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Alternative Law Journal |
David Heilpern is a magistrate in Dubbo, NSW.
I helped my son do
his homework assignment on ANZACs this week. As we worked together reading
diaries of diggers describing in clipped prose their blind bravery, I mused on
the meaning of heroism. Over 8000 dead at Gallipolli alone. And so I went with
my son to the dawn service for the first time in many years and I was moved in
the crisp clean morning as the old and the badged remembered their
heroes.
And I thought long and hard about the brave and the strong in our
society, and as a new magistrate there was a group that came immediately to
mind.
They travel huge distances and suffer enormous hardships for their
loved ones. They have faith in the essential goodness of their sons and
daughters. They arrive in court with lined faces and tired children and sit
patiently in the corridors of power for hours and sometimes days. When their
moment comes they try and muster as much self-respect as their crumpled clothes
will allow and hold their heads high and pray that their sons will not be taken
away.
They are the mothers, usually single, of the boys who fill our
courts. Boys charged with robbery and assault and break enter and steal. Boys
with nothing to do.
And they are blamed for the sins of their sons. They
are told that they have done wrong and with just the right amount of discipline
they could have avoided all this. They are told that they have enough money for
cigarettes but not enough for their kids. They are told that every boy needs a
dad and that it is wrong to bring them up alone and no wonder they are going off
the rails. And they take on the guilt in silence and hold it and nurture it on
those long drives to court, and sleepless nights of gut wrenching
worry.
On television and in magazines they are bombarded with happy kids,
so-called normal kids, who win scholarships and get good jobs and belong to
football teams. Other people’s children get sick and the whole community
gathers round in support and raises money to send them to America for special
treatment. But then, those kids are not ‘bad’.
And their
sons are bailed to reside with them, and to obey their directions and not to be
out between the hours of 6 pm and 6 am for months at a time. And the mother
loses her friends and her social life and lovers are just a distant memory. And
their boys, seething with frustration, impossible to live with, angry and
trapped, pound around the house and eventually break their bail and leave for an
evening here and there. Or they turn to violence in the home. Or they slink
around begging their friends for drugs to relieve the boredom of being
permanently tied to mother.
And the mothers are then left with the
ultimate parental dilemma — do I call the police on my own son, or do I
take this blessed breather from his intensity, and pay some attention to the
other kids and hope above hope that they do not follow their brother. And in the
small towns and the suburbs the neighbors gossip and the shopkeepers snigger and
they feel the burden of shame like an icy wind in their face.
And there
is no money for the psychiatrist or the counsellor or the self-esteem group or
the special reading classes. There is no extra pension for the travelling to and
from court or for childcare. And yes he has done wrong and I know that but
can’t you help me help him?
Where is the recognition for these
heroes? How many of us could find the inner reserves to stand by our kids
through this? We should not blame them; we should salute them, light a candle in
their honor and ask how can we help you, fellow traveller.
And in that
misty eyed dawn of ANZAC day I dreamed that there was created another day of
remembrance, for these heroes. It was a day when we thanked them for their
commitment and their strength. A day when we minded the other children so they
could spend time with their lost sons. A day when their photographs blessed the
pages of our tabloids with the caption: ‘Mrs Brown who has had three sons
before court in the last four years and she has stood by each one of
them!’
For where would we be without them?