Bob Baldwin (Paterson, Liberal Party, Shadow Minister for Defence Science and Personnel) Share this | Hansard source

I rise today to speak to the national apology to the forgotten Australians and former child migrants. Today we sat in the Great Hall and listened to the Prime Minister read the apology—a very heartfelt speech—and we listened to a very heartfelt speech by the Leader of the Opposition. We saw the gathering of people and we saw an outpouring of emotions. Then we gathered in the chamber and listened to the presentation by Minister Macklin and then a speech by the shadow minister, Tony Abbott. But the one that hit me was the speech by Steve Irons, the member for Swan. While many members can stand up and speak about the emotions of their community, none of us can truly understand what people like our friend and colleague Steve Irons has been through. Many tens of thousands of children went through what Steve went through.

It would be a mistake to believe that every child was abused, that every child was not cared for as they should have been; but many, many were abused. Listening to Steve talk about his brother and those lost years was very emotionally charged. Andrew Murray, a former Democrat senator, was a person I got to know during the time I served as the Chair of the Public Accounts and Audit Committee. The Sun Herald reported on 30 August 2009, after the announcement that there would be an apology, that Andrew Murray said:

… the apology represented the culmination of a decade-long Senate campaign.

And further:

… it would be a symbolic and emotional “Rubicon” for hundreds of thousands of people who had been let down by governments that had failed in their duty of care.

The Leader of the Opposition quoted from Forgotten Australians: a report on Australians who experienced institutional or out-of-home care as children today, which uses Nelson Mandela’s words:

Any nation that does not care for and protect all of its children does not deserve to be called a nation.

I am proud to be a member of parliament and represent my constituents in this place but I am somewhat embarrassed and somewhat concerned by guilt when I think that there were people who stood in parliament, like I do now, in years gone by, who not only allowed this to happen but actively promoted the stealing of children.

Between 1947 and 1967 there was collusion with the British government, when over 7,000 children were sent to Australia from England, children who were packed up and sent. They went to the wharf with a variety of stories. They were not bad children. One thing I believe is that no child is born bad; they are the creature of the environment in which they are raised. That is perhaps why the Nelson Mandela quote is important. We should not only protect our children; we should nurture our children. We should give them the best opportunities they can have in life.

The Commonwealth’s push to ‘implement good white stock’ into its dominions was nothing more than a cruel action by governments of the day, blinded by obsession at the expense of young people who knew no different. These were young people who were told they would be coming to Australia for a better life, young people who may have been told that their parents were deceased when they were not, young people who were told that they would be cared for and looked after and that this was the land of opportunity. Sadly, they were disappointed.

I can remember that as a young fellow at school we would have fundraisers. There would be fundraisers for things like the Barnardo homes and a variety of others. We would hear about these homes. I was very fortunate because I came from a very loving family but I can always remember that when I was a little bit mischievous my dad would say to me, ‘If you play up you’ll be going to the boys home.’ So if they used that as a threat to try and bring you back in line how bad was it for the people who were living there—who were growing up there?

As much as we, as members of parliament, might think that we can understand, unless you have been there you can never experience the emotional cruelty, the beatings and the torment. When I talk to young people who have experienced these things they say to me—and it is probably true too of people who suffer domestic violence—that they will stay and suffer the punishment because at least they feel loved in that environment. But can you imagine being placed into an environment where you are getting beaten, abused and raped and nobody loves or cares for you?

Perhaps the greatest crime in all of this was the fact that these kids had no-one to turn to. No-one believed them and the more they brought up the issue the more they were beaten and abused. Governments failed them; churches failed them; charities failed them; but, importantly, communities failed them. Communities knew what was happening and at the time they failed to bring churches, governments and charities to account. And that is something that is very hard to forgive. While I stand here today as a proud Australian participating in this apology, can I tell you I also feel like a guilty Australian because I am part of that generation that allowed it to continue.

As I have connected with people in my community I feel it is important to recount some of the stories from those people. One such story is from a local resident, Norma Collins, who in 1954 started her journey as a forgotten Australian. After the passing of her mother, eight-year-old Norma was too innocent and too young to understand. She was institutionalised at Rathgar Home for Girls, South Grafton, with her older sister. At the same time the bond with her older brother was lost when he was sent to work on a rural property.

