The Ribbons Project did not entail the creation of an object, such as a painting or sculpture, although objects and spaces, both real and virtual, were involved. It evolved from attentiveness, or what Alan Kaprow would term ‘paying attention’.[1]
The project came about in reaction to the public hearing[2] into the response of Knox Grammar School and the Uniting Church in Australia to concerns raised about inappropriate conduct by a number of teachers towards students between 1970 and 2012. The hearing began on 23 February 2015 as part of The Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse. Knox is an independent Uniting Church day and boarding school for boys, located in the suburb of Wahroonga, NSW, which is also where I live.
There is a story by science fiction writer Ursula K. Le Guin entitled The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas.[3] Le Guin calls it a ‘psychomyth’. It concerns a city that is joyous and happy; everything in Omelas is beautiful. The people are well aware of how blissful are their lives but Omelas holds a secret. For this state to exist, a small child is kept locked in a dark room beneath the city. The child is abused, naked, and left to wallow in its own excrement. Food and water are provided, nothing else.
The citizens know of this dark secret, but all are aware that their own state of happiness is contingent upon the child’s misery. They are revolted at the state of the child and some come to gaze upon it, yet no-one does anything.
What follows is an account of events that unfolded in March 2015 as I watched the Royal Commission’s hearings streaming live on my laptop. This was a pivotal moment for me in bringing up many issues to do with being an artist in the present day. Among them, power and the institution; the influence of media in contemporary society; the multi-phase campaign; the subversion of the establishment; perceived vulnerability and fear of exposure; and crucially the theme in my own work of audience participation.
Among the leafy established gardens of Sydney’s North Shore, Knox Grammar School stands surrounded by landscaped green fields. The boys who attend the school wear straw boaters, and tip their hats when walking through its aged sandstone gates as a mark of respect to this venerable institution and its long history. They feel privileged to attend the elite establishment, and are reminded of their position on a daily basis. They are the ‘lucky ones’.
The Latin motto of the school is Virile Agitur, which has been translated as ‘the manful thing is being done’.[4] The school, however, holds secrets that have remained hidden for decades.
My husband and I have two sons. At the time of beginning this work, one was attending the school, and his older brother had completed his HSC there, and was in his first year at university.
On 16 February 2009, while our boys (at that time 9 and 13 years of age) were away at school camp, I happened to turn on ABC News and witness the arrest of five teachers accused of pedophilia. All five were from my boys’ school. Two of the accused were still employed in teaching positions in the junior campus. One was arrested at the school camp the boys were attending.
This man had been my older son’s class teacher in grade 6 when he was 11 years old. That year, still recent in my mind, came flooding back to me. Many events in that period had seemed strange and unsettling, and my maternal instincts had been triggered over various situations. But nothing was ever concrete and matters of concern always seemed to have plausible explanations. At that stage in my life I had little knowledge of what ‘grooming’ behavior was, but I did have a keen intuition and several times during the year I had acted on these impulses.
On the day of the arrests, I was finally able to join together the pieces that my misgivings had hinted at. I went straight to the NSW police, as Strike Force Arika[5] had been set up to investigate the alleged offences. I also made an appointment with the headmaster of the school to discuss what I knew first hand about the situation, and to ensure that all children currently at the school were to be protected against pedophiles.
My report to Strike Force Arika outlined how, during the year our son was in an accused teacher’s class, several things occurred. The boys were asked to change from their school uniform into their sports uniform in the classroom. The teacher had blacked out the windows with colourful pieces of cardboard and had installed web cameras on the back wall of the room, explaining that these were set up to catch the cleaners who were stealing from his minibar fridge, which contained bottles of Coca Cola, Mars Bars and other treats for the boys. He told them he had set up the Junior School’s computer system, and was able to have his laptop on a separate network that allowed him to send images and videos unmonitored by the school. My report also contained grooming behavior, for example, a PlayStation given to a special boy in the class.
