Despite James Wallace being found guilty of indecent or sexual assault against myself and two other men, I still hear claims that his “minor indiscretions” should be shrugged off. That we can let this stuff slide, since he’s given so much money to artists and arts organisations over the years. I’ve also heard the view, often from the upper echelons of the arts world, that “we knew what we were in for” when we chose to meet with James Wallace. And I suppose that therefore, we deserved what we got.

This twisted attitude suggests to me that these victim-blamers knew who Wallace really was, and what he was up to. They had the knowledge for years that this man was a creep at best, and super- predator at worst, and yet they chose to do nothing other than indulge in a bit of gossip. In one way or another, many have suckled on the poison teat of James Wallace, but since charges were laid against him in 2017, very few have come forward to admit that they regret it.

The Wallace Arts Trust retained him as a trustee for over three more years. In 2021, when after two trials he was found guilty and sentenced to two years and four months in prison, still a stark silence.

Of course, Wallace enjoyed name suppression throughout, so that makes it difficult for official condemnation to be made. Finally, in early July of this year, the trust issued a statement to the New Zealand Herald. The trust has not published this on its own website. I find it galling there’s no acknowledgement of the victims nor a proposal for an internal review.

Meanwhile, in the months between being found guilty and his sentencing, Wallace was back at exhibition openings and New Zealand Symphony Orchestra performances, accompanied by a small but loyal cadre of supporters, still clinging on. No one bothered to boot him out. When his name suppression finally lapsed in June of this year, no apologies were made by the major arts organisations, dealers or artists who had relationships with him.

I understand why they’re all keeping quiet — in acknowledging the horror of Wallace’s assaults, they’d also be reckoning with their own place in the solar system that allowed it all to take place. They’d have to admit their relationships with Wallace garnished his public image as a man of taste, respect, fine art, wealth and, ultimately, power. But there was a not-so-hidden cost to this deal: irrevocable damage to the lives of young men, many of whom I suspect have not been able to tell their stories.