My Statement re Intellectual Property Theft by Academics & Others – A True Story 4.57am Saturday 13th September 2025
My Statement re Intellectual Property Theft by Academics & Others – A True Story 4.57am Saturday 13th September 2025
My story is so vast that the events I’m going to describe are only a small portion of what my son and I have actually lived through and is ongoing.
I have to provide some relevant background because in relation to the intellectual property theft (IPT), is illegal and hidden surveillance placed inside our home (without my knowledge or consent) and those persons who accessed it and then committed theft.
Presumably, those persons, among others who have illegally entered our home in relation to the illegal surveillance, have had ongoing illegal access. My home and personal property searched, my unpublished biography, (written in 1995/96) taken and/or copied, which was then distributed and passed about and apparently copies made and sold with portions and details in my biography used by all sorts of people for their own enterprises. And that by itself was a crime of magnitude, let alone the hatred and cruelty of it, which continues to cause me great anguish and hurt. Elements of my biography, my intellectual property and the illegal surveillance have been used like ‘material’ without my knowledge or consent, for published cartoons, through to well known TV shows and movies.
It’s important to point out that I am a disabled lady and it was many years before I was aware of the above, let alone grasp that people could do this to another human being. Nor have I emotionally dealt with it all yet. I can’t do that till my son and I are able to get away from this nightmare situation.
My first work was in the field of molecular genetics and disability, in 2004/05 and first referenced in my biography, in the early stages of my work beginning to take form. Unbeknownst to me, this work likely attracted criminal elements. Strangely, I could not get academics in the genetics field here in Australia to have any interest in my discoveries relating to the cause of Rett Syndrome and Autism. Though now, I believe they actually were very interested, but only in my work, not myself or my son, (who also has my disability). I naively assumed doctors, professors and medical researchers had only good intentions. Not so.
In fact, a professor did something to my family that was so terrible, my formal complaint to the relevant authority was received but they would not act on it despite the unquestionable proof of what this professor had done. That complaint remains ignored, including my follow-up requests for action, despite it being a serious law enforcement matter.
Some very awful but pertinent events occurred between 1995 and 2008, but for now I will concentrate my focus on a particular example of an IPT of my work.
In 2008/09, my then husband (and carer) became a cruel and total stranger. He began to behave as if there were hidden cameras in our home. He placed unconnected computer speakers around my office desk and moved a pair of TV sets into the same office, directly facing me.
He sat one on top of the other, but only used one of them. He began to ask me questions about my genetics work, which prior had never held any interest for him. Each time he questioned me, I often found the nearby landline off the hook. I became uneasy and suspicious of his questioning in the office. Next I discovered he was placing his mobile phone near to me, but unseen, elsewhere in the house and before questioning me. It got so that I would insist on seeing where his phone was if he questioned me about my work, finally, I refused to answer his questions. My husband’s activities grew much, much worse and I became terrified of him. He turned into a total stranger, had new friends I never met, that would text him at all hours. I would wake in the middle of the night and find him and the car gone. In an outburst, he yelled at me that I was in the way of his being with a woman he’d met. I could go on and he got much worse. In March of 2009, in fear of my life and unable to cope with his severe cruelty of me any longer, I told him to leave. In hindsight, I feel this was the outcome he’d been wanting. He was thinking perhaps about legal issues and financial matters amongst other things. Leaving a marriage and being directed to leave, are different things I suspect, in relation to divorce. He had gone to extreme effort to make sure that I was financially distressed, borrowing against my house, yelling at me to sign yet another loan application which was ultimately refused by the bank. By March 2009, I couldn’t get a loan, penniless, he’d left me every debt including his personal loan which he wouldn’t pay and having co-signed for him, the bank came to me, which he knew they’d do. He wrote off my customized car. And one of my worst memories is him throwing me on the ground and strangling me till my vision was going dark and my son tackling him. The reason he did this was due to my FOI applications for medical records of Sean’s and mine. The following morning, was it a coincidence that every news outlet was talking about domestic violence? I had a mere few seconds before my breathing ceased, no ambulance could have got here in time to save my life.
For an entire year until he left, every single day he made me cry.
