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Photo: Getty Images/Tina Tiller
Photo: Getty Images/Tina Tiller

OPINIONSocietyNovember 2, 2021

We’re home-birthers, we have a healthy distrust of medical authority, and we’re vaccinated against Covid-19

Photo: Getty Images/Tina Tiller
Photo: Getty Images/Tina Tiller

In recent weeks, home birth has been dragged into Covid-19 vaccine politics after a small minority of midwives spoke out against mandates. But anti-vax beliefs and home-birth choices are far from natural bedfellows, argue George Parker and Eva Neely.

Last week was home birth awareness week. We celebrated home birth and shared stories and evidence surrounding home birth as a viable and positive birthplace choice. It was also a week in which we saw home birth dragged into Covid-19 vaccination politics with media reports that the home-birth community was supporting a minority of midwives in their stance against mandatory vaccination for Covid-19. We don’t accept that home birth and opposition to Covid-19 vaccination initiatives are natural bedfellows. Here is why. 

There is a Facebook badge doing the rounds at the moment that reads “I have a healthy distrust of authority and I’m vaccinated.” As home-birthing parents, public health academics, and advocates for health consumer rights in Aotearoa, this badge perfectly captures why we are vaccinated against Covid-19. Distrust of medical authority is important in a world in which overmedicalisation is an issue. Yet, while we have a “healthy distrust” of medical authority, we have chosen to be vaccinated against Covid-19 without hesitation. 

We both come from different walks of life. Yes, we share intersectional privilege as Pākehā educated people with well-paying, secure jobs that afford us extraordinary, inequitable and unjust health status in Aotearoa. Yet, like the home-birth community more generally, we are also very different and birth at home for different reasons. What many home-birthers share from our different positions is the contesting of medical consensus on how risk and safety during birth can only be mitigated when birth occurs in hospital. 

In Aotearoa, like many western countries, birth is overmedicalised. There is well-established evidence that birth outside of hospitals under the care of midwives is not only safe for people with uncomplicated pregnancies, but also significantly reduces the risk of unnecessary and sometimes harmful medical interventions. Within the hospital environment, health providers have been shown to intervene in birth even when it’s not warranted and doesn’t improve outcomes for birthing people and their babies. There is a clear need to protect birthing space  for whānau to ensure that physiological processes can occur uninterrupted, unless medical intervention is necessary to protect the safety of birthing parents and babies. The birth world can sometimes struggle to value the spectrum of care needs and protection of wellbeing, pitching so-called “natural birth” against “medicalised birth”. Many of us know that this is an arbitrary binary and that in reality wanting a home birth doesn’t mean that people don’t value having medical support on hand, when it is needed

A pregnant woman is vaccinated against Covid-19 in Indonesia on August 19 (Photo: JUNI KRISWANTO/AFP via Getty Images)

It is with dismay that we have seen the medical distrust of vaccines conflated with home-birth choices around the country over this past week. These debates suggest the two positions are inherently connected. The conflation of home birth with opposition to Covid-19 vaccination initiatives has resulted from a small minority of midwives and maternity consumers speaking up against the government mandate that requires health professionals (including midwives) to be vaccinated against Covid-19. This opposition to the vaccine mandate is counter to professional midwifery consensus by the New Zealand College of Midwives that supports Covid-19 vaccination for all pregnant people and health providers. Like the College of Midwives, we do not accept that midwifery-led home birth care and opposition to Covid-19 vaccination are natural bedfellows. 

Home birth still comprises a minority of births, but has boomed under pandemic conditions, highlighting how medical consensus about safety and risk is never static. We have seen an exponential increase in numbers of people choosing to birth at home in western countries as hospitals have become epicentres of the pandemic and can therefore feel like unsafe places. Covid-19 management strategies have also limited movement in and out of hospitals and the ability for birthing people to be supported by their whānau. In this context, we might think of home birth not as a fringe activity that sits in opposition to the health system in pandemic times, but as an essential part of managing the strain placed on our health system during Covid-19 by moving birthing people under the care of midwives out of hospitals. Home birth also offers the opportunity for families who don’t need medical intervention to stay together and exercise self-determination over how they will welcome their babies, without the dictates of pandemic restrictions. 

The Covid-19 pandemic is further challenging stereotypes of who might choose home birth and why, as all kinds of families reach for strategies to stay together and protect themselves from Covid-19. Like in all emergencies worldwide, midwives are proving to be key agents in helping health systems manage Covid-19, including absorbing the surge of interest we are seeing in home birth. A healthy distrust in medical authority in this instance isn’t counter to Covid-19 pandemic management, rather it is a critical part of supporting a flexible and resilient health system by supporting healthcare choices such as home birth that might otherwise not have been obvious choices for many families. 

