This is just a footnote in my story, not the headliner
In the quiet act of keeping her own name after marriage, Brittany Higgins has drawn a line between what was done to her and who she is. The Australian former parliamentary staffer, whose rape allegation consumed five years of public life and private suffering, appears in the documentary Silenced — premiering at the Sydney Film Festival — to speak not as a case study but as a person reclaiming authorship of her own story. Her testimony sits within a broader argument the film makes: that defamation law has become a mechanism for silencing women and the journalists who report their experiences of violence. What emerges is less a legal postmortem than a meditation on survival, identity, and the cost of speaking truth in a system not built to receive it.
- Higgins reached suicidal crisis during the criminal trial, with police intervening to prevent her from acting on those thoughts — a measure of how completely the legal process had consumed her.
- Even after fleeing to France with her husband, journalists tracked them to their door, filming their home and issuing threats that extended to their dog, making safety feel impossible.
- The defamation case brought by Bruce Lehrmann against Network 10 resulted in a federal court finding, on the balance of probabilities, that he had raped Higgins — yet the legal pursuit continued all the way to the High Court before finally closing in April 2024.
- Director Selina Miles frames defamation litigation as a systemic silencing tool, drawing a direct line between Higgins' ordeal and Amber Heard's, with barrister Jennifer Robinson connecting both cases.
- Higgins now holds her infant son and speaks of recovery as ongoing — not complete, but moving — asserting that her name, her identity, and her voice are hers to define.
A documentary opened the Sydney Film Festival this week with a woman insisting on her own name. Brittany Higgins, the former parliamentary staffer whose rape allegation became one of Australia's most scrutinized legal sagas, chose not to change her surname when she married in 2024. In Silenced, a film about gender-based violence and the legal systems that can suppress it, she explained the decision plainly: she is proud to be Brittany Higgins. "Hopefully, this is just a footnote in my story," she said, "and it's not the headliner any more."
The headline has been relentless since 2021, when Higgins went public with an allegation that she had been raped by a colleague inside Parliament House in 2019. The criminal case against Bruce Lehrmann collapsed due to juror misconduct, and the prosecutor later dropped the matter on medical grounds related to Higgins' wellbeing. What followed was a defamation action brought by Lehrmann against Network 10 and journalist Lisa Wilkinson — a case a federal court ultimately decided against him, finding on the balance of probabilities that the rape had occurred. His final appeal to the High Court was dismissed in April 2024.
Director Selina Miles, whose film premiered at Sundance before arriving in Sydney, argues that defamation suits have become instruments for silencing women and the journalists who report on them. The documentary features Amber Heard alongside Higgins, and was drawn from a book by barrister Jennifer Robinson, who represented Heard in her case against Johnny Depp and walked the red carpet with Higgins at the Sydney premiere.
In the film, Higgins describes the psychological weight of giving evidence — calculating each morning how to dress in a way that would appear both credible and, in her words, "rapeable," a calculation no witness should face. She speaks of surrendering diaries, counselling records, and medical histories to the legal process. The toll became existential: during the trial, she came close to taking her own life, and was only prevented by police intervention. In 2023, she and her husband David Sharaz fled to France, only to find journalists had tracked them there, filming outside their home and issuing threats.
Now, cradling her infant son in footage from the film, Higgins speaks of recovery as something still in motion. "It's going to take a while to fully feel OK again," she said. "But we're getting there." The documentary frames her not as a figure defined by what was done to her, but as a woman determined to write the rest of her own story — in her own name.
A documentary opened the Sydney film festival this week with a woman reclaiming her own name. Brittany Higgins, the former parliamentary staffer whose rape allegation became one of Australia's most scrutinized legal cases, chose not to change her surname when she married in 2024. In an emotionally raw interview for Silenced, a film about violence against women, she explained the choice simply: she is proud to be Brittany Higgins. "Hopefully, this is just a footnote in my story and it's not the headliner any more," she said.