During that year, my sibling sent me a letter in late July, ordinary mail, that my mother was in some medical nursing type facility. I had been told that her knee had a problem a while back so I thought perhaps it’s that. Ordinary mail indicates nothing too serious. I still wrote back the same day and asked what was wrong, ordinary mail. My sibling got my letter Thursday. If this seems bizarre for her to not speak plainly or to not send a telegram, I myself think it’s absolutely vile. She apparently advised the facility that I had written her back, asking if it was Mum’s knee and she then must have asked the facility to write to me. They sent an express post, which arrived here Monday. Again, a telegram would have been same-day, takes just a few minutes online and costs less. The envelope had palliative care on it and I knew that fearful word. My husband phoned the facility for me and they advised him my mother had died two days ago, on Saturday (2nd August 2008). I just recall screaming ‘mummy’. My husband said ‘this is the worst thing your sister has ever done to you’ and I recall him saying it and thinking it odd, but couldn’t think why it was. And I still think it was odd. He was already past the shock and it was minutes ago we’d learnt. I was in shock, once I saw palliative I was already thinking of bag, Sean and leaving for Sydney. It was so shocking to do that, and all I could think of was my not seeing her. Then I began to question the ordinary mail, the lack of information. This was how medical people, my sibling and my mother all knowingly treated me. I will never forget that day, it was such a searing pain and to know it was intentional has no word.
The facility advised my husband the doctor would call me to explain what had happened to my mother. He never phoned. My sibling advised there was to be no funeral. I can never express the pain of this moment, it seemed unbelievable. What mother doesn’t tell her daughter she’s ill? What sibling goes along with it and then sends no information other than to vaguely mention a nursing home by ordinary mail? I had been told about Mum’s bad knee, wouldn’t it seem reasonable to tell me of any illness too? I swung from feeling a knife go through my heart to revulsion. And those two emotions that truly don’t belong together, fought back and forth for such a long time. Then I discovered a year later there actually had been some sort of funeral.
How could my mother and sibling do such a thing?
(I haven’t always used the word sibling, only since realising the truth and I just cannot refer to my sibling in the usual way now).
Two weeks after that, my new neighbour died and that was so sad. I was so pleased to have this new nice normal neighbour and friend and then just gone, in a moment.
A few weeks prior to learning of my mother’s death, my solicitor had communicated they would quit if I didn’t ‘pull’ my son’s compensation claim.
In early July of 2008, we travelled to Wollongong to attend the court to request an adjournment and transfer of the case up to here on the mid north coast. I had refused to cancel my son’s claim against the government department and their contractor for contaminating our home with deadly dust, having cut meters of AC sheet with power tools. I remember being so poor we had to borrow petrol money to get to the courthouse. The solicitor refused to give me our file, despite it being my file and they demanded payment of many thousands of dollars before they would return it. My husband had made sure I was penniless. (I’ve had the feeling for a long time now that he was handsomely paid for his services). In fact, one day in the lounge room he did or said something so strange that I said, ‘is somebody paying you? His reaction was to look in another direction and said to an invisible somebody ‘what do I do now’? I’d expected denial and screaming at me. My initial thought was that he’s got a mental illness.
(I believe I have a better idea of who he was talking to now. This being my husband, carer and best friend of sixteen years).
The solicitor even had my FOI file, the only work they had done was file a statement of claim and obtain our medicare records. When we arrived at the court, a solicitor from their firm was there and advised the contractor was dying of mesothelioma and had passed his entire assets to family members and away he went. We not only believed his lies, we felt sorry for the contractor.
When all this is happening, you don’t have hindsight, yet. And a strange thing that happened on that late night trip to Wollongong, I was semi-resting, turned to the left and perhaps it was my husband who spoke, but something made me look up and I saw a bright square glowing light that made me look because it was a strange colour and it was a nursing facility. Just weeks later, I discovered that facility was the very same facility that my mother had been to. I don’t know if she was there then, but I couldn’t get out of my mind that we were right there, we could have seen her. Now, I question was this part of the actual journey or had my husband taken us past there and off route? I still don’t know the answer, but the question has been there for many years now.
