Why are you here?
On a Yahoo group called femconnexion, someone suggested that I should face my demons.
I replied that I had been grappling with my demons for more than a year.
She meant it as a dismissal; a condemnation of some foolish little man.
Yesterday, one of the members of a local men's group approached me, his eyes examining mine, questioning. He said, "Why are you here? You haven't lost any children. What do you want from this?"
He was looking for a reason to distrust me.
I replied, "When the people who did this to me are put in jail. When they and the Australian government compensate me for the pain I've gone through, I'll leave."
He looked at me and laughed: "That'll be never!"
"Well then that's when I'll stop." I replied. "What happened to me should not happen to anyone. I don't like being the object of prejudice. I don't like being lied about and slandered."
His look as he left reminded me of the magistrate I faced.
He addressed me: "It's customary to stand."
I stood with a short grunt of pain, discretely shaking my leg back into my hip.
"Are you representing yourself," the magistrate said. I nodded. "Yes, I have no choice."
He ignored the statement.
I really had no choice. The only agency that had funds for representation was Frankston Legal Aid. Community Legal Aid had none.
Ros Quick, the managing attorney at Frankston Legal Aid had told me that if this issue went to trial again not to bother coming to her, she would not fund another barrister.
She had been dismissive the first time. I was barely able to get in to see her, and she seemed annoyed that I was there.
Despite the fact that she knew that a self litigant had little chance in the courts; that I was disabled and just recovering from major surgery; and was a foreigner, she initially told me that she did not see that "important rights" were at stake. -- The permanent Intervention Orders only stated that I should be removed from my home and possessions.
It had taken a series of emails over a week or so to convince her otherwise. A week where a small mob descended on my home to intimidate me; destroyed property in common; and later another group of four came to steal federally protected papers -- committing assault in the process.
Finally, only days before the court date, Ms Quick relented and assigned an inexperienced and inept barrister. The barrister had not even read the breif I'd sent him. He was given misleading instructions by Ms Quick that mine was a simple case. He shouted at me repeatedly on the phone, "You would be happy with just remaining in the house, is that correct?" despite my asking if he had read any of the 20 pages I'd sent him.
"You do understand that you will be held to the same standards as any attorney?", the magistrate said.
I nodded. I had no idea what that meant. I had prepared evidence as best I could. It was organized and the questions I'd prepared for my ex and her daughter led from one piece to another. It was the best I could do.
The allegations against me were not sufficient to warrant removal from the house. If anything, they represented an ongoing disagreement that could at best be called 'harassment."
My first motion was to have the disgusting wording of the Intervention Order amended to more accurately reflect the nature of my "crimes." -- That was quickly denied.
My second motion was to introduce to the court a letter from a psychologist at Commonwealth Rehabilitation Services, Win Martin, stating that although I was working hard at retraining, I had not been in any state of mind to agree to the first orders. The magistrate never even looked at the letter. Denied.
I was called to the stand.
I told the magistrate for the third time -- He had seen me two times previous. -- that I had an anxiety problem, and to help overcome that disability had prepared a short statement for the court. I explained to this magistrate for the third time that the stress of two years of increasing abuse by (my ex); the dissolution of our relationship; the stress of a major surgery and then this concocted legal assault had made me very susceptible to anxiety attacks.
He grinned and told me I could not use it. That was it. The lights started spinning around the room. I have no idea what I said. I'm sure the magistrate was amused at this silly man standing there trying to make coherent sentences.
The statement would have taken 2-3 minutes to read into the record.
But I was there alone. And I had no chance.
I told myself that I had to breathe, to calm down, .. over and over.. otherwise I would go into a gran mal seizure.
I only clearly remember a few moments of the rest of that day.
I do remember that I ended up against one wall, hyperventilating, while my ex and her daughter gave their testimony.
The magistrate badgered and questioned every word or action I took.
He never questioned anything from their side, despite the fact that it was clearly rehearsed and duplicated.
Why am I here?
Because what happened to me should not happen to anyone, male or female. Because the courts were used for extortion, and the perpetuation of abuse. Because what happened was inhuman. And because what happened should be seen as an abuse of civil and human rights, not some play-acted justice.
I was effectively convicted of what I had suffered. The police prosecutor read into the record that there was "increasing abuse over a two-year period", and he was right. But because of the blind prejudice of the system and that no one had ever investigated properly, he had the victim and perpetrators mixed up.
I was effectively fined $500 for trying to put the facts before the courts. I had made the mistake of thinking the Australian courts or police, -- really the whole legal and social system I've come to see -- were even vaguely interested in the truth.
If he hadn't done that -- as I said back in May -- I would have put all of this behind me.