On 6 March 2009 I met with the school’s headmaster. To my surprise the deputy headmaster was also in attendance to record the proceedings in note form. I detailed the same information, and was assured that the school was helping the police in every way possible and putting in place training for teachers to ensure the safety of all students. The headmaster explained that the accused teachers at this stage had not been convicted and the court needed to do their job. When exposed to the united front of two men in positions of authority, alone in the imposing wood-panelled office, I felt immense pressure to distrust my instincts and believe the institution. Every utterance seemed so reasonable I fought the urge to doubt the validity of anything I had to say. I was forced to reevaluate my own subjectivity and what power I held or did not hold in the situation.
This personal anecdote is not provided as a nostalgic form of self-reflection, but rather to investigate how such moments can incite a depth of thinking that allows us to break from conventional ways of existing. This in turn can lead to radically new modes of behavior with the potential to create a political agency that is capable of challenging the status quo, and thus perhaps form new modes of resistance.
All five teachers went through the court process, all five were subsequently found guilty of pedophilia and given various sentences. Around our local area, parents speculated that this school was now the safest in Sydney. Yet once more, I was not comfortable with the situation. Our elder son was close to completing his HSC, and our younger son did not want to leave the school.
Things were to change radically six years later in 2015 when the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse focused on Knox Grammar School. The Commission had already investigated the Catholic Church and charitable institutions such as the Salvation Army’s children’s homes. Now it was the turn of this old independent boys’ school.
On day the Royal Commission hearings into Knox Grammar were to commence, my younger son attended his usual morning chapel service, when the students were asked to bow their heads in prayer. This day they were asked to pray for the headmaster, as he faced a difficult time ahead, and for God to give him strength. My son was shocked: no supplication was given for the survivors of sexual abuse who would be bravely taking the stand to tell their personal stories to the wider world. The school chaplain then told the boys to ignore the many over-exaggerated media reports that would be flooding the news in the coming days and weeks.
When my son told me how he felt about these events, I was furious. I immediately called the chaplain and asked why he had not mentioned a prayer for the survivors. It was not appropriate, he stated, and he and the teachers had strict instructions not to mention what was happening at the Royal Commission.
These words from a man of God seemed so offensive it prompted me to action. The combined knowledge of my lived experience—emotional, instinctual, maternal and empathetic—and the skills I had as an artist practitioner, along with my years in the advertising industry where I had gained valuable insight into how the media works, came to the fore. All these elements were to merge and become one. I did not see my response as only an ‘artwork’ in the framing that I had previously understood. I had not laboured in a studio, nor did I see this action as exclusively mine. I claim no ownership. As clearly as I can, I describe this as the action of a visual collective voice, or as it is often termed in activist circles, a ‘direct action’.
While associated with confrontation, direct action at its core is about power. Smart direct action assesses power dynamics and finds a way to shift them.[6]
It is imperative to reiterate that this direct action was only made possible by the revelations of the survivors. It was not the school or the authorities who had ‘blown the whistle’, as was revealed in the subsequent days of the Royal Commission, but these men who saved many more children from falling prey to pedophiles. Charges were only laid because of them. Several of the victims had died, some had taken their own lives, all were plagued by mental illness, yet those still living had found the strength to speak up against an esteemed institution, risking ridicule, disbelief and damaged reputations. The headmaster had apologised for the mistakes made in the past but no-one had ever said to the abuse survivors, ‘We as parents will never be able to thank you enough. It is your courage alone that has protected my son and all the boys currently at the school from falling victim to this ring of pedophiles’.