My ex-husband has never contacted me since 2009. For some time he remained in Macksville I believe, I would see him drive past in someone else’s car, at the same time each afternoon, and when he got to the boundary of my house, his hand would come up to obscure his face as he drove by. He never looked in, as you normally would, and he always did the exact same thing. I never saw him on the return journey.
By that time, I was so bamboozled, things coming at me from all directions, foreclosure, guardianship tribunals, trying to have a relationship. I was now representing Sean and I in district court against the government department responsible for the contamination.
A physiatrist and his male nurse inputted themselves into this situation, diagnosing me as psychotic, paranoid and I think delusional was the other. I have none of those conditions and I had never had a clinical discussion with him. He expected me to give that to Centrelink. And I had already had a shocking experience with Centrelink that resulted in the total fraudulent alteration of my statement made at their office, which they snatched from my hand and thrust in the shredder. So violent was her action, it jammed in the mouth of the shredder, so I grasped it back from the shredder machine and put it in my wallet. They had completely altered my statement to make me sound like a ranting lunatic. I had gone there for help, with my son in hand. I used their phone to call the AFP but there was no answer. It was as if we’d entered the twilight zone. When I couldn’t get an answer, we went away to get Sean some hot chips and then we’d return and again try to phone the AFP (Australian Federal Police). I ate the first chip just to try them and within seconds my eyes went funny and began to feel like things were spinning. I immediately realized and had to throw them in the bin and Sean was horrified. If he’d had just a few of those chips he would have fallen to the ground. I’m not sure what it was they’d put on them but suspect heroin or something like that. That only served to terrify me more. I tried another shop to get Sean something, he was having trouble and the reason I had went there was because I suspected Sean had been interfered with by a disability support person and what with everything else we were dealing with. In hindsight, I believe a Viagra type chemical had been put in something he ate or drank, but without any experience or knowledge of it, I didn’t recognize or know what was wrong. A support worker had taken him to a reserve and turned his phone off, so this, the fact the support worker was gay and Sean’s behaviour happening so close together, caused me to have to consider the possibility. Unless you have gone through something like this, you can’t have felt the horror I was going through. So now, Sean was more upset because I’d had to toss his chips. So we tried a shop we’d never been to before and hoped for the best. Fortunately, this shop had no involvement and I was able to get Sean something that was safe ie., free of chemical/pharmaceutical tampering. So back to Centrelink to try phone the AFP again and thought I’d better get a copy of the earlier statement, which was promptly printed out and given to me. I glanced at it and at first thought they’d given me somebody else’s document and then I saw my name and my mouth must have fell open. I looked at the woman I’d spoken to earlier and said this isn’t what was said. It’s nothing like it. I’ve never before encountered such brazen action and was dumbstruck that it was Centrelink. That’s when the manager came over and snatched it out of my hand. This too was shocking and she looked furiously at me when I placed the retrieved statement in my wallet. I reminded them that I had attended in order to phone the AFP and returned to do so. They refused to let me try to phone them again and the manager said she had phoned the police to have us removed. And the police came moments later and told us to leave. Because I had used all our money getting a taxi to Centrelink to get help, Centrelink gave me a voucher to contribute to the taxi fare back. I didn’t think we’d be returning to our house, I thought we’d be taken to a safe place.
So the psychiatrist has given me this fake paperwork, and if I want to afford to eat, expects me to give it to Centrelink. I prefer to starve so I refused the fake paperwork. I’ve never forgotten this psychiatrist and his burly male nurse in my driveway and my saying that I think my ex-husband has put hidden cameras in my house, believing that they would help me and arrange for someone to check if he had. He snarled at me and his voice changed to a frightening sound and said to me, ‘you say that once more and we’ll put you in this car and take you to the ______ psychiatric centre.
I went into shock. They returned that same day and came into the house and acted as if that never happened.
The next thing they did was to file a community order to force me to take risperdal. I don’t need medication, this was the medical field attacking me. They didn’t care if I took the risperdal, they just wanted there to be an order. I had to take a fraction of a tablet in front of them before they would leave, they left happy with themselves and I never took any again and they didn’t care, they just wanted the legal undermining of their fiction. Psychiatrists have far more power than a psychologist.
