He felt completely helpless, trapped in a cycle where safety meant nothing
Decades after a government facility meant to shelter vulnerable children closed its doors, an Anaiwan man is asking the world to bear witness to what was done to him there. In 1983, at fifteen years old and in state custody near Newcastle, he alleges he was sexually abused by multiple officers — and that when he sought protection, the system answered with further harm. Now fifty-seven, he and his legal representatives are calling on anyone who passed through Worimi Shelter to come forward, so that the full shape of what occurred might finally be seen and answered for.
- A 57-year-old First Nations man has broken decades of silence, alleging he was repeatedly sexually abused by officers at a state-run facility when he was just fifteen — people whose sole duty was to protect him.
- When the teenager reported the first assault, the officer he turned to dismissed him, told him to accept it, and then allegedly became an abuser himself — collapsing every avenue of safety in a single moment.
- Trapped in a cycle of exploitation by those in authority over him, the boy lost all faith that the system would ever act in his interest, a wound that has carried forward into his mental health across the decades since.
- Slater and Gordon are now calling on former staff, residents, and anyone with knowledge of Worimi Shelter's operations in 1983 to come forward confidentially, seeking to establish whether the abuse was systemic and widespread.
- The case sits within a larger, unresolved reckoning — the particular vulnerability of First Nations children placed in state care, and the institutional failures that allowed harm to flourish unchecked behind closed doors.
A 57-year-old Anaiwan man is calling on anyone who witnessed abuse at Worimi Shelter to come forward. The state-run facility near Newcastle, which operated from the 1960s until its closure in 2000, is now at the centre of allegations of child sexual abuse reaching back more than forty years.
Lawyers from Slater and Gordon announced this week that they are representing the man over incidents that occurred in 1983, when he was fifteen and in state custody. According to the legal team, two separate male officers sexually abused him. When the teenager reported the first assault to another officer on staff, he was told to accept it — that this was simply the reality of institutional life. That same officer then allegedly abused him as well.
What followed was a pattern of repeated abuse. The boy had lost any sense that the system would protect him. He was trapped, powerless, exploited by the very people employed to keep him safe.
Senior Practice Leader Ciara White described the failure plainly: the state did not take the necessary steps to ensure his safety while he was in its care. The firm is now seeking witnesses — former staff, former residents, anyone with knowledge of what happened — to help establish how widespread the abuse was and what patterns of misconduct went unchecked.
The impact on the man has been lasting, with significant mental health consequences in the decades since. Now, at 57, he is pursuing justice. His legal team is emphasising that anyone with relevant information can share it safely and confidentially with a trauma-informed professional.
Worimi Shelter has been closed for more than twenty years, but the harm it inflicted remains present in the lives of those who passed through it — and the case raises enduring questions about institutional oversight and the particular vulnerability of First Nations youth within a system that was supposed to care for them.
A 57-year-old Anaiwan man is asking anyone who witnessed abuse at Worimi Shelter to step forward. The facility, a state-run home near Newcastle that operated from the 1960s until its closure in 2000, is now at the center of allegations of child sexual abuse spanning decades.
On Monday, lawyers from Slater and Gordon announced they are representing the man in connection with incidents that occurred in 1983, when he was 15 years old and in state custody. According to the legal team, two separate male officers at the facility sexually abused him. The first assault was reported by the teenager to another officer on staff—a move that, rather than triggering protection, prompted a dismissal. That officer allegedly told the boy to accept what was happening, using language suggesting this was simply the reality of institutional life. That same officer then allegedly abused him as well.
What followed was a pattern of continued abuse across multiple occasions. By then, the teenager had lost any sense that the system meant to protect him. He felt trapped and powerless, caught in a cycle where the very people employed to keep him safe were instead exploiting their authority over him.
Ciara White, Senior Practice Leader at Slater and Gordon, described the institutional failure plainly. The state, she said, did not take the necessary steps to ensure the boy's safety while he was in its care. The firm is now calling for witnesses—anyone who worked at the facility, anyone who was there, anyone who knows what happened—to come forward with information. They want to understand how widespread the abuse was in 1983, whether other young people were harmed, and what patterns of misconduct may have gone unchecked.
The impact on the man has been lasting. His mental health has suffered significantly in the decades since. Now, at 57, he is seeking justice and accountability. The legal team is emphasizing that anyone with relevant information can share it safely and confidentially with a trauma-informed professional. They are not asking for casual recollections; they are asking for accounts that could help establish the true scope of what occurred behind the walls of a government facility that was supposed to be a place of care.
The case raises a broader question about institutional oversight and the vulnerability of young people in state custody, particularly First Nations youth who were already marginalized within the system. Worimi Shelter has been closed for more than two decades, but the harm it inflicted remains present in the lives of those who were there.
Citações Notáveis
Our client was 15 years old when the alleged abuse occurred. He was in State care and entrenched in the youth justice system when two separate officers, each entrusted with his safety, allegedly took advantage of him.— Ciara White, Senior Practice Leader, Slater and Gordon Lawyers
Any information on the State-run Worimi Shelter or the two male officers at the centre of the allegations could assist our client in seeking justice for the alleged abuse.— Ciara White, Senior Practice Leader, Slater and Gordon Lawyers
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why is this call for witnesses happening now, more than forty years later?
Because the man is now pursuing legal action, and his lawyers need to establish the full picture of what happened. They want to know if this was isolated or systemic—if other kids were hurt the same way.
What strikes you most about the officer's response when the boy reported the first incident?
That he didn't just fail to help. He actively normalized the abuse. He told a traumatized teenager that this was how things worked. That's not negligence—that's complicity.
The man is Anaiwan. Does that context matter here?
It matters enormously. First Nations kids in state care faced compounded vulnerability. They were already removed from their communities, already in a system that didn't protect them. The abuse wasn't separate from that context—it was enabled by it.
What would witnesses actually be able to contribute at this point?
They could confirm what happened, name other victims, describe patterns of behavior by the officers involved, or reveal whether management knew and did nothing. They could help prove this wasn't an anomaly.
Is there a risk that coming forward now could be difficult for witnesses?
Absolutely. Some may have their own trauma from that place. Others may fear retaliation or legal exposure. That's why the lawyers are emphasizing confidentiality and trauma-informed support.