As activist/artist John Jordan says,
We see ‘direct action’ as key. If there is a problem, you act directly to solve it. . . It is living as if one was already free. It is all about politics based on ways of doing, it’s the art of moulding the world in the way you think it should be now, not waiting for some ideological point of perfection.[7]
Direct action in this situation was to become a complex series of interrelated moves and countermoves, an agile and adaptive set of strategies. The first was emails sent to key media people, including journalist Peter Fitzsimons, whose son had been in our elder son’s year. In these personal emails I outlined what I knew as a current parent and most importantly how I felt: small, impotent, greatly saddened and with a complete lack of faith in the way the institution was handling the situation in protecting its reputation above all else. I wrote that I would be placing a purple ribbon[8] on the main school gate on the Pacific Highway at Wahroonga, a highly visible spot for passing motorists, and was asking friends with children at the school, past and present, to do the same.
At 9am on the morning of Monday 2 March 2015 I placed a single purple ribbon on the Memorial Gate at Knox Grammar School. Only one other parent supported my action, adding her own ribbon. With their children still at Knox, I assumed others feared that this unauthorised act was against the school and their sons could be adversely targeted. As Michel Foucault argues in Discipline and Punish,[9] the panopticism of institutional power induces society to conform not necessarily by the exercise of disciplinary power but through the internalisation and normalisation of the threat of discipline. Self-censorship is automatic and unobserved.
Throughout the day I watched the gate with interest as others did come forward: a young man driving a trade utility who looked to be in his early twenties; an older woman with grey hair who stood and solemnly tied her ribbon. Slowly the number grew. In the evening a gentle breeze blew the small group of ribbons on the gate.
What then transpired was not unpredictable, but it was a response I still find surprising. Later that night the school removed them all. I found this incomprehensible, yet very much in keeping with the attitude that the victims of these crimes were not to be honoured in any way.
Italian performance artist Cesare Pietroiusti notes:
I think that a good way to define an ‘institution’ is to outline the fact that most of its efforts go in the direction of a self-confirmation of ‘celebration’, a continuous effort to give an image of success, of richness, of effectiveness, of power. It’s obvious that any critical position will be seen as a menace; and, as I am convinced that the artist’s position is basically a critical one, there will be an inevitable contradiction between the artist and the institution.[10]
By the hurried removal of the ribbons, the school certainly followed Pietroiusti’s assertion that this marker was usurping their authority and needed to be erased from the community’s eyes and minds as quickly as possible.
Now the power of social media and the Twitter account I had set up came into play. Called Concerned @ Knox it has the tagline ‘All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing’.[11] I had alerted the media to the account and had gained a large group of supporters by following others on Twitter. That evening I posted, ‘So sad to drive by the Knox gate and see ribbons removed’, and took myself off to bed.
The next morning I awoke to find television presenter Lisa Wilkinson furious on Channel 9’s Today Show and an article on the second page of The Sydney Morning Herald[12] expressing outrage at the removal of ribbons honoring the survivors of sexual abuse. A media storm had been ignited. It seemed the school was unavailable for comment, but by 9am a media statement had been released blaming a security guard, unaware of their significance, for the ribbons’ removal. Oddly enough, he had kept them all and the school promised to return them to the gate and to fully endorse the event.[13]
Our calculated strategy had paid off. Through an understanding of the matrix of social media and mainstream media, and the leveraging of one against the other, a complex network had been created that allowed not only greater reach, but a situation that the school could not control. It was forced to respond, to reinstate the ribbons, a reminder of their long hidden shame, or risk being seen as unsupportive of the survivors of abuse. It was left with little choice. The ribbons were returned to the site. Once the institution came out in support of the project the gate filled quickly with ribbons, bunches of flowers and messages of support.
The school’s co-opting of The Ribbons Project does in some ways fall into the frame of an institution using its power to neutralise a subversive act. But because of the campaign’s multilevel nature, many areas slip out of that framing. It would be difficult to control the Twitter dialogue, as our account had created a place for the survivors to have their voices heard safely; several tweeted how supported they felt in seeing the purple ribbons on the gate. One said it was the first time he had ever felt acknowledged and not ashamed.