Norma spent her formative years as one of half a million orphans neglected and forgotten by governments, churches and charities. Norma was not given the love and attention that an eight-year-old child should have been given. She was a child wanting the simple thing that we take for granted—love from a mother. She wanted love from a mother who died too young. Norma craved individual care; instead she often felt isolated and lonely. Norma recalls one night when she reached out for human kindness by creeping into a matron’s bedroom, requesting a simple hug. But like so many others, this simple display of affection was rejected; instead, she was smacked and sent to bed. For Norma this is a lasting reminder of how she and others in the home were treated like sheep. They had basin haircuts, a shared wardrobe and a long list of daily chores. You were no longer a child with a personality and needs; you were simply a number—one of many without a loving home to call your own.

What Norma missed was the love and attention that a family home could have provided. Norma was a strong child and made the best out of an otherwise hopeless situation. She made friendships that continue today. After four years in Rathgar, Norma was finally released into the care of family. However, she was so shy from shame and embarrassment that she regularly hid from other children and family members. This poor self-perception was only perpetuated when she learnt how others viewed and treated orphans from the school. She once heard that other local children were told to stay away from the orphans, who were seen to be a bad influence. This made Norma retreat even further from the community she could have been a part of.

Patty, also from my electorate, tells of the heart-breaking story of her experiences at Rathgar in the 1970s. After losing her 36-year-old mother from heart problems, Patty and her three sisters and brother found themselves facing an uncertain future and were placed in institutionalised care. Patty’s strength, despite her troubled childhood, is evident today. She remembers better not her own story but the stories of her sisters and brother. Being separated from her siblings at such a young age forced bonds to be broken that never should have been. She tells harrowing stories of her sister being sexually abused by her holiday parents. Another sister was sent to a prison like Parramatta Girls Home for being rebellious. Her brother was shunted from home to home. Patty attributes the lack of a father figure in his life as a major contributor to his gambling problem now.

Patty recalls two loving house mothers during her time at Rathgar—Mrs Tibbs and Mama Joyce—who tried their best to bring up the girls in a close-to-normal environment where possible. In another harsh reminder, she realised she was not part of a real family when these motherly figures retired and the centre was taken over by a husband and wife whose approach to the home was very different. Suddenly, contact with the outside world ceased and so, as a 14-year-old, she ran away looking for a better life.

For girls like Norma and Patty and the other half a million forgotten Australians, childhood had to be survived rather than enjoyed. The Australian government robbed them of the chance to be children, a right which every person in this nation deserves, and for that I am deeply sorry. Today’s apology to the forgotten Australians and former child migrants is a milestone in our nation’s history. It was a sad era which will never be repeated.

Those who attended the apology today, listened to their radios or watched at home on the television acknowledged the survivors, remembering their stories and allowing the Australian government to shelve the responsibility for decades of pain and suffering in institutionalised care. We can only hope now that this burden has been lifted from the shoulders of orphans and migrants who believed for years that they were to blame; they were not.

As I sat in the great hall watching the apology this morning, I could not help but recall my own childhood. I was one of the fortunate few children that emigrated from Britain with loving parents wanting a fresh start for me and my siblings. Even with the constant and loving support, the transition to a new country and culture was very, very difficult. I cannot begin to imagine what life would have been like if I had migrated alone, as 7,000 former child migrants were forced to do through historical migration schemes.

Through three unanimous Senate inquiries, the consequences of institutionalised care were frighteningly illustrated. With emotional and physical deprivation and shocking levels of neglect and abuse, children lost family connections and, in the process, much of their identity. As adults, many still grapple with the demons of their childhood and yet have been brave enough to come together today to share their stories with the nation. Thank you, Norma and Patty, for being amongst those with enough courage to say, ‘I will not be forgotten any longer.’ You are certainly survivors, having now raised your own loving families despite the failure of your government as a protector.

So I stand as the member for Paterson, an elected member of the Australian parliament, to echo today’s apology, which is long overdue. I understand that this will not change the past or the lasting legacy of these experiences for those who suffer. However, with sincere respect, I place my apology on the public record for constituents like Norma and Patty, who have travelled to Canberra today to take the first step in their journey towards healing. They also hope to rediscover their fellow orphans who took the place of extended family. Norma was quite adamant that her message should be passed, reinforced and remembered by others. ‘Leave the shame in the past’, she said. ‘Let others know you were in and out of home care. This way, institutionalised brothers and sisters may be able to find one another again and reform the bonds that were lost.’ I promise Norma and Patty and the other forgotten Australians and former child migrants, ‘You will now and forever be remembered Australians.’

See this speech in context