Jessica (57 page)

Mary gives a bitter little smile, no more than a twist to her full mouth. ‘To a whitefella. The boss or his son, most likely, it happens all the time — but they don't want their son to marry her, no way, mate. Don't marry the nigger, no bloody chance o' that happenin'!'

‘Well now, whether that's the official idea, I can't say,' he ventures, a little disturbed by Mary's outburst. ‘But it is
certainly
the government's intention that they mix in the white community with, I dare say, every chance that they will find a white male in or out of wedlock. Hence, I suspect, the preponderance of females removed from their families.'

‘And soon there's no black women left in the tribe!' Mary exclaims. She turns to Jessica. ‘The gubberment wants to make me kids white and miserable.' Tears begin to run down her dark cheeks and she sniffs, swallowing hard. She tries to wipe her tears away using the ball of her thumb, smudging them all over her pretty face.

Jessica brings her arms about her. ‘Mary, we're gunna get your kids back.' She looks up fiercely at him.

‘Mr Runche is gunna get them back, ain't ya, Mr Runche?'

He clears his throat. ‘Well, my dears, it could be awkward, most awkward. What is being attempted by the government amounts to killing the Aborigines off, and the powers that be don't take kindly to being reminded of this.'

‘What, all the blacks?' Jessica now asks. She's still holding her arms about Mary, who is sobbing and again attempting to brush away her tears, comforted by her friend's attention and love.

‘Well, you could be excused for thinking that they're trying to eliminate a race of people,' Richard Runche says. ‘The idea is to push all the children born of mixed race — the half-castes, the quadroons and octoroons off the reserves, marginalise them as well as remove their children from their families so they cannot grow up to be Aborigines. The half-castes will be kicked out and the full-bloods will then be pushed onto marginal land, the general consensus being that they are dying out anyway. A nudge is as good as a push, if you know what I mean?'

He leans back and spreads his hands wide. ‘In this way the existing native people's reserves can be resumed for soldier settlements. So you see, my dears, with the mixed-blood adults pushed to the edges of the towns to live in beaten tin, plank and sacking humpies, generally under the most extreme living conditions, and with few or no opportunities for employment, they become totally dependent on government rations.'

Mary nods her head in agreement. ‘That's us fair dinkum, we can't get no jobs and it's rations what keeps us alive.'

Richard Runche KC brings up his hands in a gesture of futility. ‘When a people lose their self-esteem, their pride, when they come to depend on government handouts, they are apt to become drunks and layabouts.' He gives a little self-deprecating laugh. ‘Not that drunkenness is a peculiar condition of the Aboriginal people. But, as happened with my own health, soon enough these people become prone to tuberculosis and bronchial infections or, for that matter, any epidemic which may be about. Moreover, as soon as they have children the government pounces, announcing that the children are neglected or in danger of moral corruption, etcetera, and so they remove them.'

‘That what the policeman said. He said I weren't able to take care of me kids ‘cause I was Aboriginal,' Mary says.

‘The idea that the Aboriginal people are irresponsible and can't take care of their children is, of course, now a self-fulfilling prophecy. The black people are reduced to extreme poverty and the cycle of turning black into white has begun. The children are brought up to white man's ways. Their languages and traditions are not passed on and eventually die out.'

Sensing that his listeners may not fully understand the line of his argument, he pauses to give an example. ‘We white people are who we are as a result of thousands of years of language and tradition, which make us behave in unique and intimate ways between ourselves. When we destroy a language we effectively undermine the culture it belongs to. Language is the very soul of a culture. A people's collective imagination, their myths and stories, their place on earth, their continuity, that thing which gives them a soul and makes them different and wonderful, comes from their language. Make no mistake, my dears, what this government is doing to the Aboriginal people is a policy which clearly amounts to an attempt at wiping them
out.
It is a deliberate and planned attempt to destroy a race.'

Mary looks up. ‘Me grandma told me they tried it before, I mean gettin' rid o' us. She said it didn't work too good, but still lots of blackfellas died. In her time the white folk give the blacks poison in their flour and also they poison the drinkin' water and shot blacks down like we was dingoes. She tol' me the whitefella, they called it “goin' duck shootin'''. That's what she said, “duck shootin'''. There was men who put notches on their guns, “duck notches” she says they called them—blackfella don't duck so they becomes a notch on a gun!' Jessica looks at the barrister, whose face is pale and drawn, and she can see that he too is upset. ‘Don't Mary's people have
any
rights?' she asks sadly.

‘When it comes to removing children from their mothers, very few, my dear. Mind you, there was a time when black people could resort to the courts for justice.

But in 1915 the Aborigines' Protection Board complained to the parliament that the courts were obstructing the work of the Board.' He brings his hand to his brow. ‘Let me see if I can remember the honourable gentleman's words. I recall memorising them at the time because they were a measure of the arrogance and disregard for the love and care of a parent for a child that can only be described as breathtakingly callous.' He looks up, remembering. ‘Oh yes, what he said went somewhat like this: “ ...
it is very difficult to prove neglect; if the Aboriginal child happens to be decently clad or apparently looked after, it is very difficult to show that the half-caste or Aboriginal child is actually in a neglected condition, and therefore it is impossible to succeed in the court.”
Those were the words of the minister at the time — I'm sure I have it almost exactly,' he says, pleased with himself.

Mary claps her hands excitedly. ‘Me kids are the same as what you just said — they's dressed good and is healthy and I loves them. Like that bloke, that minister, say, them on the Abo Board, they can't prove nothin'. The court gunna give me back me kids!'

Jessica looks across at Richard Runche hopefully, but the barrister shakes his head sadly. ‘Perfidy, my dear—there is no greater example than a government determined to have its own way. In the same year — that is, 1915 — the government passed the Aborigines' Protection Amendment Act which gave the Board total power to separate children from their families without having to establish in court that they may be neglected.' He lifts his finger to emphasise his point. ‘Now
anyone
— the manager of an Aboriginal station, any employee of the Board, or a policeman of. ordinary rank — need only write m the committal notice, as the reason to take control of a child, the simple words,
“For being Aboriginal”.
The parent has no further say in the matter, and the Board henceforth has absolute power and discretion over the child or children.
In
effect, they become the prisoners or even the slaves of the State, of the government.'

‘Does that mean Mary can't do nothing about her kids?' Jessica cries in alarm.

‘No, not quite. The government must be seen to have a conscience, my dear. Mary can still appeal to the court as a parent, but she must actually sue the Board for the return of her children. She can't stop them being taken and she must sue for their return, where she might or might not win.'

‘Has any Aborigine done it and won?' Jessica now asks.

‘Not to my knowledge, my dear.
It
is a most difficult situation.'

Jessica gives a bitter laugh. ‘Joe would say she's on a hiding to nothing.'

‘Precisely, my dear. Difficult, if not impossible, that is, for an Aborigine, who is not given the same rights as an Australian citizen, to mount a court case. If Mary was a white woman she might be entitled to free legal representation, but as an Aborigine she would be hard put to find a lawyer who would even take the case.'

Richard Runche spreads his hands apologetically. ‘It's an expensive business and well beyond the means of virtually any Aboriginal parent. It is true to say that the Amendment Act simply allows the Board to steal children away from their parents. It is essentially an act of deliberate and, one is forced to conclude, purposely legislated cruelty.'

Jessica barely hears this final part of his explanation. Her mind is already preoccupied with the business of getting Mary's children back. ‘How much?' she asks him.

Richard Runche looks puzzled. ‘How much? Oh, you mean to take the case to court?' He rubs his chin. ‘Well, we can expect the Aborigines' Protection Board to vigorously oppose it with the full backing of the government.' He sighs, thinking for a moment. ‘My dear, it could go on for some time, months, even a year. But then, of course, if we could find a lawyer who'd do it for nothing and with me acting as his brief — his barrister -' he smiles at Mary, ‘we could considerably reduce the outgoing expenditure.'

‘I have some money, my turkey money! Nearly a hundred pounds,' Jessica exclaims, then she brings her hands to her lips. ‘And a lawyer, I know a lawyer, Mr Moishe Goldberg!'

Richard Runche KC grins and, unable to resist the pun, says, ‘Well then, my dear, let's talk turkey.'

Jessica and Mary embrace, both of them bursting into tears, their chins resting on each other's shoulder. ‘It'll be orright, you'll see,' Jessica sobs to her friend. ‘They can't keep your rainbow kids away from you, Mary.'

Then she jumps up and goes over and kisses Richard Runche. ‘We're gunna beat the bastards! You'll see, you can do it, Mr Runche!'

‘Oh dear, I feel quite faint, I really must lie down,' the barrister says, colouring furiously. ‘If you'll excuse me, ladies?' He gently untangles himself from Jessica's embrace and rises a little unsteadily to his feet. ‘The last lady who embraced me was also you, Jessica. I shall never forget that moment.'

‘We'll buy yiz a new suit an' all,' Jessica laughs. Richard Runche turns to depart when he sees Mary still seated at the table, her eyes averted. He knows suddenly with absolute certainty that she would never have the courage to thank him in the same way Jessica has just done — that she is thinking that he would object to being embraced and kissed by a black woman. The Englishman leans over the table and takes Mary's hand, bringing it to his lips. ‘We shall do everything we can, my dear. I'm getting to be an old man with few of my wits remaining, but what few you and Jessica have so nobly salvaged are entirely at your disposal, Mary Simpson.'

It is now almost two months later on a hot summer morning in late November of the same year, 1923. Jessica, Mary and Richard Runche KC, perspiring in a new serge suit, are standing together outside the Narrandera courthouse. Moishe Goldberg is inside, going over some procedural details for the hearing with the clerk of the court.

Ever since Jessica wrote to him in Sydney, enclosing with her own letter a brief from Richard Runche, Moishe has been going full steam ahead.
At long last something to get my teeth into,
he's written back to Jessica.
Perhaps this will be my revolution? The first thing is to locate the whereabouts of Mary Simpson's children
—
can your friend describe them for me? I want to know everything, any scars or distinguishing features are important: eyes, hair, approximate height, dates of birth, birth certificates, if any. I confess, the Aborigines — the few I've seen
—
all look alike to me, I could be easily fooled.
Do
Mary's girls have more than one name? Are they all called Simpson, or have they taken the names of their respective fathers?
Moishe's list of questions seems endless and Richard Runche, who remembers meeting Moishe when he was visiting Jessica at Callan Park, is suitably impressed.

‘A lawyer who cares about details, how very nice. A good case is built on details, minutiae, and sometimes the smallest things can be the turning point. He's just the man for me, as my poor mind is like a sieve these days,' Runche says.

‘Moishe likes to know everything. He's a proper old stickybeak,' Jessica laughs.

‘Stickier the better, my dear. We are about to hit the proverbial bureaucratic brick wall with a thump.'

Moishe has written to the Aborigines' Protection Board and the Child Welfare Department, requesting to know where Mary's children have been taken. Both authorities reply that the information is not available to the public or to the children's family. They give no reasons.

The appearance in court this morning is so that they might obtain a court order to issue to both bodies to supply Moishe with the information he needs. It is the first step in the first court case ever attempted by an Aboriginal parent to get her children back. If Mary Simpson eventually wins, she will make legal history. Richard Runche knows that, at best, their chances are slim to non-existent and he wonders if his health will see him through to its conclusion. This morning, however, he will not be needed as Moishe is entitled to make the plea.