Dear OAM council/board,
I write today to query the criteria for recipients of the OAM award.
I query because of its awarding to a man named Charlie King. I wonder whether the OAM considers the violence an award participant projects prior to distributing.
Charlie King, this violent man, is a reward recipient of the OAM and I am unsure how the board does not do its research prior to awarding. Research that has the potentional to block recipients whose personal/lives away from the public are hypocritical to the award they are receiving.
Charlie King received his award for services in Domestic Violence. He received for creating a program that focuses on removing family violence from communities, promoting equality, breaking down the walls of rascism and discrimination, working towards peace.
However all of these unsafe violent behaviours Charlie projects towards staff, towards the CEO of the organisation, a position and relationship that Charlie abuses for his own pursuits. Charlie is allowed to do this because everybody around him, including the executive, comments it is Charlie King, nothing can be done whenever his actions are brought into question.
Charlie manipulates, bullies and dismisses everything and everyone in his environment. The manager he hired has been left in tears multiple times from Charlie’s interactions with her, his bullying her.
Charlie attempted to bully me, I did not allow. I complained as was my right to the organisation, the organisation responded, bullying, that’s a big word Fred, and are you sure you want to say this. Said to me by the primary victim of his bullying.
Charlie is the barrier to the education of family violence in the Northern Territory. When Charlie’s violence becomes public, which it will, the work with domestic violence gets put back again. It should never have been allowed, you allowed it by handing an award to a violent man.
I have many stories about Charlie, this weak man, many. I’ll share just one with you, what Charlie’s ego is doing to his people.
My role for the No More program was the field officer, I worked in multiple communties. The job was simply to listen to people and support the building of their ideas.
Gunbalanya was one of my communities. After a year of hard work myself and the community made beautiful progress together, so beautiful that during an end of year visit by Eddie Betts they were also excited to get together to talk about the safety in their community. The old men were all on board, Charlie was the tool that was bringing them to the meeting.
Let us reiterate safety first, what I mean by community safety. Just two simple examples.
Four weeks before the event I was in Gunbalanya sitting outside having a coffee and a cigarette. I watch as a women is walking up the road holding her daughter’s hand. Very quickly it came apparent that the women was heading to the medical clinic. As she came closer and I was able to pick up her features the only thing that stood out was her battered face, battered by her partner.
Two weeks before, same community. Same activity, sitting having my morning coffee and cigarette. I hear screaming from the medical clinic, I look up and a women is walking around the building smashing her fists on the walls and doors demanding to be let in. Her face, arms and more are battered to the point of almost being unrecognisable.
The medical clinic will not let her in, they cannot, they are not allowed. They are not allowed to because they are attending to a man’s sore wrist, the wrist he hurt making sure his partner could not be recognised through the blood, bruising, missing teeth and whatever else.
Safety is the priority, safety we could do something about.
Charlie was supposed to come to the event, promised he would, promised the old men he would. No matter how many times I told him to book the private planes we always do, that all workers take, he would not. Charlie was coming on the police plane and the police plane only.
He knows, and I repeated, how unreliable this is. That it has every chance to be redirected and not be available. Charlie knew this but any other form of travel was not good enough for his status, the only thing that matters to Charlie is his ego, is covering up all the violence he continues to project to the world.
The night before the big day I was invited just to hang out in the community, help do a few things, be a guest judge for the christmas light competition. Phenomenally beautiful evening, out of all my community trips nothing was as positive, relaxed and inclusive as this, everybody was involved. We knew tomorrow was going to be a beautiful moment in the tragedy that is Aboriginal community life.
10pm we finished, I arrived to my accommodation to the sound of my phone ringing, it was my Team Leader, the police plane has been cancelled, Charlie won’t be there, Charlie is breaking another promise.
I had to call my mate, the organiser of this beautiful event, a man who has given his life to this community. Given, not sacrificed like Charlie did me, he gave it. He broke and hung up, he knew as well as I did tomorrow was not going to be what it needed to be.