And I recall shortly after that incident, the judge hearing our case in the district court, turning towards me while I was on the stand and without any context to his question, asked me if I had to take psychiatric type medication. And a concept of discrediting someone, by medical people and other interested parties began to take shape.
At that time I was bleeding so heavily, there wasn’t any chemist product sufficient for my needs, which went on every day for more than a year. At one point, I had to exit the court the blood loss was so profuse. I slept with towels.
Whilst in court at the Coffs Harbour venue on one of the hearings or mentions, the only people in the courtroom was the government’s barrister and lawyer beside me, Sean close by with an aid and the judge. The door opened and four police officers walked into the court and sat directly behind me. So close I could hear their breathing. And I’m trying to run our case unrepresented and the judge is giggling. And all I can think of is Detective Bigg. What a low thing for those officers to do. When the police came to Centrelink they wanted to drive us home. I refused, because police near to me make me fearful because of the Bigg assault. And they must know that, it’s surely on file.
I hope people are starting to gain an understanding.
And I’m well aware there are those people who find all this amusing.
Imagine what I thought a couple of years ago when I read Bitcoin Satoshi referring to persons leaving their home and the people who came in to that home during their absence, which happened to be the very same time that we drove hundreds of miles away to Wollongong court because our solicitor had suddenly made an unreasonable demand and quit. The cutting of metres of AC sheet having occurred in my son’s bedroom.
Back to late 2009, things were incredibly frightening, every day. Pets being killed, (now numbering well into double digits).
Totally alone, I decided to phone my sibling and ask for a small loan and enquire what had happened to mum. Initially, it was a relief to hear a familiar voice. I learnt that my mother and sibling had went to New Zealand in the last year. My sibling and I were born in NZ, where my parents met. Themselves being from Scotland. Years later I learnt that they didn’t bother to visit my aunt or my cousins who reside in NZ. The people we spent our last days in NZ with were my aunt and uncle (deceased) and my cousins. Yet they never bothered to visit my widowed aunt. I was astounded, I had long been wondering why my aunt never mentioned their visit.
Then during a conversation my sibling said that I should give my work to someone else to do. Though I’m bamboozled by all that’s going on around me, I’m wondering what exactly does she know of my work and why should she want me to give my work to somebody. During all this time there are very strange activities, the sound of many extremely loud metal knife points scratching my metal roof when trying to sleep for example. Opening a kitchen cupboard and being face to face with a group of large rats. Subliminals of suicide being offered as a way to resolve what’s happening around us. A dozen ads being played in the same sequence, on all channels, dozens and dozens of times daily, day and night, on satellite TV. I could go on and on here. Much of our food and drink contaminated with chemicals that affect you in awful ways.
Conking out and never knowing when it will happen. It had been particularly bad and recall my sibling again telling me I really needed to give my work to somebody else. And I began to wonder does she mean that what is happening here in our home is happening in relation to my genetics work. I couldn’t grasp such a concept and how could she know what was going on here? When you’ve had medical people do the types of things I’d experienced, you know not to speak lest they use mental health policies to lock you up and your son taken to a government owned accommodation, then having to wade through the lengthy process of undoing their harm.
My Statement re Intellectual Property Theft by Academics & Others – A True Story 4.57am Saturday 13th September 2025 Continued
Due to our variant form of Rett Syndrome, part of my difficulty is a learning disorder, I had no idea these kinds of things went on. I tended to think most people were kind and caring. So I couldn’t fully grasp what my sibling was saying. She said, ‘you’ve really done it this time’. I didn’t know what she was talking about, but her saying that and my never having heard a family member say that to me before, caused me confusion. One hears a family member say something to another family member and you think there must be a reason to say that and she did, by the mere suggestion of that phrase, she was demonizing me for the people she knew who were listening. I did what I always did. What did she mean? Because it never occurred to me my sibling would demonise me, so then I tried to figure out what she meant. She’s only called me names of well known ladies who have married several times. And that’s all the context I had to figure out what she meant.
She wasn’t the executor for my father, I was. He knew he could trust me. My sibling knows Sean and I have a significant disability. She knows I was sent to a home for several years as a child, that doesn’t happen for a mild problem. Being able to try and look able because that’s what is wanted, isn’t able. Sean is trying to appear able because he’s learnt that. But he isn’t able and I don’t punish him for that the way people have punished me for it and still do for that matter.