This form of sharing is in its infancy; blogs and online platforms are springing up daily, Hollaback! and S.A.R.A. (Sexual Assault Report Anonymously) to name just two. These sites support and make a space for those affected by sexual assault to share their stories and feel heard, and can red flag possible perpetrators. Sexual assault is an underreported crime, and having listened to the stories from the Royal Commission it is clear to see why. The emotional and financial cost to the victims of reporting these offences is enormous; it takes courage to come forward and sustained time and energy to move through the often protracted and hostile court system. As Anastasia Powell, senior lecturer on justice at RMIT University states,
The Internet is providing a new tool for victim survivors to have a voice and be heard with far greater reach and in ways previously not thought possible.[14]
For me as an instigator of such a site this does raise issues. The world of the Internet is a fraught one, with trolls and unfiltered access both for survivors and perpetrators. The ability to share can be very liberating but can also lead to problems, among them false accusations and further abuse online. This is not to say that it is an area that should not be pursued as a platform for voices but that critical thinking must be applied to the way these forums are set up and networked with both mainstream authorities and other organizations.
The visual impact of the ribbons filling the gate and the ritual with which people came to place them was difficult to nullify; in this way the institution’s power and influence was rendered only partial. It does, however, raise the question of the fear instilled into the current and past school population, many of whom felt unable to act if the school did not sanction it.
During this time the Royal Commission continued to hear evidence from past pupils, convicted sex offenders/teachers and former and current headmasters. What became evident was the level of denial of the past headmaster of twenty-nine years (1969-1998) and the subsequent two headmasters’ failure to do anything about the pedophiles in their midst. There was a constant shifting and passing of blame. All began their testimonies with heartfelt ‘sorry’ speeches followed by a litany of reasons as to why they were unaware or unable to do anything about the abuse. The phrases ‘in hindsight’ and ‘I can’t recall’ featured frequently. For the survivors, many of whom were in the courtroom, this must have been yet another lack of acknowledgement of their pain and suffering.
The Royal Commission inquiry into Knox Grammar School and the Uniting Church in Australia began on 23 February 2015 and concluded on 6 March 2015 with one last witness arrested and made to testify on 28 April 2015.
A corollary to The Ribbons Project was to take place after the closing of the Commission’s hearing into Knox Grammar School and the reopening of investigations into the Catholic Church and its handling of child sexual abuse in the Ballarat diocese in Victoria. The evidence of the extraordinarily large numbers of children abused in that area is now infamous, as are the stories of inaction by a succession of church leaders over many decades.
On 17 May 2015 the Royal Commission began its inquiry into St Patrick’s College, Ballarat, a Catholic day and boarding school for boys founded by the Christian Brothers in 1893. That day, headmaster John Crowley posted on the school’s website a photograph of himself tying a ribbon to the school gate. He encouraged all members of the community to follow suit ‘as a symbol of our support for past students whose lives have been devastated by sexual abuse. It also represents our acknowledgement and ownership of this part of our history and gives the broader Ballarat community the opportunity to join us in this display of support.’ [15]
Following this gesture, as the Royal Commission examined Cardinal George Pell’s knowledge of the cover-ups of sexual abuse, fences with ribbons began to spring up in numerous places in Ballarat, and as postings on social media allowed the message to spread, the ribbons soon started to appear on fences not only in Australia but around the world, including New York and Rome.
Seeking a voice for Ballarat survivors and their families, a supporter formed the Loud Fence Movement, which adopted ribbons to draw attention to the network. The stories and messages shared through their website echoed the response we had received, but on a scale that was astounding. Reading posts on their Facebook feed I was struck by their similarity to the stories on our Twitter page. I was moved to read one survivor’s story: unable to leave his house due to the trauma of childhood sexual abuse by several Catholic priests, when he heard about the ribbons at his old school he ventured out for the first time in many years. As he approached the fence to tie on his ribbon he felt a force field of love and protection around him; each ribbon was a gesture of support and an acknowledgement of his survival.