Not one old man showed up to the event, not even to see Eddie Betts. When you lose the trust of the old men in an Aborginal community you lose the community, you put them back through the repeating of every worker, government agent, outsider that has come into the community saying they will help.
My life was physically put at risk because of the ego identification of a coward, a coward awarded an OAM.
Remember before I continue, the two women, their children, actually reflect on it. Imagine watching this yourself. These two occurences are not unique.
Not one of the community safety discussions took place, not one, no progress at all. Charlie King is to blame for this.
Charlie is to blame yet he was not there, to the community it was not him who broke the promise, it was me. I accepted it and took responsibility, didn’t bitch and moan and complain about Charlie every time someone brought it up. I said it is my fault every time as I represent the organisation, I accept responsibility. The heartbreak was clear in my face and my voice, the breaking of trust broke me as much as the community.
People would not talk to me, I would help with activities and they would walk away from. I was asked to help with the barbecue for a bit, I walked over and everybody left. I did not care, I continued to help, I cooked alone, I collected footballs alone, I said hello to everybody and nobody said hello back.
Eddie noticed, he didn’t know the background, but he noticed how hard I was working despite the interactions with me. I was holding back tears cooking the barbecue when he walked over to me and had a chat, we laughed together, smiled and he walked away. The community started talking to me again.
My friend, the organiser, he started talking to me again, said he knew I wasn’t at fault and invited me to some activities, I was involved in the community again. I was safe again when Charlie made me unsafe. This man you awarded an OAM, this man who let two women and more be beaten half to death in Gunbalanya and other communities.
Where is the integrity in your award, I’ll give you an example of integrity and then ask yourself if there is any in anything you do.
I demanded a meeting to discuss Charlie’s behaviour, this week and ongoing. Instead of a meeting I was chastised for being a man, my manager, a women managing a team to remove discrimination chastised me solely through discrinmination. I asked her for evidence every time she made a claim, she had none, her only response was that you are a man.
My Team Leader bullied me, knowing she could because of the coward standing next to her. I laughed at them.
At this point I had signed a contract three months earlier to keep me there for six more years, this work is me, the organisation knew it. In a year the progress I had made in all five communities far surpassed anything the organisation had done in all the years previous. We were making ground finally, we did it by listening.
I had a unit, beautiful friends, a phenomenal life in the place I loved. A future that was more secure than anything I could possibly imagine, particularly when one takes into account the repetitive torture I was subjected to as a child. My future was bleak, as it is for most repetitive violence victims, I pulled myself out of it, made my life something and finally had all the safety I could imagine.
The next day I walked into the office and said to my Team Leader that I am going to take some time to decide if this environment is right for me. I never went back, I have not gone back to working for organisations, and I never will again. Not while they project all the abuse they say they are trying to undo, not while they live in hypocricy.
The three years since have been horrible, I pursued violence, domestic violence, safety, healing, and all the rest to understand it. It cost me everything.
September my life was sleeping in the bush in Tasmania in a hammock, with a fire basically going right under me to try and stay warm. I had a root canal that needed treatment, it was incredibly painful, no money for the option of pain killers, for months I used mouth wash to make it as painful of possible so I could get some form of relief on the comedown. My only food options were weetbix and water.
I did all this to understand violence, to show the world that when we say something means something to us we will do anything for it, even maybe take a private plane rather than acting on the desperate requirement for ego and status validation and reinforcement.
The No More program and Catholic Care NT are a violent organisation, committing violence within their own walls and nothing is being done about it. I guarantee were there an independent audit into this organisation there would serious concerns around the manipulation of power, bullying, unsafe work practices, financial and personal misappropriation. Charlie King’s OAM would be stripped, it needs to be for the benefit of all domestic violence and safety work in this country.
Aboriginal Communities
This heading is heading towards a discussion on Aboriginal Communities, Australian First Nations People and to ensure a comment I made where I echoed another, Tony Armstrong, when he says genocide continues in 2025 is addressed.