So my sibling somehow knows what is going on here, but seemingly won’t or can’t tell me on the phone.
I said something along the lines of if there are people capable of doing work like mine, why aren’t they, or something like that. I was actually very frightened of this situation and had no carer or friend to explain or support me. Which seems to have been the plan I might add.
My sibling seemed happy with that, then the next time we spoke she said, ‘has it stopped’. My shock was that, I’m not mistaken, she really did know what was being done to us. I said no, and thought she cares, maybe they’ll come and collect us now. This was a really strange conversation to be having though. Like mafia. Why wasn’t she and her husband coming to take us to stay at her house? This is what I’m not understanding if she knows. Hence confusion.
I then pester and pester for her to visit, believing she will explain what she knows of what’s going on here in person. But she didn’t. And as she planned to leave, I begged her to stay so she would explain to me and it was also apparent to me that we weren’t being hurt while she was here. Something that stands out, whenever there was just one bed, my sibling and I shared it so I just presumed she would sleep in my bed and maybe then she would speak. But she didn’t, she chose to sleep on the two seater lounge chair. I thought that was unusual. Now I wonder about that. The same as not a single domestic worker using the toilet here, ever.
I so didn’t want her to leave us here, I wanted her to tell me what all this was about, so I had probably pleaded with her for the fiftieth time.
She flashed her wallet with photos of her son’s at me, I barely made the photos out but knew it was them and I was totally confused. What did that mean? I continued to plead with her not to go, she said she had her own family and left in a taxi. I had to gulp and couldn’t swallow because I just didn’t understand any of this. My thought about my work was that people would love and appreciate me for my work.
On a trip to Sydney court, we called in to my siblings home, a brand new ground floor level had been added and carved out rock made way for it. On this lower floor was all my mother’s furniture and her special pieces. My sibling had had a lightning strike short her electrics and every single appliance had been replaced, laundry, kitchen, lounge, computers, everything. As well the new lower floor. New cars, new motorbike, I was looking at a fortune and felt tremendous alarm and concern.
When I published my websites, believing that would end the nightmare and our lives become what they should, nobody wanted to know. I asked my sibling and nephews to visit my sites and be first to buy a few of my essays, I was so keen for them to do so, expecting they would be as well, when they didn’t, I sent a gentle reminder, she replied they’d get around to it, but they never did.
Prior to publishing my websites. I really couldn’t understand the lack of interest in my genetics work here. We weren’t welcome at all, in any way.
The strange goings on were still occurring here but locks were on cupboards and refrigerator, trunks and cases. Clothed showers since my husband had strangely directed me to go have a shower, when he’d never done that before. His strange smirk and glittering eyes that didn’t see me when he said it. He just walked past me and stared ahead. When I had that shower, I decided it was safest to be clothed, in case. And have ever since. That was approximately seventeen years ago. When I finished and left the bathroom, he was irritated. How could he know I was clothed? I couldn’t be sure if it was that behind his irritation, but before my shower, he seemed happy and now he was clearly irritated. What that entailed was very frightening. Why would he want me viewed in the shower? These were some of the thoughts racing through my head. And on a daily basis.
My genetics work had opened a window for me and I realized something very unique had occurred in our solar system. This realization caused me to look beyond Earth for an explanation. Seated on my footstool, at the rear of my house, on guard, where I could monitor several sections of the house, my thoughts went to space and I began to puzzle through our solar system, gravity which I produced a theory for, magnetism which led me to theorizing spin, the universe which led to more theorizing, such as the atomic fusion beam wave, physics, life, the stars which led me to theorize how they formed, black holes whereupon I theorized their jets and ability to merge and other works, for example, Mars and events that I theorized to have occurred there and much more. For another example, molecular intelligence, awareness and the vast molecular world.
In the process of writing all this work, by hand, I very fortunately photographed it onto an Apple digital device of the time.
I didn’t yet grasp what was occurring in my house, I certainly knew something was wrong but not why. Not long before my ex-husband left, he acknowledged it was the professor that was somehow linked to my house from his workplace and I certainly witnessed things that confirmed that, but there was much that didn’t make sense and nobody would explain it. I would rack my brain daily trying to make sense of it, doing my Astro work was so soothing for me and so much made sense, unlike my immediate environment.
