I was wary of a man at my children's school so I pushed to get him out.

By Kate Nancarrow
WA Today
April 12, 2015

http://www.watoday.com.au/it-pro/i-was-wary-of-a-man-at-my-childrens-school-so-i-pushed-to-get-him-out-20150412-1mi5du.html

Protective instincts: parents struggle with how to protect their children in an era where it has become clear there is often a long gap between sexual offending against children and the abuse coming to light.

The shocking evidence at the Royal Commission into Institutional Child Sexual Abuse has made some parents hyper-vigilant about protecting their children. But what right do parents have to complain about people who have done nothing?

Every week in the Australian media – sadly, sometimes more frequently – there is a report of alleged sexual abuse of children in Victorian schools, with some cases dating back 20, 30, 40 or even 50 years. 

Some allegations and charges, however, relate to more recent events – from a time when everyone who works or helps in schools has a Working With Children clearance.

Parents who might once have been ignorant about the prevalence and planned predatory behaviour of abusers can no longer be as naive as their parents or grandparents were. 

But what the submissions to the Royal Commission into Institutional Child Sexual Abuse have made clear, as have all the court cases of teachers, school workers and clerics, is that up until the point when child sex abusers are charged – often decades after their offending began – most have no criminal record and nothing that would necessarily trigger an alert in a Working With Children check.

The abusers relied on the manipulated silence and shame of their victims. Psychologists counselling adults who were abused in institutional settings as young children have made it clear that it is often only as adults - in their 40s or 50s - do those victims feel strong enough to report the long-ago abuse that blighted their childhoods and later lives. 

But how do today's parents ensure another generation is not exposed in schools, sporting clubs or youth organisations to people with no criminal records, who might be grooming their children or other people's children? 

How do today's parents prevent more of this decades-long continuum from hidden abuse to eventual charges and conviction – and prevent another generation of children enduring the pain that has been laid bare at the Royal Commission? 

If parents saw a teacher, teacher's aide, priest, minister or sports coach behaving in a way that could be construed as grooming or inappropriately intimate or coercive, what should they do? Or if their children said X was "a bit weird" with them, is that information that should be passed on or dealt with formally?  

What would you do? Who would you tell? And, in an educational setting, it's worth pondering what an abuser looks like, legally and professionally, before they are charged and/or convicted? They are, almost invariably, a respected worker with a Working With Children clearance. They may be at the top of the professional tree or almost invisible. 

I have faced some of these issues and I'm still not sure I did the right thing by the man concerned.

I used to organise a special event for my children's primary school, a film afternoon at the local cinema once a year. It raised a little bit of money for the school but was more just a lovely way to finish the winter term. We took over the whole cinema and there were row after row of six, seven, eight and nine-year-olds laughing and talking all through the film with their friends. The children loved it. 

Parents loved it for their children but I'm sure many could have thought of better ways to spend an afternoon – instead of in a crowded, noisy, cinema reeking of popcorn.

One year as I was organising ticket sales I received an email, written after midnight, from a man asking for one ticket.This was unusual; most people needed one adult, three children, or six parents would take 20 children. I didn't recognise the man's name so I checked with the school and was told he was a volunteer who liked to join in with school activities. So, I sold him a ticket. 

Early the next year, my husband came home from a curriculum information night talking about a "creepy" man. The man was introduced as one of the outside religious instruction team and, according to my husband, had got himself in knots explaining how he dealt with the issue of creationism. Why would I care? We'd finally worked out how to get the kids opted out of religious instruction classes. 

The year went on. l helped in my children's classes regularly and at the school's monthly markets which relied heavily on volunteers. The school had grown a lot since my oldest child began so I no longer recognised everyone who passed through its gates.

Later that year, a friend regaled me with a tale of a man who was talking to little children about Jesus at the market. My friend, who strongly objects to religion in any state school, was furious and had been keeping an eye on him chatting to the children. Proselytising, she harrumphed. Try converting my cynical kids, I laughed. Not my problem.

A few weeks later, she told me he'd volunteered to help clean up at the school markets but was chatting to the children instead. "Whatever," I thought. 

Another film afternoon came around the next year and I began advertising the tickets for sale in the school newsletter. By now I'd joined the dots and discovered the man with the creepy air at the curriculum night was the same man who helped at the market and talked to the little kids about Jesus – and that he was the same man who was volunteering in various helpful non-classroom roles at the school and had, most recently, offered to go on camp. 

I advertised my little film afternoon in the newsletter and waited for email requests for tickets. I got up the morning after the notice appeared to an email sent at 1am from the man requesting one ticket to a film aimed mostly at six or seven-year-olds. 

Now a little concerned, I wrote back saying the film afternoon was really aimed at the students and their parents. I said a lone man sitting in a cinema filled with little children might make parents concerned, especially as most parents would not know him and that the children often sat together with no adult. 

He wrote back saying it was a public event; he was entitled to a ticket and he wanted one.

Shocked that he didn't seem to understand why I was concerned or why parents might not welcome him, I wrote back and said I wouldn't sell him one. 

The last day of term two came and the film afternoon began with a flurry of late ticket sales at the cinema. I was nervous, wondering if he'd turn up, and had arranged for a tall basketballing friend to stay with me as I stood in the packed foyer selling tickets. All of a sudden he appeared, asking for one ticket. "I told you I'm not selling you a ticket and I'm not," I said, my voice shaking. A look of absolute fury crossed his face and he stormed off.

I felt unnerved. What had I done? Was he furious because I was being unreasonable and had judged him  harshly or was he furious because I'd blocked his path and denied him something he wanted. 

That night, I emailed the principal who happened to be overseas for work at the time – and probably needed this like a hole in the head.

The principal, recently appointed, wrote back to say this had been on his radar for a little while and he knew it had to be dealt with. He emailed the man, stopping his participation at school until the principal's return. A week later, the principal called the man into his office and said "concerns" had been raised and that the volunteering could not continue. 

Soon after, a paragraph was put in the school newsletter farewelling the man and thanking him for his involvement. Most parents would never have heard of him or come across him but he had three or four access points to the school, via volunteering, religious instruction and the market.

In our discussion on the matter, the principal explained to me that the man was lonely, was seeking community involvement and talked to the children because he related better to them than adults. Later that week, a staff member berated me with "not every man who volunteers is a paedophile".

All true. But I still felt fury that my children, and all children at that school, were being used to provide opportunities to help a lonely man to feel connected. 

Because one of the other sad truths emerging from the Royal Commission is that many abusers are exactly that: loners who don't relate to adults and direct their attentions to children. 

I still don't know if I helped my children and others avoid risk, or if I've set back a vulnerable man's tentative steps into the world.

But, in the end, I decided the safety of my children and other people's children was more important than providing an opportunity for a lonely man to feel connected.