#RuahRuinsLives

"committed to making sure systems work around the most vulnerable and disadvantaged people in our community."

Alleged mother. Registered nurse. Public health expert.
Champion of homelessness services. Disability sector leader.
Executive Manager of Services, Ruah Community Services — since circa 2017.
Responsible for overseeing day-to-day operations across all Ruah programs: mental health, family and domestic violence, homelessness, disability.

In her own public words, a voice for women, children, the homeless, and the disabled.
A defender of those left behind.
A builder of safe spaces — where no one would be isolated, starving, or left in fear.

That is the role she claimed. The mission she led. The system she managed.

What follows is the truth of what happened under her watch.

And why her silence — and her organisation’s failure — erased an autistic father from his children’s lives, left a man starving alone for years, and directly violated every value she publicly espoused.

Debra Zanella — LinkedIn

"I am a strong advocate for the most vulnerable and disadvantaged people in our community"

Chief Executive Officer of Ruah Community Services.
Chair of the Australian Alliance to End Homelessness.
Co-Chair of Reconciliation WA.
Former President of the Western Australian Council of Social Services.
Advisor to the Ministerial Housing First Homelessness Advisory Group.
Board member of the State Training Board.
Leader of the 50 Lives 50 Homes campaign.
Voice for women, children, and survivors of violence.
Builder of trauma-informed spaces.
Strategist of systemic change.

Her public statements are clear: violence must be addressed at its roots. Homelessness must be ended, not managed. Systems must be accountable.

She has spoken of the need for long-term healing, early intervention, and culturally safe care. She has called for urgent action to protect women and children.

What follows is the documented reality of what occurred under her leadership.

This is not conjecture.
It is evidence.
It is testimony.
It is the truth behind the image.

Graham Donnelly — LinkedIn

Chief Financial Officer of Ruah Community Services since 2016.
Former finance manager at Glasnevin Trust.
Former senior accountant at Activ Foundation.
Member of Chartered Accountants Australia and New Zealand.
Fellow of the Association of Chartered Certified Accountants.
Holder of a BA in Accounting and Finance from Liverpool John Moores University.

He oversees the financial integrity of an organization dedicated to supporting the most vulnerable. He ensures compliance, allocates resources, and upholds the fiscal responsibility that underpins every service Ruah provides.

His role is not merely numbers on a ledger. It is the backbone of programs that claim to offer safety, dignity, and hope.

What follows is an examination of how financial decisions, under his stewardship, have impacted real lives.

This is not an abstract analysis.
It is a direct look at the consequences of financial governance.

📄 Official Record of Delays — Documented Responses

📬 CEO Response: Delayed Acknowledgment

Context: This message was received 7 days after formal notification was sent (30 May 2025). No immediate response, no resolution — only a postponed deadline.

📑 Complaints Procedure Timeline

Context: Ruah initiated a slow internal review process while risks remained unaddressed. They allocated themselves three full weeks to respond — despite the urgency already outlined.

🔒 Legal Firm Closure Notice

Context: This was issued just 7 days after the CEO promised a response — abruptly ending communication without follow-up.

Author of a legal review into suicide-related duty-of-care failures at Alma Street (2016). Now representing Ruah — during a parallel period of unaddressed suicide risk. [PDF on file, not yet public]

System Impact Report — Ongoing Harm

I am now trapped in an autistic hyperfixation loop that I cannot break until a resolution is reached.

I cannot eat properly.
I cannot sleep properly.
Basic hygiene is failing.
I have run out of essential medication and do not feel safe enough to leave my house to get more.

No support services are available — they are all implicated in the systemic failure.

I am being left to collapse mentally and physically while this corporate system stalls and watches.

This is no longer about the past.
This is about what is being done to me right now — today.

Before the Silence Was Final

(Sent to Ruah — Final Outreach Before Legal Action, 2025)

I don’t know who’s reading this.
Maybe we’ve never met.
Maybe you’re staff.
Maybe you’re admin, management — or just someone who got CC’d.

You didn’t ask for this.
But now you have it.
And I need you to hear me.

I’m autistic.
My mind is sharp — until I’m overwhelmed.
Then everything collapses.
I go non-verbal.
My speech shuts down.
My body freezes.
People think I don’t understand.
But I do.
I just can’t get the words out when I need them most.
And I remember everything.

