What do you think?
Rate this book
A Stolen Life: The Bruce Trevorrow Case
On Christmas Day 1957, Joe Trevorrow walked through the blistering heat to seek help for his sick baby boy. When relatives agreed to take Bruce to hospital, Joe was relieved – his son was in safe hands – but, within days, Bruce would be living with another family, and Joe would never see his son again. At the age of ten, Bruce would be returned to his Indigenous family, sparking a lifelong search for an identity that could never truly be known and a court case that made history.
292 pages, Paperback
Published July 1, 2019
6 people are currently reading
67 people want to read
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews
July 17, 2020
This is a salutary and heartrending story of the harm that can be caused by the application of well-meaning, but misguided, legislation by self-righteous bureaucrats.
Bruce Trevorrow, when a toddler, was removed from his Aboriginal family and placed in foster care by South Australian bureaucrats' administration of that State's native peoples protection policy.
He was the first and only member of wider Australia's "stolen generation" of Aboriginal children to win financial compensation through the judicial system for the physical and mental harm that he suffered from this (now widely recognised) inhumane policy's application.
This is a traumatic story, no doubt. However, it is written by a lawyer who delves deeply into legalese and evidentiary minutiae so that, sometimes, the book can feel like a case study for a legal undergraduate. That said, the story is a cautionary tale for all of us who seek to do good but are too ideological or self-righteous to put ourselves in the shoes of the targets of our evangelism to discern the potential harm in our zeal.
Bruce Trevorrow, when a toddler, was removed from his Aboriginal family and placed in foster care by South Australian bureaucrats' administration of that State's native peoples protection policy.
He was the first and only member of wider Australia's "stolen generation" of Aboriginal children to win financial compensation through the judicial system for the physical and mental harm that he suffered from this (now widely recognised) inhumane policy's application.
This is a traumatic story, no doubt. However, it is written by a lawyer who delves deeply into legalese and evidentiary minutiae so that, sometimes, the book can feel like a case study for a legal undergraduate. That said, the story is a cautionary tale for all of us who seek to do good but are too ideological or self-righteous to put ourselves in the shoes of the targets of our evangelism to discern the potential harm in our zeal.
July 23, 2019
THE BROKEN MAN WHO BATTLED THE STATE - AND WON
***This review was first published in National Indigenous Times on July 23, 2019***
https://nit.com.au/the-broken-man-who...
Please note, this story contains the name of a person who has passed away.
During Christmas-time in 1957 an Aboriginal baby boy falls sick.
The anxious father—carrying the baby in his arms—searches for someone with a vehicle.
He finds neighbours who are willing to drive his son Bruce two hours to Adelaide Children’s Hospital.
A couple of weeks after admission, no longer sick, baby Bruce is fostered to a non-Indigenous couple. There’s no paperwork. No questions asked. No consent from Bruce’s parents. Staff tell the couple the baby has been abandoned, neglected.
Bruce will never see his father again.
So starts A Stolen Life, The Bruce Trevorrow Case, a distressing story about the only member of the Stolen Generations to sue an Australian government for compensation and win.
It was written by Antonio Buti, a lawyer who prepared Stolen Generations submissions for the national inquiry that resulted in the Bringing The Home report and the current WA Labor MP for Armadale.
Bruce’s story first caught Mr Buti’s attention when it made headlines in 2007.
“Initially I wrote an article for a legal journal. Then I realised that the story needed a wider audience,” Mr Buti said.
A move from legal academia to politics meant time was scarce, and all up, the book took Mr Buti nearly ten years.
“The story was always burning, and the desire was to complete it. Living in Western Australia, with the case occurring in South Australia, there were long periods of hiatus. But I had an obligation to the people I interviewed, including Bruce’s wife and siblings, and I wanted to honour his legacy and their fight for justice.”
Gently, and with great care, Mr Buti describes the violation of the fundamental rights of a 13-month-old baby, the devastation of public service malpractice, and government departments that move swiftly with zeal, but not compassion.
He articulates the profound effects the removal had on Bruce both as a child and an adult—the sickness, depression, anxiety, insecurity and alcohol dependence.