Tony is 100% correct. Not only our government but all of us, including Aboriginal persons, especially people like Charlie King, are the ones continuing the atrocious now.
Some background. With the exception of playing footbal with a few First Nations men I had nothing at all to do with Aboriginal People until I was 31 or so and moved to Bunbury in Western Australia. Nothing at all. Knew nothing about them. Had no idea of the history of Aboriginal People oin my door stop, Alvie, Colac and surrounds. Had no idea that some of the oldest, richest history of people, sedentary lifestyle history of humankind, came from my front door.
None at all, not a single moment of Aboriginal history was taught at any of my schools with the exception of the stories regarding colonisation. Had no idea the English did any of what they did.
From here I spent more and more time in sporting roles that had a focus on inclusion. Making sure these places were what they were supposed to be, safe community orientated spaces. None of them were, are, well very few. The Alvie Football Club were one of the few, do not know about now, will return to them.
We’ll talk a lot about sport here as well, Aboriginal communities and sport have a somewhat symbiotic relationship.
We will talk about the beautiful tool sport can be, the terrible weapon it is often used for. We’ll talk about Police in regards to this, how a police officer by the name of Craig Grenfell, Taddie, can run around country football grounds coward punching men, good men. Lining a beautiful man up from 10 metres away, a man who had no idea he was coming, and knock him out cold, could have killed him, doing this shit knowing he will get away with it because he is a Pig. We’ll talk about that stuff here too.
I’m going to educate you like I have educated myself, mainly through my own ears and eyes, but also referring to books and studies. All the rest.
It must be known to all, that I do not know what happened on January 26, 1788 and neither do you, no matter who you are. Neither of us were there present. There are many conflicting stories about this day so I will not focus on it, I will focus on what is happening now, like we all should be. You cannot sway we on this date, I do not know what happened, and will never ever know, neither will you.
A Google search using exactly the same keywords returned two completely different results when a friend and I were having a discussion about this date, January 26, once. Both of us, in our very next breath said the same thing, that is fucked, well we can’t talk about this anymore let’s change the subject. Exactly what we did, never ever talked about it again. Pointless, just an argument with no answer made more complicated by rubbish digital algorithms simply designed to create confusion and misunderstanding.
I will finish this part here however, with an absolute fact, any person who has worked in the social disciplines in Aboriginal communities will be able to back up the following paragraph.
Aboriginal community life is extermely difficult, many in these spaces continue to live in third world conditions. Not only this but every worker is told that they are not to speak publicly, or outside the organisations, about any of the social issues presented to them. We are required to sign a document promising not to share our experiences. Required to make this promise while we have to listen and watch the public narrative seriously downplaying the terrible that happens in these communities. Australia is not allowed to know about the true conditions Australians are living in, this is Australia.
Why would this be the case? Not being allowed to know? Simple dickhead, this way you can continue to be distracted by the horrible on other shores while being ignorant to the equal horrible in yours, the one you and your government are doing nothing about. The thing you can do something about. Make some noise here, real noise, redirect your international protesting here you weak cunts and see then what you see.
Sporting Prowess
I am good at pretty much everything I give a go, especially true in the sporting space. Particularly untrue when it comes to basketball, absolute nuffer when it comes to dribbling. Nowadays better at shooting than I once was but this was because of netball, which I love playing. Stuey, a good mate, is the only one on one basketball competition I have participated in, 10 zip the final score, not my way. Stu is good, but not that good, I’m just that shit.
The basketball environment itself we will get to, it is the worst of all the sports in Australia, daylight in between the next worst. It’s also where I did some of my very best work so I get to float my own boat a bit here too. Believe it or not my best work amongst challenges that should not have been challenges, Local Council, Port Hedland in this case.
Off topic, but still, Port Hedland built this new beaut stadium, 20 million dollars or something. They built one, just one, indoor court. Just the one court that got to benefit from the air conditioning. Look up the weather conditions in Port Hedland for yourself, you will understand the need a little more. Down the road in Karratha, 400 plus kilometres, the next closest town, yeah footy bus trips were great and not great, they used the same money to build four courts and a whole bunch of other great stuff.