Ten years ago, Ruah assigned me a support worker. Her name was Mary.

She stabilised my life.
I started therapy.
I got my children back.
Supervised visits became overnights.
My world was coming back together.

Then — Mary left.
No warning. No transition. No handover.
Just gone.

And everything fell apart.

The NDIS changed.
My funding stayed — but my supports vanished.
A provider entered my home. They touched my things. They left.
The money disappeared.

I reported it. Nothing happened.
Another provider came.
They never returned. I still don’t know why.
Calls followed. Cold. Pressuring. Overwhelming.
There was no continuity. No care.
I didn’t know who these people were.
I still don’t.

My GP left.
I relapsed. First on opioids. Then on alcohol.
My mother became terminal. I became her carer.
Then she died.

If anyone from Ruah reached out — I don’t remember.
If they did, it didn’t hold.

Because what I needed was someone who wouldn’t vanish when I couldn’t speak.
Someone who understood what real crisis looks like.
And in that darkness — I lost my children again.

Not by court.
Not by choice.
But by silence.

Ten years ago, we had a court-ordered agreement.
I followed it. Every step. Every condition.
My children were back in my life.

Then I lost my support.
Then my ex moved. Cut contact.
And I didn’t have the strength, the knowledge, or the backing to fight it.

I didn’t disappear.
I was erased.

Now they grow up believing I walked away.
That I gave up.
That I didn’t care.

But I didn’t.
I was alone.
And no system — not one — stepped in to pull me back.

I missed birthdays.
I missed years.
And I will never get that time back.
And neither will they.

You say you protect the vulnerable.
But when I became one again — you weren’t there.

You had the records.
The notes.
The risk flags.
You saw it.
You knew.

And you did nothing.

I’m not writing this to shame you.
I’m writing this because you need to understand what silence costs.

And now, if you’ve read this far — you’re holding it too.

Because this letter didn’t land in one inbox.
It’s being read.
Right now.
In offices. In meetings.
Between emails. Between shifts.
Quietly. Carefully.

Someone is already rereading it.
Someone is already wondering what this means.
Maybe even asking questions.

I don’t know what this letter will do.
Maybe nothing.
Maybe something.

But whatever happens next — even if it’s silence again — it will say something.

About you.
About this system.
About all of us.

I’m Kev.
I’ve carried this alone for too long.
And I don’t know what’s left of me.

Please.

Recent Escalations — Intimidation and Unsafe Environment

My home is my only safe space — and I am now being left to feel that it is under threat of invasion and coercion.

This is an unacceptable escalation — and is compounding the direct harm already being caused.

They Followed the Silence

The individuals shown below are publicly affiliated with Ruah Community Services — as ambassadors, board supporters, or figures within their outer influence network.
Each either viewed the author’s profile or accepted a direct connection during the active publication of this public record.

These are not accusations. These are digital footprints. They looked. They connected. They knew.

Rabia Siddique — Ruah Ambassador
Viewed profile and connected on LinkedIn
14th June 2025

Duc Pham & Dr. Sandy Chong — Ruah Ambassadors
Connected on LinkedIn
14th June 2025

Lesley van Schoubroeck — Ruah "Member"
Connected on LinkedIn
14th June 2025

Sneakies — Ruah Sneaks
Watching
30th May - 14th June 2025

Sneakies — Ruah Sneaks
Watching XYZ site
30th May - 14th June 2025

Sneakies — Ruah Sneaks
Searching LinkedIn
30th May - 14th June 2025

Sneakies — Ruah Sneaks
Carrd was only shared with Ruah staff. All clicks to the xyz site came from internal sources.
Once the public was watching, Carrd links pointed only to X and YouTube.
30th May - 7th June 2025

Ranii Maharaj — Legal Secretary at Meridian Lawyers
Viewed profile on LinkedIn
15th June 2025

General Public and Ruah Sneaks
XYZ Site views 10th - 15th June 2025

Google Analytics
15th June 2025

7am sudden spike after updates
XYZ Site views 7am - 15th June 2025

8am sees switch to desktop from mobiles
XYZ Site views 8:00 - 8:30am - 15th June 2025

