JUSTICE?

I was just 10 years old when I saw the story on the news for the first time.

At the ripe old age of 10, I had no fucken idea about the world.  No real understanding that people were unkind to one another.  That tragic things can happen to good people.  That the media sensationalised stories, and that sometimes, the truth got lost in the process. 

I was never really exposed to anything negative like that.

So, when Lindy Chamberlain tried to convince the world that a dingo took her baby, I was willing to believe.

Though, as time progressed, and a little impressionable 10 year old grew wiser, watched the news and read the newspaper stories, she slowly changed her mind.

The television and the newspaper didn’t lie, did they?  Noooo.  They wouldn’t present a distorted version of the truth, would they? Nooo.

I watched the telly as a serious, emotionless Lindy Chamberlain was lead in and out of court, with her dark, bowl cut; eyes angry at the world.  Hmmmpphh… and why wouldn’t she be? She’d spent the better part of a couple of years trying to get us to believe the truth. 

A dingo took her baby.

Thirty-two years later, as she holds up Azaria’s legally altered death certificate (which no longer states she was murdered), I can’t help but reflect upon the price Lindy Chamberlain has paid.

She lost her daughter, she lost her marriage, she lost her reputation, anonymity, privacy and freedom.  All because a jury of her peers didn’t believe her.  All because the media crucified her.

Did you know that the Northern Territory Police always believed Lindy’s version of the story? 

Did you know that Michael Chamberlain (her now ex-husband) and their son never changed their stories.  Neither did the Whittakers; the family that travelled with the Chamberlains on that fateful camping trip, and were present when Azaria went missing?

A liar’s story can bend and flex with need and want, but the truth always stands firm.

Thirty-two years.  A lifetime ago.  The life a little girl never got to live.

And still, after four royal commissions and enquiries into the death of Azaria Chamberlain, after years and collated evidence and witness testimony, after years of the light being shone on the truth as we now know it; how many of you will still wonder if she did it?

Be honest.  How many of you still wonder if Lindy Chamberlain killed her baby?

The media of the day did their job well on us.  Brainwashed us into thinking she did it.  Or thinking she didn’t.  Who knows?

This nation will always be divided on the issue, irrespective of the truth. 

We will believe the stories of religion and cult killings.  We will believe that the red stain in found in the Chamberlain’s family car (a yellow Torona, by memory) was actually blood, and not red paint as it was later discovered.  We will believe that the son killed his sister, and the parents covered it up. We will overlook that the son was so traumatised and frightened because he thought the dingo would come back for him.

We will believe the wildlife experts that swore a dingo was not capable of such a thing, and forget the multitudes of complaints that the police and park rangers had received in the past about dingo’s attacking people and going into camper’s tents looking for food.

We’ll cling to whatever supports our beliefs.

And we’ll continue discussing it at dinner parties and barbecues for decades to come, not giving a second thought to the price that the Chamberlain family have paid.

What a hell it must have been to live through, knowing all that time you were innocent, yet no one would believe you.  To be judged, ridiculed and imprisoned.  To be robbed of your own life, as well as the life you should have shared with your child.

And ohhh… how they loved to hate you.  The media devoured you like a pack of vicious, starving wolves.  They sensed your fear, encircled you, and pounced; tearing you to shreds.

All because you didn’t behave like a stereotypical grieving mother should.  You weren’t hysterical and constantly crying; you indulged that weakness privately.

No; you were angry.  Seething at the injustice.  Fury overtook the devastation of your loss, and turned this tragedy into a nightmare.

By the time the wolves had finished with you, there was nothing left but tatters of a life once lived. Memories of a time before that fateful day.

I wonder what those wolves would be thinking now?  The people that punished you and celebrated when you were imprisoned for a crime you didn’t commit?

Thirty-two years is a long time to wait for justice. 

Maybe now the Chamberlains can attain some peace through vindication.

Maybe now Azaria can finally rest.

Peace out.