"Mr Coles, look at Thien's* legs!" This is not a request you get asked every day as a Grade 4 teacher, so in the rush of getting ready to start school for the day I stopped to take notice. Looking to where Sophie was pointing, at the back of Thien's legs across her calf muscles, I saw some red, striped horizontal marks.
"What happened, Thien?" I asked, fearing the worst.
"My mum she hit me," stated my young Vietnamese pupil in her broken English.
"She's got more marks higher up too Mr Coles," added Sophie. By this time other curious students had started to gather, so I figured I needed to take action.
"Thien, Sophie, come with me. We need to see Mrs Beaufort." This was a problem I, as a male, was not qualified to pursue. Looking at the back of a girl's legs was one thing, but lifting her dress to inspect her back was definitely out of the question!
Finding Mrs Beaufort, our wonderful office manager and "first aid lady" in the staff room, I quickly explained what I had discovered, and the concerns I had as to what might be visible "higher up".
"Come with me Love," Mrs Beaufort said kindly to Thien. "You can go back to class now Sophie. Thanks for your help." As I also turned to go, she added, "I'll take a look and let you know what I find."
My mind went back to just a few weeks ago, mid-way through the school term, when Thien, whose Vietnamese name meant "Heavenly", first came to our small Christian school. This was in the early 90s, and Vietnamese migrants and refugees were still arriving in Australia in considerable numbers, though somewhat depleted from those in the early 80s, after the end of hostilities in Vietnam.
Thien's mother had come to Australia as a single mum several years earlier, leaving Thien behind in Vietnam, being cared for by her aging grandmother in a small farming community, where Thien had received little schooling, and had been free to roam the rice paddies at will. At last, her mother felt herself in a position to be able to bring her daughter, who was now almost a stranger to her, to live with her in Melbourne, Australia.
Understandably, coming to Australia to live after the freedom she experienced in Vietnam proved a massive culture shock for poor Thien. She found herself in a school where no one except a few first-generation Australian-born Vietnamese children could speak her language, and she knew no English. From being free to roam the fields of her home village during the day, she now had to submit to the confines of a classroom, seated at a desk, trying to learn to read, write and do Maths in English with children who were far more advanced in their education than she was.
The other children in her class were not too sure what to make of Thien. No one understood her, the behaviour she exhibited in class was disruptive, loud, and irritating, and as her teacher I was kept fully on my toes trying to harness the energy in this pretty, happy-go-lucky, wild young creature enough to even begin to get her to learn any of the "stuff" she so desperately needed to know! So I did what all teachers do when confronted with behaviour such as this. I organised an interview with Thien's mother to discuss her conduct in class and how that was impacting on her learning, and we organised an individual learning and behaviour plan for Thien. Part of the plan involved reporting each night to the child's mother, when she collected her from school, concerning Thien's behaviour and learning progress that day. Mum was very happy to agree to the plan, and assured us of her cooperation, and that she would also talk to Thien about each day's report when she got home. As far as I was concerned, I felt relieved that her mother was so cooperative and supportive of what we were trying to do for her daughter.
From then on, the "plan" seemed to be working well. Thien seemed to be genuinely enthusiastic about improving, and certainly tried very hard to do her best day by day. I noticed gradual progress, both in behaviour and learning, but it still remained very difficult for Thien to follow instructions, and even though she was gradually learning a little of the language, communication continued to be a major problem. The other girls, particularly, tried very hard to be kind to her and include her in their games, but socially she remained a complete misfit, with little idea about playing fair, taking turns, not trying to dominate, and not getting abusive and rough when she couldn't get what she wanted.
Every afternoon I would dutifully report to Thien's mother on her daughter's behaviour and learning progress that day. I tried to be as positive as possible, speaking in glowing terms about every improvement, even if it meant exaggerating the point, but of course, there were usually some behaviours which were not yet what they should be.
"Wait until I tell you what I found!" Mrs Beaufort's voice didn't sound exultant or triumphant. It bore a note of extreme sorrow and concern. I turned my thoughts back to the present, to hear what had been discovered. What I learned brought tears to my eyes. Thien's legs and back, from her calves to her shoulders, were covered in fresh red stripe marks, as well as some bruises and older, more faded marks on the back only. The story Thien had managed to tell was shocking.
Every night, after getting my report on Thien's behaviour for the day, her mother would take her home, strip her naked, put her up against an inside wall of the house, and beat her across the back with a broom handle as "punishment" for her conduct at school. Until now, she had been careful to make sure the beatings occurred across the child's back only, but last night she must have been particularly angry, and allowed the broom to extend lower, enabling others to discover the tell-tale marks.
Australia has mandatory reporting laws. Whenever teachers, or any professionals, discover a suspected case of child abuse, they are required by law to report it to the Department of Human Services, who then examine the report further, and if necessary, get the police involved. Mrs Beaufort reported the discovery to the school principal, who contacted DHS, who sent a representative to the school within a relatively short time. Following the social worker's inspection of Thien's injuries, the police were notified. Inexplicably, the police advised that Thien should be sent home with her mother as usual, and they would follow the matter up at her home, together with designated welfare officers, who meanwhile would organize alternative safe accommodation for the poor child. Meanwhile I was instructed to behave as normally as possible when meeting Thien's mother that afternoon, but just to give her a glowing report on Thien's behaviour that day. Well, what more could I do? Realizing her life was facing a turning point, Thien's behaviour during the rest of that day had been faultless!
The next morning I eagerly waited for news of the previous night's events. What I heard was not a happy story. The DHS officers had called at Thien's home, prepared to take Thien to a safe house, but her mother, obviously having found out something was going on, refused to allow them into the house, and barricaded the door. Finally the police arrived and, after all efforts to persuade Thien's mother to release her daughter failed, they designated it as a hostage scenario and, armed and in full protective gear, forced their way into the house. Thien's mother was arrested and charged, while the child's belongings were packed up and the poor, confused, traumatized little girl was taken to a safe house. I heard later that she had been relocated to the home of a relative some distance away, so she never returned to my school.
Unfortunately I don't know the end of that story. I have never seen or heard of Thien from that day to this. As far as I know her mother faced child abuse charges and was found guilty, but what happened to her after that I am unaware of to this day.
But I do wonder, how many more children were there, are there, like Thien, who perhaps never even get