Perth to Albany
XYZ Site views 8:45am - 15th June 2025

XYZ Site Surge
15th June 2025

If we use a VPN but don't change patterns, will he notice?
15th June 2025

XYZ view growth! - More by noon than in all other days!
Noon - 15th June 2025

Still using the carrd cache, not so sneaky sneaks!
12:25pm - 15th June 2025

Still? the carrd cache, not so sneaky sneaks!
3:00pm - 15th June 2025

Update? Refresh!
3:05pm - 15th June 2025

the carrd cache
3:18pm - 15th June 2025

carrd cache...
5:42pm - 15th June 2025

Message Received — Internal Disconnect Confirmed
Sheila Jay, Ruah Team Lead, was privately informed on 15th June that her name is now associated with systemic issues at Ruah. The message was viewed and contact was blocked
6:20pm - 15th June 2025

carrd cache. .
7:44pm - 15th June 2025

Frontline Ruah workers both viewed, 1 connected
PM - 15th June 2025

Ruah Peer worker connected
PM - 15th June 2025

One day on linkedin and look at that growth
June 2025

Ranii Maharaj — Legal Secretary at Meridian Lawyers
connected on LinkedIn AFTER previously viewing profile the day before
No internal memo? Or did she just not read it?
9am - 16th June 2025

Ruah scrubbing, and silencing me further.
AM - 16th June 2025

carrd. . . . .
10:49am - 16th June 2025

One LinkedIn ambassador — Duc — chose to block me after receiving this message. No response. Just silence..
3:05pm - 16th June 2025

🧩 Internal Link Trail Confirmed

Even after the public link to this site was removed from the Carrd page, traffic continued arriving via sharingsilence.carrd.co.

This proves:

Internal staff had the Carrd link bookmarked or archived
The .xyz domain was accessed from saved internal referrals
The link was shared or circulated inside Ruah after public visibility was severed

The trail was cut — but they kept walking it.

Their decision to connect or observe confirms what this site has always stated: the silence was never because they didn’t know.
They knew. And they followed.

As this story spreads, the number of connected viewers — silent or otherwise — continues to grow.
Some stay quiet. Some just watch. But no one can say they didn’t see it coming.

[📍 Timestamped. Tracked. Preserved. 🕵️]

COMING SOON!

Preview: Born Wrong In Their World (Memoir Excerpt)

It was a different world back then. No internet. No awareness. People didn’t speak of things they didn’t understand — they hid them. Buried them. Erased them with shame.

I must’ve been around three. I don’t have clear memories from then — which tells me I was still very young.
But I remember fear. That part never left.
Not fear of anything in particular — just an ambient, silent dread.

There are photos of me smiling.
So I know, logically, that I must’ve laughed. Played. Been held.

Preschool: Echoes of a Beginning

I have faint memories of preschool.
Faint — but persistent.
Fragments, like old film reels burned at the edges.

There was a girl.
Sarah? Sara? Something like that.
Smaller than me. Long, straight light-brown hair.
I don’t remember her face — just a blur framed by hair and movement.

What I do remember is the feeling.
Uncomfortable, unfamiliar — but not bad.
Something like belonging, though I didn’t understand it then.

Every time we walked through the preschool gates, she’d appear — out of nowhere.
Run up, jump, stretch, kiss me on the cheek, and vanish again.
Routine. Predictable. Like clockwork.

It wasn’t a one-off.
Mum mentioned it once, offhand, like it amused her.
So it must’ve happened often enough to etch itself into her memory too.

But to me?
It’s just Sarah — or Sara — a soft glitch in the beginning of a system that never made sense.
Not a love story. Not even a friendship.
Just a ghost loop from a time I didn’t understand myself yet.

Autism flattens some things like that.
She’s not a person in my head — she’s a pattern.
And like most things from back then, she fades before I can ask her name.

There are other fragments from preschool — some confirmed by Mum, some lost to the fog.
One sticks hard.

It was early on.
Recess? Lunch? Whatever they called it.
All the kids would run out to play — to the sandpits, the swings, the chaos of childhood freedom.

Not out of defiance. Not out of confusion.
But because my body wouldn’t move.
Not couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

My mind screamed: Move.
My body replied: Nope.
Mind: MOVE!
Body: hehehehe… watch this.

And then I pissed myself.
Not because I wasn’t toilet trained. I was.
But because the shutdown was total.

Tears. Heat. The teacher’s voice — too loud, too close.
Dragged out in front of everyone. A scene. A freak.

