OneTen o'clock. She hurried back from the courtroom to the little office they had at the court. Navigating her way to her desk space, the senior said to her in passing, 'A, when you have a minute, I need to speak to you.' She acknowledged, and continued back to her files, where two other clients were waiting for her.
She asked which client was for the case with the baby with withdrawal symptoms. One protective worker stepped forward, and handed her a pile of documents, explaining that they were medical records from the event at the hospital the previous night. She'd only managed to get them faxed over this morning, hence the delayed submission. That's fine, she said, give me a brief synopsis of what has happened since the last occasion. Her client began, only to be interrupted by the blaring overhead paging system. 'Ms Smith, Ms Smith, to Courtroom 2, please. Ms Smith, to Courtroom 2.'
She sought momentary solace in that moment between the end of the page and when the loud lawyer-client conversations commenced again in the tiny office. She took a deep breath and readied herself for the information that her client was going to give her.
They hadn't gotten far before they were interrupted again. 'A, I need to speak to you now,' a voice yelled over everybody else's in the room. She excused herself and approached the senior.
'I'm giving you a new case. An child who was found absconding last night. Alcohol and drug abuse. No violence. Here's the file.' A near-empty file was handed to her.
'Alright, I've got my hands full now, but I'll get to it,' she replied.
'Your client will be here in a while.'
'Great, thanks.'
'Oh, and, your client is not the delegated worker, she's just a fill-in.'
'Even better, thanks.'
TwoIt was noon. She knew more or less how her four other cases were going to pan out. It was time to deal with the new matter. She opened the file and skimmed the initial documents, completed in messy handwriting that only suggested urgency and duty. Twelve-year-old. Found outside a shopping centre with a group of older adults. Alcohol. Marijuana. Family history of protective concerns. She needed more instructions.
She stood from her chair and walked towards the microphone to page the client for that case. After the page, she approached the Legal Aid counter to ask which lawyers have been appointed to the case. The boy was going to be represented. The boy's father was at court in the morning, but he'd left. His mother was a no-show.
Back in the office, she found her client waiting for her. What are we seeking, what does the boy want, and what happened last night in chronological order - go.
We want him in boys' secure welfare. For three weeks. We need a psychological assessment of him. He just can't stay at one place for long enough. He has been in out of home care. He hates it and keps absconding. We're trying to hard to accomodate his wishes, but he's not happy. The first one had occupants who were too young. The second one was too far from his friends. The third one was too strict. Alcohol and drug abuse. Streetworks has spotted him on several occasions late at night, and sent him home. His father is an alcoholic. His mother is a severe alcoholic. Constantly puts himself at risk of harm. He carries knives on him wherever he goes. Puts his friends at risk of harm, too. Anger management problem.
She listened intently, whilst flipping through the few pages of allegations. The few police records told of his responses to police interventions over the past few weeks. On the last occasion, the boy turned himself in when he saw the police. He was cooperative and undemanding. No sign of violence or aggression. Quite the contrary, he exhibited curiosity. What's the difference between jail and remand? What does it mean when someone is on bail? 'Potential' was the word the police used.
Shutting the file, she turned to her client and asked what the bottomline of the negotiation would be. They weren't backing down. They needed three weeks for the psychological assessment. And they needed to be sure that the boy would be there to attend upon appointments.
All this little boy needs is a safe home, she thought to herself.
ThreeShe paged for the boy's lawyer. He approached her with a wry smile on his face, and asked her what she wanted.
Twelve year old boy. We want three weeks in secure welfare. Psychological assessment.
He doesn't want to go to secure welfare. What other out of home cares are available?We want three weeks secure welfare. He keeps absconding. We've tried to accomodate his preferences three times. We don't know where else to place him.
No way on my instructions, I'll fight you on this. He hasn't done anything wrong. Why do you want three weeks anyway?Psychological assessment. Boy shows signs of mental instability. We're not sure how soon we can get the assessment completed.
He wants to go home to his father.He needs some form of stability in his life, and we need to find out what's wrong.
There's nothing wrong. He's just into alcohol and drugs. Are we fighting this or are you going to give me what I want?It's a fight, see you in court after lunch, I'll be ready to go.
It was a quarter to one. She took out the banana from her bag and started to prepare for the submission contest.
FourTwo o'clock. She took the Magistrate through the facts of the case. Her opponent highlighted different facts of the case that supported the other side's story. She rebutted. The Magistrate then asked questions of both sides.
From the front row of the public arena, the boy slouched solemnly. Quietly. Almost remorsefully. On a few occasions, his lawyer turned back to ask him a question. Yes, he did. No, he didn't. All the time, he held his head bowed down. She couldn't help but think what a bright boy he was and how he could possibly have a bright future. He wanted to be a social worker. In the alternative, he wanted to be a policeman. He wanted to help people in his position.
But he just needed to know how to help himself.
FiveThe courtroom began to get heated. The boy's blood was boiling when an allegation was made of last night's incident.
I didn't do it, they fuckin know I didn't do it!Your Honour, the police report highlights that he did do it, and that there were several witnesses around to corroborate this.
Fuck this shit, I don't want to go home anymore. You're all liars - big fuckin liars!The boy's lawyer turned back to calm his client down, attempting to reason with him quietly. The social worker sat close to him, and explained what they had spoke about before.
Her fingers twitched at the bar table. She looked down at her notes, and up at the Magistrate, who was showing a slight indication of which way the ruling would be.
Fuck this. I'll go to fuckin secure if I have to, I'm not going home anymore.The silence in the courtroom was deafening. The Magistrate questioned the boy's lawyer with his eyes.
Your Honour, my client has just changed his instructions. Perhaps the matter could be stood down for some negotiations on the length of time and conditions.
Yes, came the somber response.
All stand please; the third division of the Court is now temporarily adjourned.
SixThe negotations didn't last too long. Frantic phone calls were made. The ruling was even quicker. Three weeks in secure welfare, and a psychological assessment. Liberty to the parents to set aside. Total abstinence.
When the matter was finalised, she gathered her papers on the bar table quickly and made her way out of the courtroom. The boy's anger had escalated. As soon as he stepped out of the courtroom, he shrieked at the top of his lungs and it echoed through the long corridor of the Court. He grabbed the black cylindrical rubbish bin outside the courtroom with both hands and threw it across to the seating area, cursing out vulgarities as he did so. There were only a few spectators, at that time of the day. The social worker approached him caringly, asking him to calm down. He continued to swear, and punched the air aggressively. The social worker, possibly one third of his size, spoke to him calmly, quietly, urging him to calm down.
He dropped to the ground, and starting sobbing uncontrollably. Fists still curled up in a ball. Like a giant teddy bear, he hugged the social worker, not realising that he was nearly crushing her. He yelled out again, and again, each time decreasing in volume. There, there, everything will be ok, everything will be ok.
The two police escorts who'd just arrived at the Court came running up the stairs towards the scene. The social worker assured them that everything was ok, and requested that they escorted him to the boys' secure welfare.
She rushed upstairs to the registry to request for a typed out version of the orders that were made. They were handed to her, fresh from the printer. Three copies - one for the police, one for her and one for the boy's lawyer. She hurried back downstairs and handed the police officer a copy.
The social worker helped the boy to his feet. He wiped his tears from his face with the back of his hand. Head down, he followed the police officers downstairs, and into their car.
Take care.
