Power does strange things to human survival instincts. When someone holds massive influence over your career, your public standing, and your opportunities, cutting them off cleanly isn't as simple as walking away.
That complex dynamic sat front and center during the ongoing Sydney courtroom proceedings involving former radio broadcaster Alan Jones. A prominent former athlete—identified in court documents as complainant M—faced intense scrutiny over why he kept sending friendly holiday greetings and polite texts to Jones long after alleged sexual assaults took place. His answer laid bare the uncomfortable reality of navigating a relationship with an influential figure: "I was being polite."
Human behavior under the weight of high-status intimidation rarely fits neat, cinematic scripts. Observers outside these dynamics often expect victims to instantly block, rage against, or publicly expose wrongdoers the moment a boundary is crossed. Real life operates under much messier rules. When you are dealing with a media titan who has spent decades shaping public narratives, wielding immense cultural authority, and occasionally offering genuine professional support, the calculation shifts. Survival, career preservation, and deep-seated social conditioning kick in.
The Anatomy of Post-Incident Contact
During cross-examination at the Downing Centre local court, defence barrister Gabrielle Bashir SC pressed the witness on his continued communications. The court heard how M had sent warm holiday wishes and maintained a veneer of cordiality. Prosecutors and defenders alike dissect these digital breadcrumbs, treating them as tests of credibility.
Yet, anyone who has spent time studying workplace power imbalances or high-profile institutional abuse recognizes this pattern immediately. M described a relationship defined by professional reliance and personal debt. Jones had been a vocal supporter. He had helped the athlete navigate personal crises. That creates an asymmetric bond.
When an authority figure crosses a line, the target often tries to manage the fallout without triggering a catastrophic public war. You manage the situation. You smile through discomfort. You send the text wishing them a happy new year because breaking ties openly with an untouchable media heavy-hitter carries professional risks that outsiders rarely calculate.
Challenging the Myth of the Perfect Victim
The courtroom debate hinged on a tired societal expectation: the notion of the flawless victim. For decades, legal defenses have leaned heavily on how a complainant acted after an alleged offense. If you replied to a message, if you attended another event, or if you stayed in the same room, legal strategists love to frame those choices as proof that nothing untoward happened.
M testified about two specific incidents. One involved an unwanted kiss at an event in 2015, followed by a text message from Jones declaring, "I love you. I hope you can feel my kisses, darling." Another alleged assault occurred inside Jones's Macquarie Street apartment in 2020, where the athlete described feeling physically blocked from leaving as Jones leaned in.
Instead of screaming or causing a scene that could permanently damage his own standing in sports circles, M muttered "OK mate" in a defiant tone and walked out. That response—measured, non-confrontational, and aimed at de-escalating a volatile moment—gets interrogated in court as if it were an endorsement.
It is not an endorsement. It is a coping mechanism.
The Power Imbalance in Australian Public Life
Alan Jones spent four decades ruling the airwaves. Politicians quailed at his phone calls. Sporting codes adjusted to his commentary. His influence wasn't abstract; it was immediate and punitive.
When an individual operates at that altitude of societal control, challenging them carries steep costs. Complainant M is the third of six complainants to give evidence in a trial encompassing 20 charges of indecent assault and two counts of sexual touching. He is also the first to give evidence in a closed court, coming face-to-face with Jones.
The defense spent hours picking apart photographs, timelines, and text strings. They pointed to mutual warmth, professional closeness, and past generosity. But generosity from the powerful often comes with invisible strings attached. It binds you. It makes you second-guess your own instincts. It makes you send a polite text in December just to keep the peace and keep a dangerous person at arm's length.
We need to stop evaluating trauma through the lens of how polite a survivor tried to remain while figuring out how to survive an encounter with power. Politeness is often just armor worn by people who have no other way out of the room.
