This is a collection of raw material dating back to the 1950s by journalist John Stapleton. It incorporates photographs, old diary notes, published stories of a more personal nature, unpublished manuscripts and the daily blogs which began in 2004 and have formed the source material for a number of books. Photographs by the author. For a full chronological order refer to or merge with the collection of his journalism found here: https://thejournalismofjohnstapleton.blogspot.com.au/
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Thursday, 25 May 2006
Portals and Pontoons
Portals and pontoons, here on the edge of infinity; the city draped around the harbour, surprising views. Out west the courts were clogged with a disaster parade. Anyone who thinks it's all working should be forced to spend the day at Campbelltown Local Court, or Liverpool, or Parramatta. There were teenage sons and their scrappy, rough edged, upset mothers; the boys showing all the bravado and embarrasment of their age. But at the end of the day they were there with their mums. Groups that you sometimes see around here; diversified out into the housing in the west. And what did it prove? Why involve these people in a court case; it was just impossible, pointless. And the days rolled on.
Conflict has enveloped Dili and East Timor again. Australia is sending 1300 troops. We were talking about it; waiting outside the courtroom for the family to finish their briefing with the police. You could tell when, inside earlier, as the daily traffic of the court, the agreed ajournments, the partial briefs, the surly clients. Can't I have this heard today? You will need to speak to your solicitor. A parade of polite, diminished, often rather ordinary looking men appearing via video link, from Parklea, Long Bay. Have a good day ma'am, one said to the magistrate; behaviour the female magistrate was determined to ignore.
But when the right one came on they glared like they thought their glares would make a difference, the death stare. The pontless crimes. The pointless victims. Sometimes men. Sometimes women. And in the rows, in the elaborate your honours and my learned friends; and crap. A personality bypass. A moral bypass. These were the people ruling our lives; with all the compassion and depth of their class, their caste. Now I keep thinking I would like to go to Thailand for six weeks; and if Thailand why not Spain with the kids. Just not enough money to complete the dreams. We had tried so hard and in the end he was angry at the amorality of it all. The crowds crushed in the streets; hurrying because it was winter and got dark early; and he recognised not a single face. Not one would care whether he lived or died; and his mark on the city disappeared without trace.
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