a full circle moment

part one

I never thought I’d find myself at another crossroads in my career.

Yet here I am, 12 years later.

I’ve done this before (back in 2012) when I decided to quit teaching. It was one of the hardest choices I’ve ever had to make. Not one I wanted to make, but one I could no longer avoid. The people I worked for were becoming increasingly difficult to deal with. And the burnout was so intense it felt like I was walking barefoot across hot coals, day after day.

So, for the sake of my mental health and wellbeing, I knew my time there was up.

I’d already drafted a resignation letter but sat on it, trying to build up the courage to hand it in. I didn’t have to wait long, though. Like clockwork, another incident happened… and something finally clicked. It was time.

I walked into the College Board Chairman’s office and handed him the letter. He wasn’t happy. I could tell. By then, I’d become pretty good at reading through his poker face and inflated ego. In fact, I spent most of my final months at that school trying to figure out whether anything that came out of his mouth was truth or total fiction.

It was exhausting.

I honestly thought I’d feel some relief once I finally handed over that damn letter. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. Things spiralled quickly from bad to worse. The College Board didn’t take my decision well. And when I say “College Board,” I mean the husband and wife team pulling the strings. The rest were just puppets.

What was once manipulation, intimidation and dishonesty escalated into full-blown bullying and guilt-tripping. Then came the final straw: one of them actually showed up at my front door (yes, the front door of my home!) to verbally abuse me. Apparently, I had left them “high and dry”. I “owed it” to them to stay on. And, unbelievably, it was, according to them, my religious obligation to continue.

It was bad. Really bad.

That moment at my door was the turning point. The Independent Schools Union advised me not to return, even though I’d given the school two full terms’ notice. I had done that because I knew how hard it would be to find a replacement. I was the school principal, after all.

(Well, “Dean of College” was the official title. A title that now makes me want to gag)

All of this came to a head just as I was about to leave for my first Hajj pilgrimage. The leave had been planned and approved earlier that year. The day before my flight, I had family visiting to wish me a safe trip. That’s when I got another call from one of the puppet board members. That day I should have been excited about this once-in-a-lifetime journey, instead his phone call filled me with stress and anxiety.

This guy was a trained medical doctor. Last I heard, he might be working as a psychiatrist now (which feels painfully ironic given the manipulative and deceptive behaviour he displayed towards me and others). He decided that that was the right moment to call and tell me what a terrible Muslim I was for asking for my legally owed annual and long-service leave. I remember feeling desperate and completely worn out. I begged him to stop, to just leave me alone. I wasn’t asking for anything more than what I was entitled to by law.

Long story short, I went to Hajj and came back, but the weight of it all still sat heavily on my shoulders. Out of principle, I decided to file a complaint with Fair Work Australia. With the help of a relative, I gathered pages of evidence (emails, voicemails, text messages) all showing a clear pattern of bullying, mismanagement and misconduct. When I sat before the commissioner and presented my case, he was stunned. He said I had a strong case to pursue further compensation if I wanted to.

But I was emotionally spent. I didn’t want a drawn-out legal battle. I just wanted to make a point. I knew and watched helplessly as they’d done this to others before me, withholding income that was rightfully owed.

I’ll never forget the last time I returned to the school to collect my personal belongings. It was after school hours because they wanted me to do it quickly and quietly.

It felt like I was trespassing on a life I’d whole-heartedly poured everything into.

But they didn’t want me seen by staff, students or especially parents! They were so fearful of what I might say if anyone asked what had happened or when I’d be coming back. That was a hard pill to swallow, given the strong relationships I’d built with so many of them. The very least I deserved was a chance to say goodbye. But they were scared of the truth. Instead, I was expected to just disappear.

No announcement. No farewell. No explanation.

Anyway, as I drove through the gates that late afternoon, I heard someone call my name. I looked up and saw the school groundskeeper waving me down. He was a kind, soft-spoken man who had come to Australia as a refugee with his young family from Afghanistan. I stopped the car and rolled down the window.

“Assalamu alaikum, Lina. Do you know when I will receive my pay?” he asked in his broken English.

I was confused at first. I thought he was asking about the regular pay cycle and so I confirmed the next payday.

“No, no, no,” he said, clearly upset. “I haven’t been paid in weeks! I need money for food, for bills, for my family…”

I looked at him, shocked but not surprised. As the “Dean” of that school, I was furious and ashamed and felt totally responsible. But believe it or not, this wasn’t just an isolated incident. The list of people who’d been fooled into working for little or no pay kept growing. Another reason why morally, ethically, Islamically and legally I couldn’t continue working there anymore.

My eyes welled up.

“I’m so sorry. I wish I could help, but it’s out of my hands. I don’t work here anymore.”

He looked at me, confused. Then, unexpectedly, he started crying.

“But what will we do now?”

“I’m sorry. I just don’t know what else to tell you. I really am sorry.”

And that was the truth. The “College Board” controlled everything. What came in, what went out. The school’s finances were lied about constantly. Large sums of money went missing, and just as suddenly, large sums would appear again from what I came to realise were bogus companies and shell businesses.

Things were not right. And I had no choice but to step away and stand up to it.

Did it change the way they operate? The way they continued to treat staff, students or the parent community? The way they ran the school? Nope. But despite the toll it took, I stood my ground because I knew it was the right thing to do.

It took years to recover from that experience. Years of tears, frustration, anger and disappointment. I spent many hours questioning everything. My choices, my career, my worth. I’d gone from running in what felt like organised chaos for so long to suddenly…sitting in the stillness of having nothing to do.

to be continued…

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