In the same way, we suggest that a “healthy distrust” of medical authority isn’t at all counter to an enthusiastic embracing of Covid-19 vaccination. Rather, we suggest that vaccination is another resource for families to keep themselves and their communities safe from the worst of Covid-19. Like home birth, Covid-19 vaccination offers us the possibility of keeping the people we love out of hospital, while also protecting the precious and finite resource of hospital beds and medical care for those that need it most. We have a “healthy distrust” of medical authority, we are home-birthers, and we have been vaccinated against Covid-19.

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Image: Tina Tiller
Image: Tina Tiller

SocietyNovember 2, 2021

Why am I speaking? Because predators bank on their victims’ silence

Image: Tina Tiller
Image: Tina Tiller

People routinely tell me I am courageous for speaking out. Yes, it is a daunting thing to do. But what does it say about our society that victims need to be courageous to report abuse? Jacinda Thompson tells her story.

This article includes a personal account of abuse and sexual harassment.  


The multiple instances of the behaviour included the plaintiff being subjected to repeated incidents of unwanted physical contact, some of it extremely intrusive and serious. Further, the most serious instances of the behaviour occurred in circumstances where Reverend Van Wijk had used the plaintiff’s dead child as a tool to manipulate her into an extremely vulnerable state when he was supposed to be providing her with counselling and spiritual guidance … While involved in providing the plaintiff with pastoral services, [he] used language and physical behaviour of a sexual nature and subjected the plaintiff to behaviour which to her was both unwelcome and also at times offensive. This behaviour was both repeated and of such a significant nature that it had a detrimental effect on her.
– Human Rights Review Tribunal decision August, 2021 

There it was in black and white. After 16 years of battling, I had finally been able to bring my historic abuse by a priest into the light, and I had no idea how to feel.

It was as if, in coping with the trauma of it all, my brain had become skilled at not allowing me to dwell on the details for long. It is safer to put it away in a box and feel nothing, rather than to sit with it and risk pain and vulnerability. I’ve had people ask me what I’ve done to celebrate, but there are no winners – just degrees of hurt for all involved. I have also been asked if the judgement has been healing. Prolonged battles for justice come at great personal cost, and are emotionally exhausting. I tell people that it is impossible to endure these processes and heal at the same time.

One thing I do feel is a sense of relief – “declaratory relief” is the legal term. I had found it impossible to prompt the police to action, so I took my evidence to the Anglican church’s disciplinary tribunal. I had no lawyer. The priest had a queen’s counsel. 

Regardless, Reverend Van Wijk was found guilty and defrocked. He successfully applied to keep the findings unpublished, however. The file was hidden away in a church drawer somewhere. I was appalled. That meant there would be no learning from what happened – how does the church hope to prevent these things if those working in it have no knowledge of what abuse is happening, let alone how these things happen? And I was still left at the mercy of the rumour mill. 

I had also launched a case at the Human Rights Review Tribunal (HRRT) against Reverend Van Wijk, and continued with it after settling with the Anglican church, because what I wanted most was simply a finding of facts. I am very grateful that the HRRT and the New Zealand justice system, in contrast to the church, place a high value on open justice: findings are transparent. The Church has assured the Royal Commission into Abuse in Care that it has plans to be more transparent, but I won’t believe it until I see it. Recently the Anglican church advertised that their new Ministry Standards Commission has received 45 complaints since its establishment in January. Ten months on, however, there is not a single published outcome to say what these complaints have been or how they were dealt with. 

The police told me they couldn’t prosecute, an outcome depressing familiar to the vast majority of people who report sexual violence in New Zealand. I understand why – it is incredibly difficult to get a conviction when there are no witnesses and it seems all it takes is a little bit of doubt introduced by a defence lawyer to leave a jury feeling unsure. In my case Van Wijk admitted the sexual contact, but the onus was on me to prove the lack of consent. I had damning email evidence of Van Wijk’s manipulation – telling me things such as I needed to let him massage my pain away – but that was not enough. Police told me they needed proof from an eye witness, or camera footage, or multiple victims to come forward. This leaves people abused in counselling sessions with little to no chance of having the evidence needed. 

