Jeff Tougher is a straight-shooting Bulli boy with a spark in his eye and a handshake that crushes granite. He’s been thrust into the limelight in the most tragic circumstances after his son, Steven, was fatally stabbed while on duty as an ambulance officer on April 14, 2023.

Steven sounds like he was a wonderful man. What was he like as a kid?
Steven was the gentlest most caring guy you’ve ever met. Service to others – that was his whole life. I coached his footy team for a while, up at Thirroul, and he was a nightmare to coach – way more concerned about the kid he’d just tackled than he was about defending the line. Or when it was time for boxing training, the minute someone got a bleeding nose or a sprained wrist he was right there helping out. I was trying to teach him how to be hard but he had a different heart. 

It wasn’t long after that tragic night that you started advocating for change. How did that come about?
The randomness and the brutality of the attack – it’s as if nothing makes sense about it. Steven got married in March, he was murdered in April, and then his baby was born in May. You can’t write it any sadder than that. 

But what’s come from it is a whole gamut of change potential. It’s the first time an ambo has ever been murdered in service, and it shocked a lot of people. Paramedics and other people who are out there serving the community 24/7, with such passion and dedication – they shouldn’t have to be looking over their shoulder or worried about whether they’re going to make it home. But that’s the reality of it.
Two or three days after it happened I was in my lounge room with a whole bunch of people, and I remember saying: “Someone should change the law, and the new law should be called Steven’s Law. And I’m gonna do it.” 

So, what are you asking for?
We need much stronger penalties and much less wiggle room in the process. Steven’s Law would mean a mandatory 12-month prison term for anyone who assaults a frontline service worker, and mandatory life sentencing for killing a service worker in the line of duty.

There’s nuance in there, of course. Like, for an assault the sentence could be suspended if the perpetrator does programs to address anger management, drug and alcohol problems and mental health issues. But at the end of the day we’ve got to be harder on this stuff. The consequence of assaulting an ambo has got to be bigger than a $550 fine if it’s going to be a serious deterrent.

On top of this we want our paramedics to have body-worn cameras to capture evidence of attacks – you need this for the prosecution process. And they also need stab vests to protect their torsos. 

What’s it been like engaging with politicians and the political process?
The support from both sides of politics has been encouraging. There’s details to work out, but no-one’s saying no. It’s all about personal interactions. The work gets done at a very human scale, person to person. Politicians are just people – you don’t need to be intimidated, just be yourself. And laws are just laws – they can change too.
One day early on I had the Premier, Chris Minns, and the Health minister, Ryan Park, at my place. I had them down at the back table and said “Sit down boys, I just want you to listen.” By the time I finished there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. And I said “Righto boys, you can ride this wave of public sentiment or you can be washed away by it. What’s it going to be?”

What other lessons have you learned about being an effective advocate for change?
Anger and vengeance is the wrong way to go about it. It’s one thing to throw up your hands and say you want change, but you can’t just be an angry man with a phone and a keyboard. You have to take people with you. If public support is what you want, you need to give people something they can get behind.

Do your research. Know what you’re trying to do and what that’s going to achieve before you ask for it. You don’t want to come across as seeking sympathy, or being pathetic. You need a certain air of confidence and authenticity, but not arrogance.
And if you know what you’re doing is right, don’t let anyone talk you out of it. Don’t let the naysayers get to you.

How do you maintain your drive?
I’ve been advocating for change from a position of grief – that could well be what’s enabled me. But you’ve also got to look after yourself, and learn to love yourself.
Grief is experienced at different paces by different people. It’s like a race with no finish line. I could lay down and cry and suck my thumb in the corner in the foetal position. And some days I do. But I can’t be hurt by this situation anymore. 

Nothing’s going to bring Steven back, that’s in the past. You can’t control what happens, but you can control how you react to it. I’ve lived that for the last two years. And the strength that gives you, knowing that you’re in control, is so so powerful.

When the law passes I can do the Homer Simpson and disappear into the bush. And just be me again. I don’t want to make a career out of this. 

How can people can get involved?
The best way to support Steven’s Law is to buy a sticker and slap it on your car. Buy 5, give 4 to your mates.

My original goal was to get the sticker on as many vehicles in as many electorates as possible, so that that when it comes up in parliament it’s known. I’ve sold thousands of these now, not just in NSW but also interstate and internationally, and when the law passes – as I believe it will – the sticker will keep being relevant as a sign of support for the change process. 

Stickers are available for sale in scores of local shops and clubs up and down the Coal Coast. If you can’t find a supplier, email stevenslaw12@gmail.com or visit the Facebook page for the campaign: Steven’s Law Protecting our Frontline Heroes.

If the themes in this article have been distressing for you and you’d like to talk to someone about it, contact Lifeline Australia on 13 11 14 (any time day or night) or Griefline on 1300 845 745 (8am-8pm, 7 days).