Bruce is a man who doesn’t belong to the white family who grew him up, or to the Aboriginal family from whom he was stolen.
He is a man who has endured many false dawns.
A Stolen Life moves from harrowing personal history to high drama in the courtroom.
In 1993, Bruce learns he may be able to sue the government for taking him away from his family. He contacts the native title unit of South Australia’s Aboriginal legal service where he meets Tim Wooley. Bruce speaks to Wooley in a voice so soft Wooley must lean forward to hear.
‘I think they should compensate me; they should give me money for what they have done to me. They took me from my family, and from my people, the Ngarrindjeri people.’
Wooley stares at the sad, broken man in front of him. He is silent, wondering how to answer.
Bruce staggers into the silence, shattering it. ‘What they did was wrong. Can you help me find out more about what they did to me? Can I sue them?’
Wooley refers Bruce to Joanna Richardson, manager of the civil unit at the Aboriginal Legal Rights Movement on King Street in Adelaide. It’s to be an auspicious meeting. Five years later, Richardson will tell Bruce that there’s enough evidence to sue the State on his behalf. Her lead counsel, will be the highly credentialed Julian Burnside QC.
By the time Bruce Trevorrow gets his day in court as part of a gruelling 38-day trial, he’s on heart tablets, Panadeine Forte, Valium and antidepressants.
Mr Buti said when Bruce stepped into the witness box, it was without falsity or artifice.
“The fact that he sat in the witness box was very compelling. He was a broken man. Even the judge said the same thing …”
In less capable hands, we might find ourselves stranded in a jungle of legalese. But Mr Buti has a gift for cutting down complex issues into straightforward terms. The trial never loses its quick and gripping tempo, or its hum of tension, despite the fact that we know the outcome.
In court, there’s a need for a narrative, for a well-told story, and Mr Buti delivers, right up to Justice Gray’s judgement.
The Justice found that Bruce was dealt with by the State without lawful authority in a manner that affected his personal wellbeing and freedom, that he was falsely imprisoned, and that he was the subject of breaches of the common law duty of care owed by the State. He ruled that the State must compensate Bruce for damages.
“Justice Gray’s judgement was beautifully written, very poetic, but logical. It was a very human reading of the law, a proper reading of the law, and Justice Gray read the law as it should be read,” Mr Buti said.
Later, Bruce will contact the lead counsel on his case, Julien Burnside QC, and ask him to write to Justice Gray on his behalf
‘[Bruce] wants him [the Justice] to know how much he appreciates the respect with which His Honour has treated him as a witness and as an Indigenous person. Throughout his damaged life, Bruce too often has presented as unlikeable and as emotionally detached from family and from those who would try to be his friend. Clearly though, at his core, those innate human values exist, and Justice Gray has reached them with this act of thoughtfulness in the midst of a trial that must operate according to procedure shaped by soulless bureaucracy.’
Was it worth it, for Bruce?
Mr Buti said it was.
“It was definitely worth it. He felt vindicated. He felt like finally someone had listened. It was a judicial acknowledgement of the abandonment and damage he felt,” Mr Buti said.
The case’s precedent value remains unclear, but it has been a catalyst for a reparations scheme in South Australia which allows claimants to seek compensation without enduring a long and expensive court process.
A Stolen Life should be read by students of law, or anyone interested in studying law; by every public servant working in areas of policy that affect First Nations people; by anyone with an interest in Australian history; by Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians alike.
It is a devastating and important part of our truth-telling as a nation.
A Stolen Life was published by Fremantle Press this month and will be launched in Adelaide on August 12th.
***This review was first published in National Indigenous Times on July 23, 2019***
https://nit.com.au/the-broken-man-who...
Please note, this story contains the name of a person who has passed away.
During Christmas-time in 1957 an Aboriginal baby boy falls sick.
The anxious father—carrying the baby in his arms—searches for someone with a vehicle.
He finds neighbours who are willing to drive his son Bruce two hours to Adelaide Children’s Hospital.
