It has never been easy to shine a light on the realities of sexual violence inside women’s prisons. For decades, women have whispered the truth through the cracks of an institution built to silence them: the violence is not rare, not accidental, and certainly not new. It is structural. It is cultural. And it is enabled by layers of collusion, disbelief and impunity that allow officers to abuse their power with near-total protection.
Sisters Inside has long called for transparency across Australia’s prison systems. Its CEO Debbie Kilroy has warned for years that: “If the community understood and knew what was occurring inside our prisons, they would be absolutely outraged.” The public outrage did come, but only when the abuse became too large, too organised, and too horrifying to ignore.
The Astill Case Was Not the First, But It Was the One That Forced Australia to Look
The arrest and prosecution of former NSW prison officer Wayne Astill marked a watershed moment, not because he was the first officer to commit sexual violence against women in custody, but because the scale and visibility of his crimes made public denial impossible.
On 25 August 2022, a jury convicted Astill of 27 criminal offences, including:
- Five counts of aggravated sexual assault without consent
- Fourteen counts of aggravated indecent assault
- Three counts of aggravated act of indecency
- Five counts of misconduct in public office
In total, Astill was convicted of 35 offences against 14 women at Dillwynia Correctional Centre. In sentencing him to 23 years’ imprisonment, Judge O’Rourke SC described his offending as a “gross breach of trust,” noting that the women under his authority were entitled to confidence that they would be “appropriately and lawfully looked after.”
Yet, as the Special Commission of Inquiry later revealed, many women did try to report him. They were disbelieved, silenced, dismissed as “untrustworthy” because they were prisoners. Officers who attempted to raise concerns were rebuffed. Management suppressed rumours rather than investigate them.
Astill maintained that all sexual acts were consensual, a claim the Commission described as a failure to grasp the “gross imbalance of power” between an officer and the women he controls. In prison, there is no such thing as consensual sex with a staff member. The person holding the keys to your cell also holds the power to punish, reward, isolate, restrict privileges, or determine your every movement. Consent cannot exist in captivity.
Violence Does Not Happen in a Vacuum, It Happens in a System Built to Protect Itself
The fallout from the Astill case continues. Three separate Strike Force investigations have been established, not only into Astill’s crimes but into alleged attempts by other officers to intimidate victims and conceal evidence.
This week, former senior officer Leanne Cameron was to appear in court charged with stalking/intimidating female prisoners who were preparing to give evidence to the Astill Inquiry. She is the third woman charged in relation to alleged cover-ups, following charges against Giovanna Cavarretta (charges against Cavarretta were subsequently dropped) and Jacque Maloney. However, on the day before she was due to appear in court to face these charges, we understand that the director of public prosecution has dropped all charges against her.
Cameron was suspended on full pay during the investigation, a standard practice in Corrective Services.
It is a striking contrast. At the same moment the federal government is seeking to expand police powers to cut off Centrelink payments to people merely because a warrant exists for their arrest, correctional officers facing serious allegations of misconduct continue receiving full salaries during investigations. The irony is not subtle: those with the least institutional power are punished pre-emptively, while those embedded in state institutions are shielded by them.
Where Were the Voices Then?
The Astill Inquiry uncovered a “viper pit” culture at Dillwynia, one in which rumours were suppressed and victims discouraged from speaking. Despite this, many of the voices now proclaiming deep concern for “women’s safety in prison” were nowhere to be found. In recent months, conservative commentators, carceral feminists, and certain women’s groups have centred themselves in debates about transgender women in custody, claiming, rather loudly, to be defending the safety of women in prison.
Yet, during the horrifying revelations of systemic misogynistic violence perpetrated by prison officers, these same voices were silent. Commentators who report on violence against women often have little to say about the serial rape of women in NSW prisons. And figures like Peta Credlin, now vocal about “protecting” women in custody, did not raise their voices when women were being harmed by male officers inside Dillwynia.
None of the care that is reserved for women in the community was mobilised for the women who endured years of sexual violence under Astill’s authority. It was not mobilised for the women who tried to report but were ignored. It was not mobilised to call for transformation of the system that enabled those crimes. The silence was unmistakable, and damning.
The silence was deafening.
This Is the System Working as Designed, and It Investigates Itself
It is tempting to frame these cases as anomalies – “bad apples” in an otherwise functioning system. But the evidence overwhelmingly suggests otherwise. Astill should never have been hired in 1999 due to allegations raised three years earlier. His rise through Corrective Services was facilitated, not hindered, by a culture that prioritised institutional reputation over women’s safety.
After the Inquiry, NSW established an “anonymous” phone line for prisoners to report sexual misconduct. It has been inundated by hundreds of calls, a testament not to growing confidence, but to the scale of the problem.
Despite the Inquiry’s many recommendations, meaningful implementation remains elusive. As with so many inquiries before it, governments have offered acknowledgement and procedural tinkering, but little structural change. Women are expected to trust the same institution that harmed them to investigate itself.
This is neither independent nor safe. And it is certainly not justice.
What Women in Prison Need Now
The Cameron matter, was not simply an isolated case, it was to be the first criminal consequence to emerge from a system that allowed sexual violence to fester for decades. But prosecution alone will not solve the problem.
Women in prison need:
- An independent, external, specialist body to receive and investigate complaints of sexual violence
- A guarantee that reporting will not lead to punishment, retaliation, or loss of privileges
- Transparency across corrections, including publicly available data on sexual assault allegations, outcomes, and officer misconduct
- Implementation, not shelving, of Inquiry recommendations
Sexual violence in prisons is not a peripheral issue. It is a predictable outcome of a system that concentrates power in the hands of officers, isolates women from community oversight, and embeds a culture where officers protect each other, not the people in their custody.
Women in prison deserve safety, dignity, and the ability to report harm and violence without fear. Until we confront the entrenched institutional culture that allows sexual violence to thrive, and until we establish truly independent mechanisms for accountability, women in prison will continue to be harmed, and the system will continue to shield those responsible.
The question is no longer whether the violence exists. The question is whether we are willing to act on what we now know.