Law

While tailing someone suspected of smuggling drugs into Maningrida, a female police officer drove past the area where the Aboriginal men were performing a ceremony. It then had to be decided whether she was speared, raped or killed as a punishment for seeing ‘what she should not see’ – Men’s Business. I had my hopes pinned on ‘speared’, call me old fashioned.

Three days later everything had cooled down and it was decided that the officer in question would have become cursed after seeing what she saw, and that aforementioned curse would be punishment enough. Cop out, if you ask me. However, days later said officer was reported to have fumbled with her words and embarrassed herself in public. The curse was seen to be taking effect and all parties were satisfied. Bar me.

All this may sound a little drastic, and yeah… perhaps it is. Punishment has to fit the crime. Death for trespassing is like bringing a knife to a thumb-wrestle. *…clutching his ribs and quickly growing pale, he dropped to the floor, ‘…but I hadn’t even declared yet… I hadn’t even declared…’ *

Granted, ceremony is far more important to the Aboriginal people than any ritual we abide by. For us the policewoman’s intrusion on Men’s Business might be equated to someone streaking at the football. You wouldn’t spear them, you’d idolise them as ‘Play of the Day’, buy them a beer and encourage them to fuck your sister. Or cat. Whatever.

There’s just nothing in our culture that we take that seriously – except you religious zealots, and I’m not talking to you. You’ve already bastardised spirituality and ruined it for everyone. I don’t care if you’re wearing a white shortsleeve shirt and a nametag, or stringing up prayerflags out front of your Fitzroy townhouse – it’s safe to say you’ve all missed the point.

Ceremony still dictates many lives around here. If there is ceremony that you need to attend, you don’t go to work. And it can last days, weeks – who knows. This is a problem for employers, and for people planning a brunchfast at the yacht club. They call it ‘Business’ because it has to be done - like ‘doing your business’ or having brunchfast at the yacht club.

They are protective of ceremony. Quite rightly, they are protective of everything. One of the Cultural Health workers here has been working in petrol-sniffing and suicide for 20 years. He’s written about his method and experience but refuses to share those details with people outside the community. In case they steal them. Trust is the number one issue here. Brunchfast a close second.

Justice is a lot like sex. All well and good unless you’re not getting any. Though I know many who take vigilante action occasionally – hell, we’ve all been there. Sorry, this analogy is going nowhere. Sex is like driving a car – you want your nuts firmly fastened and the occasional lube job. Wait… what was I talking about?

A good legal system should be like good driving. You don’t really notice that you’re moving, and everyone gets safely to their destination. It’s only when the driving gets erratic that people start to get thrown around the car and people start getting pissed off. Darren! DARREN!!

For a comfortable ride in Maningrida a balance must be struck between what the law in the Northern Territory actually is and what is required by Cultural Law to make everyone happy. Even though Cultural Law is not recognised by the State… or is it? I don’t know, I should really get a researcher. I just hear people say shit and write it down – I’m like New Idea.

Long story short, I think I’m going to try to get myself speared. In doing so may have to subvert the Territory laws to make people adhere to the Cultural ones. I mean, how cool a journal entry would that be!? Anyway, they always spear in the leg, and what the fuck was I going to do with my legs anyway? All they’re good for is hanging over the edge of a barstool.

Wait. No. Scratch that. Change of plan. I have to end this entry. Time to walk myself over to the yacht club. Brunchfast awaits.