The Dream that Faded

Act One: The Gift

As a woman whose demands are relatively modest and uncomplicated it was never anything more than a simple dream. The future health and well-being of her son was what mattered. Like doting mothers everywhere Suna only wanted the best for our child. Little did she know this would be easier said than done. 

At first it was hard to believe our son was any different from others of his age. In spite of the few embarrassed glances from those whose idea of normality is exceptionally narrow, we tried to ignore any hint that something was wrong. 

By the age of four it was clear Nico was a gentle, bright, lovingly sensitive child. Handsome too. But he could still not put together a complete sentence. My advice that his slow cognitive development was similar to my own, and merely the result of growing up in a home where three languages were spoken, only served to obfuscate the matter. Meanwhile a series of professional diagnoses reinforced Suna’s worst fears, puncturing any optimism. Nico was on the autism spectrum and would need “special” attention.

Unconvinced at first, having been pronounced categorically normal by his sisters, we began to accept that his development was slower than others of his age. We began the process of looking for kindergartens and schools that could deal with a child with Aspergers. But all we were offered were places at specialschools for children with specialneeds. 

That phrase would come to haunt us. There was no doubting our son was very special. But that is not what was meant by the term, particularly in Thailand, where the reluctance to distinguish between various forms of mental illness and behavioural diversity is common. 

Suna began to dread the consequences of a situation she was only just beginning to grasp – a mystery in which accurate calibration was impossible, and optimism in very short supply.

Our concern for Nico’s education became the sole pretext for our resolve to do whatever it would take to find the most amenable and supportive learning environment for a four-year-old autistic boy. Later, our concern for his health and safety was to become the justification for a decision that slowly, irrevocably, unstitched those plans. All we knew at the time was that Nico was a wonderful child but that his needs were unlikely to be met in the country of his birth. What could be done?

We wanted him to find joy in the discovery of himself and his uniqueness; to feel (and be) safe in his surroundings; and to be accepted by the community in which he lived. We would need to leave Thailand, it was impressed upon us by those who should know, to find those fundamentals. My own country, a place Suna had visited many times and dearly loved, was the obvious choice.

Naturally living in Australia would be easy enough for me. It was far from a stroll in the park for Suna. She would be exchanging the familiar security of her own country for one in which she would have to adopt new social customs, speak a new language, eat mostly Western food, make new friends and, as it turned out, even deal with bigotry in situations where she might have expected greater empathy. She would have to trade the comfort of the home we had built in her village to live in a rented apartment in a foreign city. Even more boldly, she would be venturing into the unknown, forfeiting financial security, and placing her trust in the promise of a friend who happened to be charmed by her husband’s words. She did not hesitate, for this was no sacrifice. It was the most precious gift she could give Nico. The decision needed no second thought. The only issue would be to find the right school.

Act Two: The Torment

Was this really a school? If so where were the classrooms? It was all too good to be true. Just a five-minute walk from our apartment, this celebration of childhood bliss was set in a manicured landscape of peppermint gums, quaint old sheds, and expansive lawns where students played folk music, created rainbow fabrics, whittled wood, cooked soup, tended to guinea pigs and chickens, danced, read poetry, and performed festivals to welcome the various seasons. 

Sharing the old Abbotsford Convent campus is an arts and craft commune, the community radio station, workshop spaces, cafes and restaurants, craft rooms, art galleries, and elegant studios where classes are given in everything from yoga and photography to meditation and alternative therapies. The scent of coffee and freshly baked artisan bread, too, hang in the fresh spring air. The place is sheer magic.

Tucked away in one corner of the estate, bordering on the school, is Collingwood children’s farm replete with rabbits, peacocks, chickens and ducks, in addition to huge paddocks with sheep, horses, cows, and goats. Wending its way through this rural terrain is the river Yarra, tumbling its way from the Dights Falls rapids. Cycling tracks hug the riverbank, increasingly the chosen way of getting to and from work for increasing numbers of health-conscious people living in the suburbs in Melbourne. 

Something about Sophia Mundi school reminded me of Dartington. A unique alternative sub-culture was evident, made even more palpable by the colourfully casual dress of the local residents, a weekly farmer’s market where it is possible to buy organic apples, free-range eggs, rhubarb jam, and home-made breads - and the spectacular scenery. It was all very homely and calming.

The contrast between this idyllic environment and circumstances that were about to unfold could not have been starker. The torment went unnoticed at first. It is just rough play, Nico’s teacher opined. Boys will be boys, the father rationalised. None of us recognised the signs of the more insidious ordeal ahead. We did not want to see that which stared us in the face. 

When discrete events became more frequent we made the school known of our concerns. Bites and pinch marks on formerly unblemished flesh, a large stick thrown at his face so that he tumbled out of a climbing frame, bruises where he had been kicked or punched. A line had been crossed between play and ill-treatment. We could no longer ignore that fact that our son was unsafe during playtime. But because Nico’s Asperger’s did not allow him to explain precisely what was going on we were left with only one viable course of action. I made a formal complaint to the school, requesting a meeting with the parents of Nico’s tormenter to try and resolve this unpleasant situation. 

At this stage our minds were open to any plan that would serve the interests of all parties. The last thing we wanted to do was to create a fuss in such a tightly-knit community. After all, if we all worked together cooperatively and with good intentions, this was something we could nip in the bud before it escalated into something more serious.

How wrong we were. Meeting after meeting failed to halt the situation, which deteriorated to a point where Nico had no desire to go to school. The joy we had seen in our child slowly drained away. In its place the sheer terror of having to face deliberate intimidation and guile every single morning. Nico was a soft target. Being different from the others his gentleness and caring nature actively worked against him now. He was crushed, and we were becoming desperate. Meanwhile the parents of the bully were in denial.