For five years, her name has dominated headlines. In 2021, Higgins went public with an allegation that she had been raped by a colleague on a minister's couch inside Parliament House in 2019. The accusation against Bruce Lehrmann led to a criminal trial in the ACT, but the proceedings collapsed due to juror misconduct. Lehrmann denied the allegations. The prosecutor, Shane Drumgold, later dropped the case after receiving medical advice concerning Higgins' wellbeing.
What followed was a different kind of legal battle. Lehrmann sued Network 10 and journalist Lisa Wilkinson for defamation over their reporting of the story. In that case, a federal court found on the balance of probabilities that he had raped Higgins. He lost. Yet the legal machinery did not stop there. Lehrmann pursued a final appeal to the High Court, which dismissed his case in April 2024, closing what he hoped would be his last avenue to challenge the judgment.
Director Selina Miles' film, which premiered at Sundance before opening Sydney's festival, argues that defamation cases have become a tool to silence women and journalists reporting on gender-based violence. The documentary features Amber Heard, the actor who faced her own defamation trial, and was based on a book by barrister Jennifer Robinson, who represented Heard in her case against Johnny Depp. Robinson walked the red carpet alongside Higgins on Wednesday night.
In the film, Higgins describes the ordeal of giving evidence in the criminal trial. She spoke of the psychological preparation required each morning—choosing clothes that would appear both "rapeable" and respectable, a calculation no witness should have to make. "I had heard that the process was ugly and I knew it would be terrible," she said. "They'll take every bit of data that you have. Your diaries. My counselling records. My doctors' visits. Everything."
The toll was severe. During the trial, Higgins reached a breaking point. "There was a point where I almost took my life, because I didn't want to do it any more," she revealed. Police intervention prevented her from acting on those thoughts. The scrutiny extended beyond the courtroom. In 2023, she and her husband David Sharaz fled Australia, seeking refuge in France. Journalists tracked them down. "We didn't realise the level we were being stalked," Higgins said. Footage in the documentary shows reporters stationed outside their home. "We had a line of journos waiting for me to leave the house," she recalled. "I physically didn't feel safe. There were threats to kill my dog."
Now, holding her infant son in a scene from the film, Higgins speaks of recovery as a process still underway. "It's going to take a while to fully feel OK again," she said. "But we're getting there." The documentary positions her not as a victim defined by what happened to her, but as a woman determined to write the rest of her own story—one in which her name, her identity, and her voice belong to her alone.
Notable Quotes
When I got married I had this opportunity to change my name but I didn't because I'm really proud to be Brittany Higgins. Hopefully, this is just a footnote in my story and it's not the headliner any more.— Brittany Higgins, in the documentary Silenced
There was a point where I almost took my life, because I didn't want to do it any more.— Brittany Higgins, describing the toll of the criminal trial
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did keeping her name matter so much to her, do you think?
Because for five years, "Brittany Higgins" meant one thing in the public mind—the rape case, the trial, the defamation suit. Changing it would have been a kind of erasure, a way of saying that identity was too toxic to carry. Keeping it was an act of refusal.
But didn't that name also carry the weight of all that trauma?
Yes. That's the paradox. The name was both a burden and proof that she survived it. By keeping it, she was saying: this happened to me, but it doesn't get to define me forever.
The documentary seems to be about more than just her story.
It is. It's arguing that defamation law has become a weapon—that when powerful people sue over stories about assault, they're not seeking justice, they're seeking silence. Higgins' case is one example among many.
She mentioned almost taking her life during the trial.
Yes. The legal process itself became another form of violence. Being cross-examined about your trauma, having your medical records exposed, performing respectability while describing rape—it broke her in ways the original assault hadn't quite managed.
And then the media stalking in France.
Even after she tried to escape, they found her. That's the other silencing mechanism the film explores—not just the law, but the relentless attention that turns a person into a story they can't escape.