A couple of weeks after admission, no longer sick, baby Bruce is fostered to a non-Indigenous couple. There’s no paperwork. No questions asked. No consent from Bruce’s parents. Staff tell the couple the baby has been abandoned, neglected.
Bruce will never see his father again.
So starts A Stolen Life, The Bruce Trevorrow Case, a distressing story about the only member of the Stolen Generations to sue an Australian government for compensation and win.
It was written by Antonio Buti, a lawyer who prepared Stolen Generations submissions for the national inquiry that resulted in the Bringing The Home report and the current WA Labor MP for Armadale.
Bruce’s story first caught Mr Buti’s attention when it made headlines in 2007.
“Initially I wrote an article for a legal journal. Then I realised that the story needed a wider audience,” Mr Buti said.
A move from legal academia to politics meant time was scarce, and all up, the book took Mr Buti nearly ten years.
“The story was always burning, and the desire was to complete it. Living in Western Australia, with the case occurring in South Australia, there were long periods of hiatus. But I had an obligation to the people I interviewed, including Bruce’s wife and siblings, and I wanted to honour his legacy and their fight for justice.”
Gently, and with great care, Mr Buti describes the violation of the fundamental rights of a 13-month-old baby, the devastation of public service malpractice, and government departments that move swiftly with zeal, but not compassion.
He articulates the profound effects the removal had on Bruce both as a child and an adult—the sickness, depression, anxiety, insecurity and alcohol dependence.
Bruce is a man who doesn’t belong to the white family who grew him up, or to the Aboriginal family from whom he was stolen.
He is a man who has endured many false dawns.
A Stolen Life moves from harrowing personal history to high drama in the courtroom.
In 1993, Bruce learns he may be able to sue the government for taking him away from his family. He contacts the native title unit of South Australia’s Aboriginal legal service where he meets Tim Wooley. Bruce speaks to Wooley in a voice so soft Wooley must lean forward to hear.
‘I think they should compensate me; they should give me money for what they have done to me. They took me from my family, and from my people, the Ngarrindjeri people.’
Wooley stares at the sad, broken man in front of him. He is silent, wondering how to answer.
Bruce staggers into the silence, shattering it. ‘What they did was wrong. Can you help me find out more about what they did to me? Can I sue them?’
Wooley refers Bruce to Joanna Richardson, manager of the civil unit at the Aboriginal Legal Rights Movement on King Street in Adelaide. It’s to be an auspicious meeting. Five years later, Richardson will tell Bruce that there’s enough evidence to sue the State on his behalf. Her lead counsel, will be the highly credentialed Julian Burnside QC.
By the time Bruce Trevorrow gets his day in court as part of a gruelling 38-day trial, he’s on heart tablets, Panadeine Forte, Valium and antidepressants.
Mr Buti said when Bruce stepped into the witness box, it was without falsity or artifice.
“The fact that he sat in the witness box was very compelling. He was a broken man. Even the judge said the same thing …”
In less capable hands, we might find ourselves stranded in a jungle of legalese. But Mr Buti has a gift for cutting down complex issues into straightforward terms. The trial never loses its quick and gripping tempo, or its hum of tension, despite the fact that we know the outcome.
In court, there’s a need for a narrative, for a well-told story, and Mr Buti delivers, right up to Justice Gray’s judgement.
The Justice found that Bruce was dealt with by the State without lawful authority in a manner that affected his personal wellbeing and freedom, that he was falsely imprisoned, and that he was the subject of breaches of the common law duty of care owed by the State. He ruled that the State must compensate Bruce for damages.
“Justice Gray’s judgement was beautifully written, very poetic, but logical. It was a very human reading of the law, a proper reading of the law, and Justice Gray read the law as it should be read,” Mr Buti said.
Later, Bruce will contact the lead counsel on his case, Julien Burnside QC, and ask him to write to Justice Gray on his behalf
‘[Bruce] wants him [the Justice] to know how much he appreciates the respect with which His Honour has treated him as a witness and as an Indigenous person. Throughout his damaged life, Bruce too often has presented as unlikeable and as emotionally detached from family and from those who would try to be his friend. Clearly though, at his core, those innate human values exist, and Justice Gray has reached them with this act of thoughtfulness in the midst of a trial that must operate according to procedure shaped by soulless bureaucracy.’
