you look for them. In some areas, progress is slow but in many ways change is ­already in full swing. It’s filtering into courtrooms and newsrooms and police stations.

All of this is too late for Alex. The terror of losing her has given way to sadness and an unwavering resolve to keep holding up our secrets like a cat at the back door with a dead bird in its mouth.

I need everyone to look at the truth of what is happening in homes on every street, in every town, in this country.

During the making of My Sister’s Secrets, it was raised that Alex told me who her rapist was, just two weeks before her death, because she wanted me to do something about it. That it wasn’t a coincidence. I go to sleep on that thought.