I believe that anyone receiving professional counsel from someone like a psychologist, counsellor, priest, or teacher could never give true consent to sexual contact while in a counselling session. These professionals are paid to guide the thinking of vulnerable clients. They know that they are in a position of power and trust and that a client couldn’t give consent to sexual activity with them; they know that their own professional standards would see them lose their job for such conduct. Our criminal law needs to be changed so that consent cannot be used as a defence in such settings, as it is in some other countries. I’m not holding my breath. Today I’m too scared to see a male counsellor. 

It is true that I have achieved apologies and a significant payment for what I have been through. But I’ve had to fight to get them. Were these things healing? It is a bit like getting an apology from a bully who has been forced to say sorry, then shrugs his shoulders and walks off, seemingly unchanged. Similarly, survivors of abuse cannot come close to reconciling with the institutions that harmed them until those organisations come to the table with genuine remorse, compassion and a real desire for change. 

There have been enough recent headlines to suggest that churches aren’t working with any urgency to keep people safe. Last year the Anglican bishop of Wellington, Justin Duckworth, chose not to stand down a priest who was being investigated by police for sexual offending. It took a conviction to get him away from vulnerable parishioners. The Catholic bishop of Auckland, Patrick Dunn, recently arranged to house a priest convicted of grooming a minor on the grounds of a primary school. At Gloriavale, victims are expected to live their day-to-day lives with their offenders. Little has happened to change my perception that incompetence and self-protection at the expense of those who are harmed is not something historical within the church; it is ongoing.

I also feel anger and a misplaced sense of guilt that I have achieved some justice while so many continue to be denied it. I gave evidence at the royal commission, looking into abuse in faith-based institutions, and I was far from alone. There are thousands like me, targeted by predators who knew how to spot vulnerability. My vulnerability was my grief and post-traumatic stress disorder, but for many others it was their age. Those who were abused as children have been seeking justice for many decades. 

For many, it ruined their education and their development, depriving them of the skills to navigate the complexities of the justice system. For others, the abuse destroyed their relationships, removing the support system of a loving partner through the process, something I was lucky enough to have. Some were never given psychological care, their unprocessed trauma leading them on a pathway to prison. Others never had the financial means to seek justice. Some were thrown a paltry sum by the church or state and told to keep quiet. So many are too broken to fight their way to getting what I have. Redress shouldn’t be this hard. 

The most common thing said to me though is that I am courageous for speaking out. I’m not surprised as it has been and still is a daunting thing to do. But what does it say about our society that victims need to be courageous to report abuse? If my house were burgled and I reported it to the police, no one would say, “wow, that was a brave thing to do”. We need to look at why this courage is required and why research tells us that the majority of sexual misconduct goes unreported. 

Working with other survivors, I have compiled a list of the many hurdles to reporting abuse. Often victims have to overcome the shame, guilt and confusion that comes with being abused by a trusted figure. Then, they have to confront the potential reactions of others when they do speak out, which could include being judged, labelled, disbelieved, ostracised, humiliated and unsupported. Survivors also risk their abuse details becoming salacious content for creeps on the internet. I’ve had to block a run of friend requests from male strangers on social media since my abuse was in the media. The survivor more than often endures all this, only to have their abuse minimised and accountability dodged by those responsible. 

My case is finally on the public record and can be pointed to as a precedent, which I hope will make the path to justice easier for others. My case is proof that the statute of limitations does not always preclude victims of historical abuse from getting justice, and that PTSD can render a survivor incapable of reporting earlier. I also insisted that the settlement amount in my case be public. I hope those that get offered private settlements of pathetic amounts can point to mine and say they deserve more. I was heartened when clergy abuse survivor Robert Oakley referred to doing just that in his statement to the royal commission. 

Sometimes I still feel perplexed, sickened and sad. It seems that wherever there are vulnerable people and people in positions of trust, a small percentage will abuse that power. It’s certainly not just happening in faith-based settings, but in schools, sports clubs, state care and families. Our ACC sexual abuse counsellors are overwhelmed with demand. Recovery can take a long time and I feel such sadness at what it has taken from me and countless others.

New Zealand’s appalling abuse statistics will continue to stay that way if speaking out about it continues to require this much courage. I want everyone to feel free to speak out about abuse – not just the brave but also the scared and broken. Predators bank on their victims’ silence. We must not stand by and let this happen. Just this week I have had three survivors of church abuse in New Zealand contact me for guidance around how to seek justice – that alone makes it all worthwhile. I want to say this to survivors directly: there are people out there who will stand with you. 

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