For a bit of perspective. Port Hedland is 150 kilometres from Marble Bar, it isn’t a town. Marble Bar is basically a gathering point for the cattle muster industry in the area, it’s claim to fame being a big thermometer on the way in showing the temperature. There have been some crazy photos well above 50 degrees. Marble Bar was the hottest town in Australia oonce, since surpassed by Wynyard I think (I do not know for sure, a guess).
My claim to fame is I held the record for the Marble Bar triathlon for a while, unlikely to now if Nathan has competed in it since. It was the second year it was held. The first year there were eight participants or so, the oldest, a 60 year-old bloke won it in an hour and a half or or something. I did it in about 40 minutes, fucking smashed it!! Nathan is/was a professional triathlete, trained with him sometimes and held my own, cigarettes et al.
Back to the stadium. Against all recommendations the architects continued with the plan to make the outside of this thing all glass. They were told the local population of very bored kids, high percentage Aboriginal, would see those things as nothing but a plaything, they will not last a month. The advice was not taken, biut it was wrong anyway, they didn’t last the first weekend after opening! Every single one smashed.
Another example, Eaton Council, new beaut stadium. West Coast of Australia, ever heard of the Fremantle Doctor? Nope, yes, look it up. My boss, Ben, was very clear that the big sheets of tin on the roof, no matter how heavy they are, needed to be nailed in and fixed to the structure, otherwise there could be very poor results. Again, advice not listened to, nothing will move them apparently. Within weeks the doctor kicked up, two days later when everything settled down the sheets were found all over the place, found in the playground of the school next door.
Darwin, haha! Local councils, oh my God. After cyclone Tracey they were rebuilding the city, deciding which trees to line the streets with. The council wanted mahogany, beautiful trees. Arborist advice was clear, these trees have shallow roots, they get big, a cyclone at the end of a big wet could uproot them, it may be dangerous. Advice rejected, trees planted. 2018/19 whenever, Cyclone Marcus. I am away for work for two weeks, when I leave Darwin is beautiful, when I return it is a wreck. These trees are the biggest wreck of all, down everywhere. One, through the roof of my colleague’s daughters house she had just moved into with her own six year-old daughter.
More examples?
Footy, Aussie Rules, this was my sport. A whole bunch of games I dominated. Kicked the teams whole score in a handful of them, five, six goals. I never got anywhere near my potential, I didn’t care, I don’t care. I wasn’t competitive, simply loved pushing my body in a way that made sense, as funny as it is running around a paddock chasing a ball was that sense. Like cricket, if you really think about it when you watch it’s really funny.
My fear of men was my barrier to my potential. It was my barrier to myself. The two are symbiotic with one another, fear for others comes from fear for yourself, within yourself. I was afraid in general, men were just the pinnacle of my fear.
Symbiotic, a symbiotic relationship, basically means that the two things work together to create the conditions that are created. Those conditions are not possible without the relationship working together. For instance, green grass is not possible without the sun. The sun makes photosynthesis possible, photosynthesis is the process the plant uses to convert energy into a form it can use.
Pretty much every club I have played at, going back to Alvie, there is a person or persons who whenever they see me tell me exactly the same thing, such a waste of talent you were Fred, could have made something out of your football. I started to agree the older I got, not the waste, just the ability. The less afraid I became the better footballer I was.
Footy is a massive commitment though, as a career, especially today. These poor young men. Forced into superstardom because of where they were picked in a list of other young men, because of the money that is expected to be in their bank account one day. Harley Reid, like hell, second year player and the attention he gets is completely unfair. The first year, it was heartbreaking, why not let the man become his own man, his own footballer, and then judge his potential? Judging on potential and stifling the ability to become his own man, any version of man, it’s disgusting. Damien Barrett, this piece of shit, the worst of them all, I’ll come back to him.
