The Australian nation is given shape by the stories that we tell ourselves each year.
There are days when we tell stories about the arrival of the European settlers, and days when we tell stories about the horrific treatment of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. There are days when we share the many stories of migrants who have settled in Australia, and days when we remember the stories of the generations who were stolen from their families. There are days that celebrate the stories that are born on the sporting field, and days when we remember the stories that ended on the battlefield.
The annual telling and retelling of these stories gives Australians both old and new a sense of place — a reminder of who we are, and who we no longer wish to be.
On Monday, a new set of stories were enshrined in the nation's consciousness — the stories of victims and survivors of institutional sexual abuse. The National Apology has, one hopes, permanently marked 22 October as a day that we will remember their stories, and commit ourselves to making sure our institutions don't fail in the same way again.
Prime Minister Scott Morrison and Opposition Leader Bill Shorten rightly placed the stories of victims, survivors and their families at the centre of this day. Their speeches focused on the accounts that emerged from the Royal Commission, of children's lives destroyed, of institutions such as the Catholic Church who had failed dismally in their response to the children's suffering.
'One survivor told me that when he told a teacher of his abuse, that teacher then became his next abuser,' said Morrison. 'I also met with a mother whose two daughters were abused by a priest the family trusted. Suicide would claim one of her two beautiful girls, and the other lives under the crushing weight of what was done to her.'
His voice breaking, Morrison continued, 'As a father of two daughters, I can't comprehend the magnitude of what she has faced. Not just as a father, but as a prime minister, I am angry too at the calculating destruction of lives ... those who have abused the shield of faith and religion to hide their crimes.'
"The Catholic Church, and its leaders in particular, are the villain of this story, and will remain so for many years."
Religious institutions were rightfully absent from the apology. It was a day to focus on survivors and their families, the culmination of years of campaigning. The Catholic Church, and its leaders in particular, are the villain of this story, and will remain so for many years even as the aftermath of the Royal Commission provides continuing impetus for safeguarding efforts, and opportunities for reparation via the National Redress Scheme.
Survivors and their families aren't ready to stop their efforts. As the Prime Minister greeted those gathered in the Great Hall, many were still making demands of the government and of churches — questioning funding for religious schools, tax exemption for religious bodies, and the seal of the confession. They showed that the story isn't quite over for them, yet, either.
They have been at the centre of this story, and now it's theirs to carry. For years, the people who maintained they were victims of abuse were told that they were trapped in a story about something that had happened to them when they were children. If only they could just let go of the story they could move on with their lives. But that wasn't the story they were in at all.
As children they had been betrayed, abandoned or failed in some way by every figure of authority in their life — their priest, their teacher, their police officers, their parents, and even their God. That betrayal, that abandonment or failure, changed each of them in a different way. Some of them didn't survive that change. Some turned to substances to try to cope with the pain, and many found themselves in trouble with the law. Others nursed their stories privately, behind the façade of what might be considered a normal life.
But with courage, many came forward, to witness to the truth, and call those who had failed them to account. That was the story they were in — a heroic tale of survival, of facing the abyss, and emerging from it changed but strengthened.
Their story was of the forgotten child who had found their voice. And much like 13 February has come to mark the anniversary of the Apology to the Stolen Generations, 22 October is the day that Australians will be asked to remember their stories — courageous and heartbreaking, inspiring and devastating. May we work together to ensure they never have to be repeated again.
Michael McVeigh is senior editor at Jesuit Communications, publishers of Eureka Street.