Wally
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.
Wally is a First Nations man in his 60s with cerebral palsy.
Wally told the Royal Commission that in the 1960s, a government medical officer and the director of Native Affairs ‘sat down, deliberated [his] issue and decided there and then [his] future’.
‘From then on, from what I call a stroke of a pen, my life changed completely.’
The government made him a ward of the state. Wally only discovered years later – when he asked for his medical records – why he was ‘medically removed’ from his parents and placed in an institution.
The government first sent Wally to a hospital to be assessed. Doctor’s observed him with other children.
‘I didn’t react because I didn’t know who the children were … [They] came up with the conclusion that I was mentally retarded. I’ve got this on my file that I got some sort of mental retardation. I don’t have mental retardation.’
Wally was then put into an institution with other children with disability.
‘One of the kids pulled me aside and said, “You’re different.” And I said to him, “How is that? You know, we’re all the same here. You’re in a wheelchair, I’m in a wheelchair, that kid over there is in a wheelchair.” … And then he said to me, “You’re black.” I did not understand that word or where he was coming from.’
Wally was allowed home to see his family on holidays.
‘My family had to ask for permission to travel out of their community and to wait all day for a travel pass back to [the community]. And it gets me, you know.’
Wally said the nuns who ran the institution abused him if they thought he misbehaved.
‘You were given the belt by the nuns and put in isolation rooms if you had played up. For example, isolation would be like, you’re in a wheelchair. You can’t stand or anything so you’d be put in a room where the door handle is beyond your reach … It became the norm and I got used to it.’
When he was older, the government wasn’t sure how to support him.
‘They thought because I had a disability I’d be better off talking to a disability liaison officer. But because I’m Aboriginal, [they also said], “You should be talking to an Aboriginal liaison officer.” And that’s when I said to myself, “Hey, what’s going on here? … Hang on, you’re an Aboriginal person.”’
Wally said he is continuing to find out where he’s from and who he is.
‘Despite my special needs, I still have that inherited right. My family before them and their families before them, all Aboriginal … There were thousands upon thousands of children, like myself, who were medically removed, and we’ve got the scars and we’ve got the memories and we’re trying to heal.’
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.