Paul Donley
I replied that I had been grappling with my demons for more than a year.
She meant it as a dismissal; a condemnation of some foolish little man.
Yesterday, one of the members of a local men's group approached me, his eyes examining mine, questioning. He said, "Why are you here? You haven't lost any children. What do you want from this?"
He was looking for a reason to distrust me.
I replied, "When the people who did this to me are put in jail. When they and the Australian government compensate me for the pain I've gone through, I'll leave."
He looked at me and laughed: "That'll be never!"
"Well then that's when I'll stop." I replied. "What happened to me should not happen to anyone. I don't like being the object of prejudice. I don't like being lied about and slandered."
His look as he left reminded me of the magistrate I faced.
He addressed me: "It's customary to stand."
I stood with a short grunt of pain, discretely shaking my leg back into my hip.
"Are you representing yourself," the magistrate said. I nodded. "Yes, I have no choice."
He ignored the statement.
I really had no choice. The only agency that had funds for representation was Frankston Legal Aid. Community Legal Aid had none.
Ros Quick, the managing attorney at Frankston Legal Aid had told me that if this issue went to trial again not to bother coming to her, she would not fund another barrister.
She had been dismissive the first time. I was barely able to get in to see her, and she seemed annoyed that I was there.
Despite the fact that she knew that a self litigant had little chance in the courts; that I was disabled and just recovering from major surgery; and was a foreigner, she initially told me that she did not see that "important rights" were at stake. -- The permanent Intervention Orders only stated that I should be removed from my home and possessions.
It had taken a series of emails over a week or so to convince her otherwise. A week where a small mob descended on my home to intimidate me; destroyed property in common; and later another group of four came to steal federally protected papers -- committing assault in the process.
Finally, only days before the court date, Ms Quick relented and assigned an inexperienced and inept barrister. The barrister had not even read the breif I'd sent him. He was given misleading instructions by Ms Quick that mine was a simple case. He shouted at me repeatedly on the phone, "You would be happy with just remaining in the house, is that correct?" despite my asking if he had read any of the 20 pages I'd sent him.
"You do understand that you will be held to the same standards as any attorney?", the magistrate said.
I nodded. I had no idea what that meant. I had prepared evidence as best I could. It was organized and the questions I'd prepared for my ex and her daughter led from one piece to another. It was the best I could do.
The allegations against me were not sufficient to warrant removal from the house. If anything, they represented an ongoing disagreement that could at best be called 'harassment."
My first motion was to have the disgusting wording of the Intervention Order amended to more accurately reflect the nature of my "crimes." -- That was quickly denied.
My second motion was to introduce to the court a letter from a psychologist at Commonwealth Rehabilitation Services, Win Martin, stating that although I was working hard at retraining, I had not been in any state of mind to agree to the first orders. The magistrate never even looked at the letter. Denied.
I was called to the stand.
I told the magistrate for the third time -- He had seen me two times previous. -- that I had an anxiety problem, and to help overcome that disability had prepared a short statement for the court. I explained to this magistrate for the third time that the stress of two years of increasing abuse by (my ex); the dissolution of our relationship; the stress of a major surgery and then this concocted legal assault had made me very susceptible to anxiety attacks.
He grinned and told me I could not use it. That was it. The lights started spinning around the room. I have no idea what I said. I'm sure the magistrate was amused at this silly man standing there trying to make coherent sentences.
The statement would have taken 2-3 minutes to read into the record.
But I was there alone. And I had no chance.
I told myself that I had to breathe, to calm down, .. over and over.. otherwise I would go into a gran mal seizure.
I only clearly remember a few moments of the rest of that day.
I do remember that I ended up against one wall, hyperventilating, while my ex and her daughter gave their testimony.
The magistrate badgered and questioned every word or action I took.
He never questioned anything from their side, despite the fact that it was clearly rehearsed and duplicated.
Why am I here?
Because what happened to me should not happen to anyone, male or female. Because the courts were used for extortion, and the perpetuation of abuse. Because what happened was inhuman. And because what happened should be seen as an abuse of civil and human rights, not some play-acted justice.
I was effectively convicted of what I had suffered. The police prosecutor read into the record that there was "increasing abuse over a two-year period", and he was right. But because of the blind prejudice of the system and that no one had ever investigated properly, he had the victim and perpetrators mixed up.
I was effectively fined $500 for trying to put the facts before the courts. I had made the mistake of thinking the Australian courts or police, -- really the whole legal and social system I've come to see -- were even vaguely interested in the truth.
If he hadn't done that -- as I said back in May -- I would have put all of this behind me.
Paul Donley
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