In an effort to understand why they could so casually brush off their son’s behaviour, and our concerns and, more particularly in view of the laws in Australia, why the school did not seem prepared to take any form of requisite action, in the face of growing frustration from the class teacher and his constant need to send the bully home for increasingly violent and unpredictable indiscretions, I turned for guidance to a friend. He is one of Victoria’s leading child psychologists.

He asked question after question, which I answered truthfully and as objectively as possible. Again, and again I went over each incident that had troubled us, exploring every facet in forensic detail. I was interrogated for perhaps twenty or twenty-five minutes before he paused and heaved a huge sigh. Slowly, with quiet deliberation, he left me in no doubt we had no option but to remove Nico from the school. His diagnosis-from-a-distance was that this young aggressor was showing signs of sociopathic behaviour and that this needed to be treated professionally. But surely that is impossible in a six-year-old child, I demurred? Apparently not. Furthermore, it was quite conceivable that if the bullying did not stop, Nico would probably begin to suffer psychologically – if he had not already done so. Worse still it was feasible that the physical violence could result in a tragic accident – to Nico or another child. Something clearly had to be done although Suna and I still could not come to terms with the truth.

I took this advice back to the school with a greater sense of urgency, but with the same empathy and willingness to work as a team we had previously shown. This time it appeared our grievances were being taken very seriously indeed. We were assured that the parents were being counselled and had sought professional help for their son. Supervision in the playground would be increased, and additional resources made available in the classroom to help deal with any untoward behaviour perpetrated by the bully on Nico or any of the other children. 

I should point out that two families had already withdrawn their children from Nico’s class, and a further family intended doing so, because of the apparent inability or reluctance of the school to deal with the bullying. Yet we still had not the slightest inclination of what was to come. Naively perhaps, we still had full confidence in the school. As it turns out we were sadly misled.

The amount of trust prevailing in any situation is likely to be directly proportional to any distress generated, if or when such trust is betrayed. In this instance two separate incidents burst the bubble of trust we had in the school as well as the parental community. The first was a simple rejection by the Principal of my intimation that the school was now an unsafe environment for our son. The second we interpreted as an affront - a calculated snub that paid no heed to the circumstances and lacked all integrity. We discovered, quite by chance, that the father of the bully had been appointed to the School Council in a blatant denial of justice, or even conflict of interest this posed.

We were both outraged. Clearly another decision was needed. But we knew then that this decision would nullify any euphoria we originally had at finding such an amazing learning environment for Nico. This decision would effectively shatter the dream we had for our son’s immediate future. And it seemed so unfair.

Act Three: Past Tense

Eighteen months. That was how long Nico endured the the mental anguish, and the physical abuse. Each day he was at school, when teachers were not looking, and from time to time even when they were, he was pushed, pinched, punched, knocked down, teased, spat upon or kicked. A few of his young friends gallantly tried to protect him but this had little effect. 

Over eighteen months we had seen Nico’s pleasure in playing with his friends ebb. We had witnessed his foreboding grow. We had agonised over his development. Nico was always going to be a soft target while he failed to distinguish between rough play and spite. Yet in all that time he never once named or blamed his persecutor for the bruises, black eye, cuts and grazes we routinely bathed and dressed. Nico’s preference was to studiously avoid any reference to these marks – his refusal to talk ensuring that the topic was constantly avoided.

Since returning to the country of his birth that silence has persisted. Indeed it deepened, to the extent that he did not so much mention anything about his old school. He did not talk about his closest friends, the bashful girl in his class he still insists he will marry, his teacher, the class routine, or the school itself... 

Until today, that is. Looking through some old photos he spotted a view of the Convent. Much to my surprise he smiled and said pensively: “That was my school Daddy. I loved it there. Do you think my friends miss me?”A lump came to my throat, and tears flowed, as over the course of the next half hour he recounted the numerous times he had suffered. Contrary to my assumption that he had wiped the bad memories from his mind, he was actually able to re-enact his torment in great detail. When I asked him why he had not told us about it at the time he smiled again, and said: “He was my friend.” I didn’t want him to get into trouble.” 

Epilogue:

I have not written this story for any other reason than to try and draw some lessons from the bullying my son endured over the course of 18 months. There is no enmity between Suna and myself and the school Nico which attended. Indeed the opposite is true: we remain grateful for everything the school did for Nico while he was a student there. It is truly an incredible school. But for a little boy with Asperger’s and a class bully who persists in misbehaving it is not a safe environment.

Recent figures from the Alannah & Madeline Foundation reveal that, each year, around 910,000 school students (i.e. almost a quarter) instigated by 543,000 perpetrators,experience bullying. 

The trauma bullying causes victims, their families, schools and the community is felt immediately in terms of social costs, but also long after victims have completed school. There is strong evidence to suggest significant numbers of victims later become bullies.The financial cost is also considerable - estimated to cost the community around $2.3 billion over the lifetime of each school year group. 

There is no doubt in my mind that schools must accept full responsibility for bullying during school hours. They should act immediately, as the law requires them to do, and in ways that best serve the interests of everyone involved. In our case I am not even convinced that the parents of the boy who bullied Nico accept the seriousness of their son’s behaviour even now. The fact that the father was appointed to the School Council should not be possible. In the circumstances it is unethical.

In a world where fear is rampant, anger and despair hang in the air, intolerance once again threatens to tear the fabric of society apart, domestic violence and brutality to women is a growing concern, and our compassion for each other is withering, surely school bullying is the one issue we can actually do something about?