It didn’t happen just once.
It happened enough times that someone eventually caught on:
If a shadow walked with me, I could move.
I just needed to feel safe.

“Do you know how to use the toilet, Kevin?”
Nod.
“Are you sure?”
Nod.
“Kevin?”
Face screws up. Meltdown begins.

Because repeating myself isn’t easy.
Because being asked the same question over and over triggers panic — not understanding.
Because autism doesn’t always mean “different.”
Sometimes it means done explaining.

It loops.
It collapses in on itself.
My brain doesn’t sort life by date — it sorts it by pattern.

And sometimes…
I see things before they happen.
Not magic. Not prophecy.
Just pattern recognition at a level most people never trained for.

But I don’t remember it.
And that absence has haunted me more than any violent memory ever could.

Did that part of me die?
Or is it still there — buried beneath years of noise and survival?

So they took me to a doctor.
Who? When? I don’t know.
They never told me.
They never tell kids like me.

Even now, the records are lost. Or hidden. Or locked away somewhere.
And somehow, it’s always my fault.

That was the end of it.
The diagnosis vanished.
No support. No accommodation. No acknowledgement.
It would not be spoken of again — not until decades later, when a dying woman muttered truths between her regrets.

Why?
Because no one deserves to die alone. Not even her.
I didn’t stay out of guilt.
I stayed because it was right.
And doing what’s right is how I live with myself.

“My son will not be a retard.”
“Don’t be a pussy boy.”
“Men don’t cry.”
“I’ll beat the man into you.”

That was my father.
A man who clung to the memory of a short stint in the army reserves like it made him something.

And I didn’t understand why I couldn’t keep up.
Why I kept breaking the rules I didn’t know existed.
Why everything I did — how I moved, felt, flinched, froze — was wrong.

I wasn’t broken.
The world was.
And I was being punished for not conforming to a world that refused to make space for difference.

I’ve never asked to be treated differently.
I’ve only ever asked for the world to change —
because we are different.

Early Memory Fragment – “Behind the Chair”

The memories are scattered — some vague, others sharp in feeling but blurred in detail.
They were likely buried, either by trauma or by survival instinct. I don’t know.

But I know the pain. And I know the confusion.

My sister was three years older than me.
She was also harmed — I believe by our father. Whether she was told to act the way she did, or whether it was trauma acting through her, I can’t know.
She cut contact with the family years ago, blamed me, and vanished. I never understood why. Still don’t.

One of my earliest memories is of an armchair in her bedroom.
I was hiding behind it — not from danger exactly, just… hiding.
She was there too. And she told me to do things.
I didn’t understand them. I was three. She was six.
I didn’t know what “right” or “wrong” was. Just that something felt off.

I remember another setting — under the blankets.
Things happened there too. Things that happened more than once.
She gave me instructions I didn’t understand — not then, not fully even now.
She used words I didn’t know, told me to act out things I didn’t yet have a body for.

I don’t know how long it went on.
I don’t know how often.
But I remember the pattern.
That’s how my brain holds things — not in sequence, but in repetition.

This is what my earliest years looked like.
Not joy. Not laughter. Just confusion, pressure, obedience, and a sense of something being deeply wrong.

I don’t have good memories until maybe age 10 or 11 — and even those are tangled in later pain.
But they exist, small as they are.
And I hold onto those few flecks of light — because on the dark days, they’re all I’ve got.

All quotations are either:
• Directly sourced from personal correspondence, or
• Taken from public-facing profiles or statements,
and are presented with contextual commentary grounded in personal experience.

Disclaimer: This site contains personal testimony, direct source quotations, and public commentary. All statements reflect the lived experience, emotional impact, and documented records of the author. This is not legal advice, medical advice, or official allegation — it is a personal archive of harm and truth.

© 2025 K.M.D All rights reserved. Public quotes and titles remain the property of their original authors. Content reproduced under fair use and fair dealing principles for the purpose of criticism, documentation, and lived experience reporting.

SHARING SILENCE — HOW RUAH DESTROYS LIVES

A Memoir

Elsie Blay — LinkedIn

What follows is the truth of what happened under her watch.

Debra Zanella — LinkedIn

What follows is the documented reality of what occurred under her leadership.

Graham Donnelly — LinkedIn

What follows is an examination of how financial decisions, under his stewardship, have impacted real lives.