Branson, Addison and Clarissa
Content Warning: These stories are about violence, abuse, neglect and exploitation and may include references to suicide or self-harming behaviours. They may contain graphic descriptions and strong language and may be distressing. Some narratives may be about First Nations people who have passed away. If you need support, please see Contact & support.
Clarissa is a disability support worker. In the 1990s, when she was 16, she got a job with a service provider for children with disability.
‘I was too young to be working within the human services industry legally, so I was told to take the P-plates off my car and not disclose my age,’ Clarissa told the Royal Commission.
The service provider ran school holiday and weekend camps for children with disability.
‘Three quarters of those clientele were kids that were through the [child protection] system … Most of them were being thrown out of school at that point in time. There were not very many services that would take kids with severe disabilities or severe behaviours.’
Clarissa said there was little training for staff, except in how to restrain children.
‘It was quite horrific … full on restraints for kids for just trying to run off to the playground … We’re talking hand behind the back. We’re talking headlocks. We were told to hurt them under their fingernails and behind their ears because bruises wouldn’t show.’
One of the first children Clarissa met in her job was Branson, who was still in primary school. Branson was autistic. One day he choked to death.
‘[He] liked to flick light switches on and off, but he certainly didn’t have any eating issues, you know, in all the time I’d known him.’
Clarissa said Branson’s death was attributed to his disability. After his death she made a complaint to a government department about the provider.
‘And even after, you know, repeated complaints by me, by other staff, by parents whose kids were coming home … with bruises and, you know, sexual assault marks on them and all the rest of it, nothing had really been done.’
When she was in her 20s, Clarissa tried to help Addison, a young girl living in a group home run by her employer. Addison lived with complex disability and behavioural issues, and couldn’t speak. Clarissa formed a strong relationship with Addison and looked after her.
Clarissa took leave to complete university studies. It was not surprising that Addison’s behaviour deteriorated during Clarissa’s absence. But the provider’s response was to increase her medication so much that by the time Clarissa returned about a month later, Addison looked like ‘a zombie’.
‘It was a technical restraint … she was drooling when I came back. She was just drooling.’
Clarissa quit. Addison’s physical condition deteriorated. Clarissa was so worried, she applied to be Addison’s guardian.
‘I had to go down the path of showing that [the provider] was, in actual fact, abusing her, and that that’s why they needed to provide her with a guardian.’
Clarissa said her application was rejected because she was too young. Addison’s guardianship was vested in another service provider.
‘Her behaviours became really horrific, and the self-harm really took a turn for the worse.’
The guardianship was withdrawn after staff restrained Addison with a tea towel and confined her to her room at night. Addison was made a ward of the state and another foster carer found.
‘[Addison’s] story is one of the reasons that I wanted to come and speak to you guys today,’ Clarissa told the Royal Commission.
‘That whole process of trying to report what was going on and trying to get help for her, and having government department after government department say that it wasn’t their problem … It’s really scary. You know, [Addison] was lucky that she had me fighting for her because if she didn’t, then she wouldn’t be here.’
Disclaimer: This is the story of a person who shared their personal experience with the Royal Commission into Violence, Abuse, Neglect and Exploitation of People with Disability through a submission or private session. The names in this story are pseudonyms. The person who shared this experience was not a witness and their account is not evidence. They did not take an oath or affirmation before providing the story. Nothing in this story constitutes a finding of the Royal Commission. Any views expressed are those of the person who shared their experience, not of the Royal Commission.