Heidi Yates: Canberra's voice for victims of crime

It's a big task. The agency she heads deals with about 2,000 victims in Canberra a year, and she gets involved with many of them. There are calls from desperate people in the middle of the night.

So, how to switch off?

In the past, to fight what she calls "the mental churn", she would put on a pair of roller skates.

She would play roller hockey: "When playing for the 'Brindabelters', the pure physicality of the sport meant your brain had be clear of everything other than how best to stay upright."

These days, recreation is gentler. She's built a greenhouse and she helps bake bread.

Her partner operates the Tin Shed Bread bakery in Gundaroo where she bakes sourdough. Every sour-dough has a distinctive flavour particular to its area, in this case Gundaroo.

Heidi Yates said she felt like her partner's apprentice, lighting the wood fire on the oven, delivering loaves. She is learning the mysteries of flour and water and how they mix with the local air to produce dough and then splendid loaves.

Each batch of sourdough comes from a previous one, going back decades. It is an alchemy of delight.

She said of her partner's craft, "She uses a wood-fired oven and a sourdough starter that was gifted to her by a family friend, with claims it is more than 40 years old."

It is all a respite from the consuming day job. Of the 2,000 people helped by the which the agency she which she heads, about 40 per cent are victims of family violence, followed by high numbers of sexual assaults, non-sexual assaults and burglaries. About half the victims are men and half are women.

All these crimes have long-lasting impacts. Violent crime is not a one off event. The shock can last a life-time - the recurring memory of a fist or a brute face never goes away. It takes its toll on the victims.

On the door of Heidi Yates' office is a sign written by her nine-year old daughter, saying, "Welcome to Heidi's office. She will help you!"

"She understands that I help people to whom bad things have happened through no fault of their own.

"She knows it's not unusual for me to receive calls from neighbours, friends and friends of friends who need help at all hours."

On the wall behind her desk is a mural by a young Canberran artist, Mimir Soboslay Moore. The desk, by the way, is one of those high ones at which she stands because she spends a lot of the rest of her time sitting in meetings.

The painting behind it has a purpose: "When I started in this role I was aware that I would be having many difficult conversations with Canberrans whose lives had been horrifically impacted by crime and I wanted to create a welcoming and warm environment," she said.

What comes over is an utter devotion to the cause of victims of violent crime.

There are different types of help available, including access to counselling. "For many, the impact of crimes is life-long. A fear of leaving the home, of being in public spaces can lead to people becoming extremely isolated.

"We work with individuals and their families to identify their specific needs."

A new scheme will start in 2020. There will be "intermediaries" to help children talk to the police, courts and other authorities, say if they are victims of sexual assault or the witness to a murder.

These experts in psychology and child behaviour will be there to understand the child's demeanour and speech to help elicit the truth and reduce the distress of reporting it to police or lawyers.

Heidi Yates was immersed in this world of helping others from childhood. Her mother worked in the Canberra Rape Crisis Centre and her father was a federal public servant involved in industrial and also indigenous affairs.

She grew up hearing about people who were having a hard time of it and this environment seems to have influenced her and her siblings - her two sisters and a brother are all in "helping" jobs: a midwife, a physiotherapist working with disabled people and development aid.

In school,she once gave a genuinely clever answer to a maths question and "I was hauled in front of the class and told that 'nobody likes little girls who are too smart for their own good'."

"Looking back, I recognise I was only one of an infinite number of girls and young women who were 'put in their place' for providing an insightful response."

She said it "marked the beginning of my aspirations to 'level the playing field' for those who may otherwise go unheard."

So the smart student went into the law, helping victims of family violence. She became an advocate for gay rights.

She might have gone in another direction, learning the piano from the age of five and passing her piano teacher qualifications at the age of 15. "I considered going into professional performance but I decided to keep music for recreation."

Was she, then, a "goody two shoes?" "noo, noo, noo" she says with a vehement shake of the head.

She has a smile - with steel behind it. She is warm and helpful but you wouldn't want to cross her.

"I often wear a smile but I'm unhesitatingly tough when it comes to calling out nonsense when I see it," she said. She gets exasperated by bureaucratic delay or inaction.

She says she does not lose her temper. "I'm fairly measured but I'm often frustrated by the slow pace of change when it comes to the bureaucracy and the legal system."

The piano is a recreation, and the glass house, and the bakery. The job is a calling: "I felt driven to practice a profession where I could give voice to people experiencing injustice and who aren't otherwise heard."