Was it worth it, for Bruce?
Mr Buti said it was.
“It was definitely worth it. He felt vindicated. He felt like finally someone had listened. It was a judicial acknowledgement of the abandonment and damage he felt,” Mr Buti said.
The case’s precedent value remains unclear, but it has been a catalyst for a reparations scheme in South Australia which allows claimants to seek compensation without enduring a long and expensive court process.
A Stolen Life should be read by students of law, or anyone interested in studying law; by every public servant working in areas of policy that affect First Nations people; by anyone with an interest in Australian history; by Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians alike.
It is a devastating and important part of our truth-telling as a nation.
A Stolen Life was published by Fremantle Press this month and will be launched in Adelaide on August 12th.
April 22, 2020
A largely legal drama about the case of Bruce Trevorrow, an aboriginal man. He was born in 1955 and lived with his family at "one mile camp" near the Coorong in South Australia (a lake, estuary near the mouth of the Murray River, a bit like the Mississippi in the US). They lived in a shack, described in the book as being made from 44 gallon drums hammered flat and nailed to a wooden frame. Nice and warm in summer, pretty cold in winter.
When he was 2 years old he had a fever and his father carried him to the nearest town and got someone to drive him to Adelaide. The father could not go with them as he had other children waiting at home. Bruce went to the Adelaide Children's Hospital. However his parents could get no information about his condition or even his whereabouts. Eventually a letter was sent to them (called "the lying letter" by one of the lawyers, Joanna Richardson, in the long running case), completely fobbing them off. Bruce's parents (possibly illiterate, not sure about this) were no match for the state authorities.
Bruce had in fact been adopted by a white family and did not have contact with his birth family for many years. He lived a troubled and unhappy life, marred by alcohol and violence and the accompanying ill health that many at the bottom of the social ladder suffer from.
Australia had a policy for many years (explicit and covert, with a different expression in different agencies) of removing Aboriginal children from their families. In many cases it stemmed from a policy aimed at ensuring that the children did not grow up to be "aboriginal" in culture. It was described as "genocide" in one major government report (something the authors regretted as all the ensuing debate was about the term rather than the impact of the policy).
The book has a wider relevance than Australia. It explores the way the marginalized are treated by the state powers including those services that are meant to be there for their protection. I won't give away how it ends.
When he was 2 years old he had a fever and his father carried him to the nearest town and got someone to drive him to Adelaide. The father could not go with them as he had other children waiting at home. Bruce went to the Adelaide Children's Hospital. However his parents could get no information about his condition or even his whereabouts. Eventually a letter was sent to them (called "the lying letter" by one of the lawyers, Joanna Richardson, in the long running case), completely fobbing them off. Bruce's parents (possibly illiterate, not sure about this) were no match for the state authorities.
Bruce had in fact been adopted by a white family and did not have contact with his birth family for many years. He lived a troubled and unhappy life, marred by alcohol and violence and the accompanying ill health that many at the bottom of the social ladder suffer from.
Australia had a policy for many years (explicit and covert, with a different expression in different agencies) of removing Aboriginal children from their families. In many cases it stemmed from a policy aimed at ensuring that the children did not grow up to be "aboriginal" in culture. It was described as "genocide" in one major government report (something the authors regretted as all the ensuing debate was about the term rather than the impact of the policy).
The book has a wider relevance than Australia. It explores the way the marginalized are treated by the state powers including those services that are meant to be there for their protection. I won't give away how it ends.
April 19, 2021
I started reading this as research for an assignment but ended up being drawn in by the whole story. It really opened my eyes to the atrocities that occurred before I was born and was really distressing at times.
Read
September 3, 2019This powerful and heart-breaking story is skillfully presented, making an important part of Australian history accessible to mainstream readers.
May 18, 2024
A hard story to hear, and a little hard to read through legal arguments, but so worthwhile to know.
Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews