Witi Ihimaera - Bulibasha

‘Oh dear,’ Clerk Simpson said. ‘I’m sorry about that, girls and boys.’

We watched as he was pushed across the front lawn. I heard Miss Dalrymple clucking away when Clerk Simpson told her, ‘The boy has just been sentenced to jail for assault. He swore at his employer.’ As the police van sped away, the young man’s mother came running from the courthouse screaming his name.

‘Mihaere! Mihaere!’

The chambers were cool and comfortable, gentlemanly and tastefully decorated. Photographs, diplomas and plaques adorned the walls, reminding me of the drawing room at the homestead. The judge came away from the courtroom to greet us.

‘Judge Forbes,’ Miss Dalrymple explained to us, ‘has a short break before the court reconvenes. We are very lucky to have him say hello to us. Please thank him for taking the time.’

Thank you Judge Forbes Judge Forbes Forbes orbes orbes es.

His eyes twinkled.

‘Well, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, ‘thank you for coming to see me on the right side of the bench.’

Ho ho ho, what a funny fellow.

Judge Forbes proceeded to tell us how important he was, why justice was important and why the judicial system in New Zealand was the best in the world.

‘Does anybody know why?’ he asked.

‘Because it is based on the Westminster system,’ said Bobbie Brown, who had been primed to respond.

‘And the Westminster system,’ Angela Simpson continued, ‘is practised throughout the British Commonwealth.’

‘Very good,’ Judge Forbes answered. He beamed at Miss Dalrymple. ‘We may have the makings of two fine lawyers here, what?’

Haw haw haw, jolly boating weather and all that.

Just to show how busy and important he was, Judge Forbes asked Clerk Simpson to show us the schedule of cases he had dealt with during the month.

‘Well,’ he ended, ‘I must read up on the next case. I understand you will be sitting in on my court?’

‘Yes, Your Honour,’ Miss Dalrymple answered. ‘But we will be quiet, won’t we, boys and girls?’

Yes Miss Dalrymple Dalrymple rymple pimple imple.

The judge swept out of the lobby, Miss Dalrymple bobbing as he went past. Clerk Simpson guided us to Judge Forbes’ schedule. One by one we filed past and oohed and aahed at the number of cases on his plate.

Judge Forbes

Presiding Judge

9 am

White v. Hakopa

10.30 am

Crown v. Wharepapa

1 pm

Crown v. Karaitiana

2 pm

Williamson v. Heke

On and on and on. Page after page after page of cases involving being drunk and disorderly, murder, intent to obstruct justice, manslaughter, casting offensive matter in public, grievous assault, car stealing, domestic dispute, indecent behaviour, theft, petty larceny, land dispute, attempt to defraud, and so on.

‘Simeon?’ Miss Dalrymple interrupted. ‘Don’t take up all the time. Let someone else look.’

I stepped to one side. The rest of the class had their turn. When we had become suitably impressed Clerk Simpson said, ‘Well then, let’s go into the public gallery, shall we?’

We filed into Courtroom No. 1.

This was the place of judgment. Here in this large quiet room panelled with polished wood and hushed with the weight of legal process, people were put on display, like deers’ antlers, their futures determined with a stroke of the gavel. Over there, higher than anybody else, was where the judge sat. In front of him sat the recording clerk. To the right and left were the prosecuting lawyer and the lawyer for the defence. At right a small corridor led to the room where the defendant waited to be called for trial. In front were the seats for the public.

‘Not a word,’ Miss Dalrymple hissed.

The public gallery was packed. I knew just about all the people there. All of them stared straight ahead, down a narrow funnel of vision, as if afraid to see who was sitting left and right. That suited me fine. I hunched down, hoping I wouldn’t be seen either. I felt as if I was on the wrong side.

The session that morning seemed to be one where the defendants had already pleaded guilty and were being processed for sentencing.

‘How do you plead?’

‘The defendant pleads guilty, Your Honour.’

‘Fined £100.’

The judge lifted his gavel, and bang . A pair of antlers on the wall.

‘How do you plead?’

‘The defendant pleads guilty, Your Honour.’

‘Term of imprisonment, one year.’

Bang , the gavel again. Another pair of antlers.

‘How do you plead?’

‘The defendant pleads guilty, Your Honour.’

This time the judge paused and looked gravely down at the defendant. ‘Your crime is a particularly heinous one in our society, young man. Assault on another person with intention to commit grievous harm must carry with it the maximum penalty available to the law. Five years imprisonment.’

Bang . More antlers for the wall.

At each sentencing the defendant bowed his head and nodded as if all this was to be expected. His family group did the same. They were passive in their acceptance of the law and of te rori Pakeha. The Pakeha’s place was to be the punisher and the Maori’s place to be punished. There was a sense of implacability about the process, as if they were always right and we were always wrong.

Why didn’t we fight back? We didn’t know how.

Bang Bang BangBangbang ang ang

By the end of the court session my whole world had been shattered. When Miss Dalrymple asked me to give my speech of thanks to Judge Forbes I shook my head –

‘No.’

‘Just do it,’ Miss Dalrymple commanded. The judge was still in his chair, waiting.

Do it do it it ititit it.

The courtroom was not quite cleared. A family group was sitting waiting for their son to come out from the holding room. He had been found guilty of indecent exposure. I knew the family and was embarrassed to have witnessed their shame. For most of the proceedings I had kept my eyes on the floor, flexing and unflexing my fists.

‘Simeon!’ Miss Dalrymple hissed again.

I wasn’t angry, really. Just lost and bewildered. I looked at the judge in his ridiculous wig and –

‘Sir, I am fifteen years old. I mean no disrespect. All my life people have been saying to me, “Do this, do that,” and I have for the most part appreciated their advice. But there must come a time when you have to do something not because other people tell you to but because you want to do it yourself. I have come to that time in my life.’

I tried to swallow. There was a huge stone in my throat.

‘Your Honour, I want to make choices for myself. To say “No” if I do not believe what is happening is right, even if other people are telling me to do it and that it is right. To say “Yes”, if I believe it is right, even if other people are telling me don’t do it. I have to start listening to me . I thank you for enabling our class to visit. But I cannot thank you for what we have seen today.’

By this time Miss Dalrymple was trying to get me to shut up.

‘There is something wrong, Your Honour, with a place like this, if the majority of the cases which come before you are Maori and are placed by Pakeha against Maori. I cannot thank you for being part of a court which enables this to happen. I cannot.’

Someone in the family group began to sob.

‘How can I thank you for all the Maori people you have jailed or sentenced for one crime or another? All those names in your book, do you know that I am related to all of them? Or that I know them? Sir, what is more, I know them as good people, not as names that you bang your hammer at or put in prison or make pay huge fines. That boy we met when we were just coming in, he was my cousin’s boyfriend, Your Honour. And what was his crime? That he swore at his employer! You call that assault? Are you telling me he should be sent to jail for that? If I thank you, what am I saying to my relations? My aunts, uncles and cousins who have appeared before you this month? That they deserved it? They didn’t —’ It was a cry from the depths of my heart. ‘ They didn’t .’