Luke Hodge, we’re going to have a little bit of a different conversation than I once had about you, sell out buddy. You don’t have enough? As a commentator you make a great coach though, which is where you should be, which I know because we were mates once. Mates before you became whatever you are trying to be now.
Footy, I just love it, sport just love it. Played a lot in many places, Aboriginal communities though, this is the best of the best. Just the highlight of all my sporting time. If you ever get a chance to watch a community match, especially a grand final, take it.
The next step, to play in one. Just play, you do not need to know how or have any skills whatsoever, the very best thing you can do in these places is get involved, fully involved. I don’t want to scare you but you will likely get whacked in the back of the head once or twice, if you’re really lucky they won’t worry about they back of the head part, will look you directly in the eye and whack you with a big smile on their face to boot. Ladies competition, not exempt.
It is what it is, smile too and get back into it.
Treated like a Human
The breaking the fear of men I attribute a hell of a lot to the time I spent playing football in Aboriginal communities. I’m only learning this now, it’s a beautiful addition to the other stories I know so well.
I wasn’t allowed to play, Charlie kept telling me no at every turn. A new excuse each time, it’ll seem like favouritism was his favourite. I ignored him, I played at every opportunity, I played with the women, they played with me 😉. Not in that way, perve, funnily enough is how I was greeted in the phishing email the other day, Hello Pervert.
Not reacting to this rubbish on the footy field with Aboriginal men, instead getting up and getting on with your business was one of the truest ways I built the trust to talk to these men about shit that First Nations men do not discuss, domestic violence, their participation in it.
I got on with my business every time I was hit until they stopped hitting me. I played for every team, I treated all my teammates and opposition the same. I took the hits, I only gave them out fairly. I played well in games without dominating, I earnt their respect on the football field and it translated to everything off it. Everything.
The men playing football are involved in every single aspect of community life, no matter where you go you will meet one. The council offices, hospital, mental health spaces, trades, cafes and shops, homelands, sitting under trees, everywhere. This means that every time you go somewhere you will be talking to your audience, the men committing the worst of the violence in the community, and their families. Some of these men are the worst of them all, the worst of the worst in general, football gives one an opportunity to at least open conversation with them.
Playing football, as you can imagine, being taken away as a punishment is very effective. For a little while anyway. It is also a double edged sword. Besides the field, training, their mates, there are no safe spaces for men to go to when they feel isolated in community. Some communities have a Men’s Shed but even that is complicated. We’ll talk about all this more later. Isolation breeds further isolation, in this case it also creates a temporary safety, double-edged sword.
Football in communities, this was my first safe space I created with the men. I wasn’t another worker, I worked hard to be part of the community, it was my only intention, fit in as much as possible, engage in everything and see what happens.
The hits I copped were nothing really, temporary pain, a headache for a couple of days at most. The relationship however was maintained, no matter how long I was away between visits, maximum four weeks, I was welcomed back exactly as I left. We simply continued doing what we were doing and the trust continued to build.
My examples of Aboriginal community are phenomenal, both the good and bad, the most beautiful experience of my life (yeah, I know, many things are, they are). Those examples all came from listening and participating, the space was created from this. They came from doing what I knew needed to be done and not listening to people who had alternative agendas.
Which is all Charlie was doing in his rejection of the request to play, he could not stand that one of his workers was starting to become known as No More in communities rather than Charlie.
Hadn’t even taken a speccy yet!
Returning to the opening statement, as dumb as it is, being able to take these hits and understand the purpose of it. Know maybe I’ll have a couple of days of pain but the upside is so much more, it helped me to make sense of it all, the stupid games we play with one another. Which is all me and my Dad were really, a stupid game, both of ours. I was able to see how much I learnt from our time together, that there was no better teacher than him, that I would like to teach a different way, all be it equally effective.
To forgive and love my Dad was ultimately what broke my fear of him, men and me. To know he is human. These men taught me that, they treated me like a human and asked, without asking, for me to do the same. I did, we did, and everything else we did benefitted from it.