If the children’s sprits are broken, society’s ability to act against any form of oppression is ended. While in residency at ‘Watch this Space’ in Alice Springs, I was privileged to have a discussion with an Indigenous elder, who pointed out that the problems of drugs, alcohol and violence that were endemic in many of the Indigenous groups surrounding Alice Springs stemmed from the removal of children from their parents and some children’s subsequent abuse in church and state facilities, and foster and adoptive homes. He simply stated, ‘You steal the children, you break the people’.
The Ribbons Project was a work born out of finding a visual voice both for myself and for the children who had suffered at the hands of those entrusted with their care. The marking of the Knox Grammar School Memorial Gates was not for the dead from world wars in distant years past but for the living survivors of abuse, who entered those gates as innocent children with high hopes of bright futures and were gravely let down by the very people who should have protected them.
In reviewing The Ribbons Project, the possibility of gauging its impact is problematic. The scale of the work unfolded over a long period of time and continues to spread and act in the world. Traditional artistic critique struggles with the task of assessing work such as this. How does one take into account the myriad, private and unknowable responses to a work in terms of the psychological impact on the audience that participated in one way or another in its creation, evolution, telling and retelling, its dissemination and its mythologising?
In the practice of contemporary art, and in the social and political discourses of the last twenty years, many artists have used the means of activism in their practices. As someone who has always been concerned with collaborating with an audience in a dynamic process where we each go on a journey together, activism was a means that found me at a time when I most needed it. As socially and politically-motivated performance artist Jeremy Deller puts it, ‘I went from being an artist who makes things, to being an artist who makes things happen.’[16]
[1] Kaprow and Kelley, Essays on the Blurring of Art and Life, 195.
[2] http://www.childabuseroyalcommission.gov.au/case-study/6202742a-5e8d-490b-bec4-84876bef3de0/case-study-23,-february-2015,-sydney.aspx
[3] Ursula K Le Guin, “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” in The Unreal and the Real: Selected Stories of Ursula K. Le Guin. (Easthampton, MA: Small Beer Press, 2012)
[4] http://www.knox.nsw.edu.au/about/history-and-tradition/history-of-knox
[5] Strike Force Arika was established in February 2009 by NSW Police to investigate the allegations of abuse at Knox Grammar School.
[6] Andrew Boyd and Dave Oswald Mitchell (eds.), Beautiful Trouble: A Toolbox for Revolution. (New York: OR Books, 2012), Kindle Edition Location 2044.
[7] Lieven De Cauter, “Art, Activism, and Permaculture. Interview with Isa Fremeaux and John Jordan” in Art and Activism in the Age of Globalization. (Rotterdam: NAi, 2011)
[8] From the Tyrrhenian purple of Roman times to medieval ecclesiastical robes to royalty through the ages, the colour purple has always symbolized power. What better colour to honour the heroism of the boys and men who spoke out against their abusers.
[9] Foucault, Discipline & Punish: The Birth of the Prison, 195-228.
[10] Sholette, Pietroiusti & Bloom, “Folds of an Institution” in Groups and Spaces E-zine.
[11] Attributed to British philosopher Edmund Burke
[12] http://www.smh.com.au/nsw/knox-grammar-lisa-wilkinson-appalled-by-removal-of-ribbons-20150302-13t8jv.html. 3 March 2015
[13] http://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/news/nsw/knox-grammar-royal-commission-ribbons-in-support-of-abuse-victims-retied-to-school-gates/story-fni0cx12-1227245672039. 3 March 2015
[14] Cosima Marriner, “Sexual assault victims find justice online,” The Sydney Morning Herald, 24 April 2016, accessed 5 May 2016, http://www.smh.com.au/national/sexual-assault-victims-find-justice-online-20160422-god3vb.html.
[15] http://www.stpats.vic.edu.au/en/news/article/support-for-victims-and-survivors/
[16] Jeremy Deller in Thompson, Living as Form: Socially Engaged Art from 1991-2011, 17.
katie louise williams 