The kindness of strangers
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The second half of May will forever be a strange time.
Certain dates are now etched in the memory.
The day that turned out to be my last day on-air… the day I realised that I’d be losing my job after only a month… the day my family and I had to abandon our house because of the intense media interest… the day I almost took my own life.
It was an extraordinary few weeks, let me tell you.
Since then I’ve said and written a lot about the injustices I feel have occurred, and about the reckless (and at times dishonest) way the media has behaved. I’ve also apologised for my own actions in the past that had been brought to light.
But as I now reach three years since those extremely dark days after, I want to write something about the people who got me and my family through that time, and the years since.
And they don’t need to be named, because it’s their actions which speak volumes.
Imagine moving back to your home country after 21 years away.
Well I’ll tell you, it’s almost like moving to a brand new country. Everything’s familiar but so very, very different. And for your family who’ve only visited once or twice, it’s basically a foreign land.
And then, six weeks after arriving, your life and career blow up.
It’s all over the TV news, the radio, and the front page of newspapers. The people you called friends for decades have disappeared without so much as a word - or worse yet, publicly turned on you with a bunch of untruths and reimaginings. The people who only a week earlier were so keen to catch up in person have vanished as well.
You are completely isolated, aside from the family who’ve taken you in.
Inevitably in such times, there’s a quote which comes to mind:
“The best thing you learn from the worst time in your life is that you get the true colours of everyone.”
And what I learned about, and am thankful for to this day, is the kindness of strangers.
We barely knew our neighbours… and yet, as we suddenly had to grab a few belongings and take off from our house on a Saturday morning, they rallied around.
As reporters kept coming and going from our front door, peering into the windows, our neighbours were there to (politely) tell them to bugger off. After one reporter kept trespassing on our property, they put up an endearingly-misspelt sign:
Weeks later, other neighbours came round in the middle of a storm, with home-made cookies that their daughter had baked for us.
These were essentially strangers, who were reading all sorts of things about me in the paper and online, and yet they were the ones who showed the most understanding and the most kindness. I’m sure they had plenty of questions, but they recognised that we needed support - and that came first.
There isn’t a way to fully express how much that support means.
Having to sell our house and move away so we could finance our ongoing legal battles was bittersweet (emphasis probably on the ‘bitter’!) but I’m happy to say that those strangers are still friends.
(There were also neighbours who we’d never met who made sure the local grapevine was kept updated with what they ‘knew’ about what had happened. Suffice to say, what they ‘knew’ was nowhere near the truth… just gossip… lies, actually. I’m fine with never having met them.)
It was a good six months before I even started venturing out of the house again.
That might sound melodramatic, but until you’ve been in a situation like that you genuinely cannot have any idea of what it’s like and what it does to your brain and your nerves.
With a shaved head and a straggly beard, I was (I hoped) largely unrecognisable:
BEFORE AND AFTER: TWO PHOTOS, TAKEN SIX MONTHS APART in 2022
But then you have to say your name out loud when you’re, say, picking up a click-and-collect order. And when your name is a little more unique than most, people soon realise who you are.
You get a dirty look from the person giving you your takeaway pizza order… or just a fleeting look of recognition followed by palpable awkwardness as the person at the shop till realises you’re that guy they’ve read so much about.
Or you attend an event at your daughter’s school, and its very clear that no-one’s going to talk to you… because they’re too busy talking ABOUT you.
But then the person at the pharmacy sees you walk in, and just quietly gets your prescription and brings it to you as you’re standing in the queue… so you don’t have to say your name out loud, or hang around longer than you’d like.
Or the person at the supermarket checkout recognises you… but instead of avoiding eye contact, says “I’m really sorry for what happened. I hope you and your family are doing okay.”
Or the hairdressers welcome you in and provide a safe space, while you forget about the world for a while.
Or you meet the parents of your daughter’s friends for the first time, and it reaches that point where you have to clarify ‘who you are’… and they don’t make any fuss, because really, it’s just about your kids being friends.
Heck, even the neighbourhood dogs who have no idea who you are - and actually couldn’t care less, as long as they get a tummy rub.
It’s these moments - and these people (and fur babies) - which stay with you.
I remember hearing during the COVID-19 years about New Zealand’s attitude, led by then-Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern, of being kind.
I think by April 2022, the combination of multiple lockdowns and strict vaccine mandates had largely put paid to that. People were fed up; their tolerance and sympathies stretched to the limit.
But I’m glad it hadn’t completely evaporated.
You never know what other people are really going through, and even the smallest of gestures can be so incredibly powerful…
… especially if they happen to be home-made cookies!