More than the men
Domestic and family violence affects every house in every street of every town in Australia, plus the country side. It happens in every single home, yours too, whether you be the parent or the child reading this, yours too.
It’s the scale that makes it acceptable or not. That I do not consider what I am doing as violence because it does not reach the heights, the scale, of the violence others project. It’s the same thing, the story is irrelevant.
Women, you too are perpetrators, but currently the outcomes of your violence are less significant so we give it less attention. It is important we change this, we give the whole scope of violence as the scope of violence.
Cooking, the equally excellent tool along with participating in community activities to open conversation. Cooking as a vehicle to conversation has proven successful in every part of my life. I’ll talk about it more in the cooking topic, it has an important place here too.
The women in the community need to be involved in discussions, need to be listened to. Often, the ladies are the wisest and most knowledgeable, certainly the most sensible. To make a decision or try to raise a program without the input of everybody is the repetition of programs past. To have any chance at success, to make change, to even make change available, all voices must be heard.
Cooking is absolutely ideal to create conversation spaces, if you a man and want to talk to women it is your only tool just about, it and art primarily. Proper cooking, putting some effort into it. My Friday mornings in most communities was cooking a beautiful meal to take to lunch with a women’s group here and there. I would do this every Friday and say nothing other than introduce myself and occasional general chit chat.
Over repetitive consistent episodes trust started to build, the women started to tell me their stories, by the end I knew many stories in great detail. Beautiful and heartbreaking stories. Stories of trauma I do not have the experience to understand, trauma that continues on to this very day. Trauma that makes my story look like a fairytale.
Consistent episodes does not have anything to do with time, it’s where my approach to it comes in handy. It means every time I said I would do something I did it. Not once did I fail to deliver when I said I would. Every time I first asked for permission to bring lunch, then I produced the goods, really good goods.
Correction, one time, a significant death (simply means elder, a person requiring additional respect due to tribal status) occured in the community the night before. Lunch was cancelled in the morning. I cooked the food anyway and took it to where people gathered to pay respect. Together with Peter fed as many people as we could, made sure they had water, showed that we cared.
I’ll return to this, the main point I am making is both of the activities have some common factors. One, people love them, people will come for these activities. Good food, not shit, biscuits and cakes and stuff is crap and is the opposite of what is needed in community. Good, healthy, simple food full of vegetables, fresh meat and other stuff the body loves.
Clearly I love sport and cooking, it is very easy to put myself into them, it is no chore. These activities are the easiest work I have ever done simply because they are never work, paycheck or no. Shit you love, this is your tool to open spaces, you can find a way to make it work.
Three, there is a desperate need for the second. Cooking, healthy cooking in community, ridiculously desperate need, it is what is needed without it becoming another dumbfuck program. One of the many things needed, I know this because the ladies, and the men told me so.
To be continued.
Out of touch
Charlie, this ridiculous excuse for a man, has an extremely unhealthy obesession, bordering on stalking towards a great bloke, excellent role model, fantastic footballer, Cammie Ilett. If you have heard him on the radio you would swear they were the ones giving each other hygiene lessons, Cammie just wasn’t aware Charlie was there ….
Oh yes, that’s where I was, Charlie, ridiculous excuse for a man. His thing with not letting me play football showed how out of touch he was with his own people to a degree but it was the Gunbalanya trip that uncovered the ocean that disconnect actually was.
Aboriginal men and having their photo taken, ha, good luck. Unless it has to do with football, sport, drinking piss, shooting, spearing, fishing, man stuff. What I mean in this version of photo, the serious I represent myself and my people on a really difficult topic photo, nope, nuh uh, my face does not come with this conversation. Even mention the possibility of recording a serious conversation and you lose trust immediately, the very question being asked shows how out of touch you are with the way of men in community.