In the course of doing this work, I used a word that I wasn’t sure was an actual word, nor had I ever seen it before, but it seemed appropriate. When I completed all my theoretical work, I needed to then attempt to correlate my work to incorporate those words that the field used. I couldn’t use words like ‘the whatsy and the thingy’. I had never read any book ever, on astronomy, not even the most famous people in the field. I’d never needed to. So I approached my work without any others’ works and theories in mind. Further, the information I read was the current knowledge at that time, like an encyclopedia. So I could see virtually most of my work was new, as well as being quite unique to me.
I thought about what to do with my work. I thought it possible that if I contacted someone well known in the astronomy field about my work, they might invite me to visit them in their country. I could pay our fares, and with an invite, Australia would have difficulty obstructing our going. And I did sense that Australia wanted to obstruct us, but not having any idea why. So I had my friend Stanley make the preliminary phone call overseas. At a set time, I phoned and spoke for an hour to the personal assistant of Stephen Hawking. It was agreed to give me the email address and fax number to send my letter to him and the mailing address of the university Mr Hawking was attached to. I immediately contacted a solicitor to have them send my letter. I felt that way I could be certain it was sent and received and that the receiver could feel assured that I was genuine. There was an odd thing said to me by the personal assistant which puzzled me, but I knew that Mr Hawking would understand me so I dismissed it. She said, ‘why are you hoarding your work’s?’ I didn’t know then, or now, what she meant, I just thought it strange. I’d only just that night first spoken to her. She had asked me to tell her my work and I said I didn’t think it safe to do so over the phone and writing was safest. And I had an ex-husband who liked taking the phone off the hook before questioning me about my work. But Mr Hawking never replied in any case and to be sure he got it, it was emailed, faxed and posted. I was very disappointed. So that left the other option, publish my work myself. Surely that would resolve everything. You can’t take something that’s already published.
The word I used that I wasn’t sure was a word, commenced with gravit and ended in ational. I used that word, followed by ‘value’. I doubt those two words used together have ever been used before. Some years later, I happened to notice an article, which was regarding a work by a pair of academics, which had won them a Nobel prize. That work contained not only a unique concept of mine, already being part of my work, but also written was the pair of words that I believe nobody but myself had ever used before, being ‘gravitational value’ which I had created to describe my concept and theory I was explaining.
There simply could not be another person to come up with my concept and the unique wording I used to describe it. I was devastated. I contacted a solicitor that worked in the area of intellectual property theft. He actually replied (most don’t) but some days later, he mockingly commented about my not being able to prove they had stolen from me. It meant they had stolen it by accessing illegal footage of my work. He wanted to know how I could prove that, but I could sense he really wasn’t interested.
There has been another Nobel prize to someone using this specific word and now the astronomy community use it adnauseum. They don’t acknowledge me or my work in any way, nobody speaks to me. I have never received an email or reply which is so peculiar in itself.
I paid a service for social lift, and promoting my work isn’t my forte, so the service built a presence on the Twitter and Facebook sites. Never a single message or email. Google ads service, thousands of dollars, nothing. Nobody speaks to me. At first it’s devastating, but as years pass, then you just come to expect no comment, no reply.
So there is flagrant intellectual property theft and people that place illegal surveillance without consent in a family home don’t give you their business card or provide you copies of their footage. And if I have to prove this is happening, then I believe I have sufficient proof.
It’s miraculous I haven’t died from the horror we have thus far survived. We do not want to stay in a country that could put anyone, disabled or not, through what we’ve been, and continue to be put through.
There is so much more I could write, all these years of the shocking abuse and such fear of the medical profession, that I’ve not seen a doctor in fifteen or so years. Twice I’ve attempted to obtain my son’s Medicare records and twice refused. Sean was shot with a shotgun in February of this year and Medicare, knowing this, has again refused to provide them to me.
Sincerely,
Fiona MacLeod ©
Fiona MacLeod
Email: fionamycloud@gmail.com
Websites: https://fionamycloud.com