Once I invited Charlie to Gunbalanya he immediately started dictating how things would work, how the community conversations would run. The first week of this I didn’t mind, repeated myself over and over, we’re not running this thing Charlie, we are supporting the conversation, helping to ensure everyone understands each other, that’s it. You’re bringing the old men to the table, it’s the reason you were invited.
I reckon I repeated a version of this line 10 times in the three conversations I had with Charlie.
The truth about Charlie that he doesn’t understand is the young people don’t give a shit about him. Young, 45, even 50 and younger. He is an old man to these people, an old man they don’t know, he is a nobody. The old-men, and sadly in community old-men is the 50 plus population rather than the 65 plus, are the only ones who remember him but they are the most important if you want to get shit done. They can make or break everything in less time than it takes to click fingers.
The next week Charlie decided he was going to bring a media crew to this thing, to the community discussion, record everyone in high definition and all, every word, every conversation. When he said this to me I laughed, I seriously thought he was pulling my leg. He wasn’t, he was serious.
I found it hard to get words out, you’re not serious are you Charlie? Yes, he was, very serious, very disconnected. As was my Team Leader, Maria, an Indigenous woman who sat there and encouraged Charlie, I could not understand how one of them, let alone two leaders in this space, could be so pathetically abandoned from everything they came from.
Then he pushed me to ask the community. Charlie, I do not want to do this, even asking them is going to break the trust we have built. How can you not see what you are asking here? This is a private community conversation on a very difficult topic being had by a very private people. You know this is not the way it is done.
He pushed and pushed, I said okay.
I could have just not asked and nobody would have been any the wiser but then I would have had to lie. I would have had to lie to my work about asking permission or I would have to lie to the community about the kind of bloke they were dealing with in Charlie. I chose not to lie.
Football quickly, I rejected Charlie but I didn’t keep my playing a secret, he was well aware I was defying his will. I was a great worker, be a dumb thing to fire me over. This instance I would have had to kept a secret or potentially lose my job, I was not willing to.
When I asked the question about bringing the media team to my mate the organiser of the event I made it clear that I was pressured to ask, made it very clear I knew the ramifications of the words that were about to come out of my mouth. I made it clear we should not be asking the question. I asked, Charlie has asked that I request permission from the community to bring a media team and record the community conversations.
‘He didn’t?’ Yes he did. ‘You don’t need me to answer do you?’ No, I don’t. ‘Great, lets move on.’
He didn’t even laugh, the tone in the voice was simply disappointment.
Unbelievably, absolutely unbelievably, I took the reponse back to the office, back to Charlie, Narelle and Maria and UNBELIEVABLY they asked me to ask again. I replied with absolutely not. I continued with this same response for the next two weeks as I was continually pressured to take the request back to the community but make it more convincing.
Trick ’em in
Catholic Care NT, I love that I get to add this.
I sent them some feedback when I walked away. Fred, no way, not you, so surprised. This is called sarcasm in the case you do not recognise it.
Whether it was the catalyst into their workplace culture review I do not know but it came soon after. Extremely poor culture that I fortunately avoided by being on the most beautiful places on earth for most of my working hours.
Wadeye, Ramingining, Gunbalanya, Daly River, Maningrida were my offices, my working hours.
A friend relayed the events of the two days of meetings titled something along the lines of Workplace Retention and Recruitment strategies.
Retention, this means how do we make sure that staff feel so happy and respected that they don’t want to be anywhere but here. The higher an organisation rates in the respect and happiness the longer the employees tend to stay. People did not stay very long at Catholic Care, Darwin being a transient place or not.
From what I was told they spent the first three hours on staff culture, retention, decided that was enough and moved on to recruitment, attracting new staff, quality staff to the organisation.
Do you want to kniow what their number one strategy was to bring people to this healing organisation?
Guess, please guess because I am not at all shitting you in any way when I write the title of the recruitment strategy to get quality people into this quality organisation.
Trick them in.
Seriously. That was the primary, maybe the only recruitment strategy they brought to dicusss. How do we manipulate people to come to our organisation was literally the subheading, they opened this up and explored, one and a half days worth from what I understand.