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The
trauma Max lives with as the result of the actions of Qantas was exacerbated by
the frustration of the legal system here in Australia. In order to try and spare
others from that trauma Max began to email lecturers in law at all the
universities here in Australia. He wanted them to read his book and see the
consequences of what happens when legal representatives fail to deliver. Out of
the many emails only one lecturer took the time to response and intends to read
Max’s book at the end of this semester. Several emails were exchanged between
the parties with the following email being sent to Max on 21 August 2004; “A concept
of justice is of little interest to lawyers and during the university program
this concept is only considered in a subject known as jurisprudence or legal
theory. Otherwise, there is Mr Wilson Justice, Mr Bully Justice, Ms Shrewd
Justice. Judges are called justices. What you call "justice" has never
been of interest to lawyers in the Anglo-American or common law system. A legal
case is a ruthless fight between two or more parties with hired guns. If you
expect so called "justice" from a court you have been clearly mistaken
or misinformed. Max, you may continue your crusade on the way to justice but
only in a moral or ethical domain. General population or people "in the
street" think that they will get Justice" when they go to Court. This
is a serious misunderstanding, my friend. People are sometimes treated in courts
like cattle. I do teach these insights to my students. I sometimes invite to a
lecture or a tutorial a person who has himself or herself experienced INJUSTICE.
Writers, poets or other artists have done more to promote JUSTICE than have
courts. What you and many other good, honest people call "JUSTICE" is
known in law as a "PROCEDURAL FAIRNESS" meaning that you were given
the opportunity to be heard or were heard and that you were heard without bias.
These are noble words, only because in real life there many corrupt people who
will use every opportunity to misinterpret, misrepresent, etc. and so rather
than saying "One is innocent until proven guilty" is usually
pronounced that "One is innocent until proven broke". The European,
Civil Law system is a bit better because the judge is actively involved in
investigating "the truth" of the case or dispute. However, other
intervening factors may also corrupt the process, just as well.” Several emails had been exchanged as
well with the producers of the Nine Networks Sunday program. The above response
was forwarded to the with the following being returned on 31 August 2004;
I found your email and the un-named lecturers' comments very interesting.
Unfortunately the media isn't much concerned with justice unless there is a
good story attached. Often there is only a story when someone has taken the
ultimate way out. Although this is a cynical view I think it's one the
media often take. About
the Author
As
far back as school days Max could remember he had always felt an overwhelming
need to speak out about matters of inequality, prejudice and civil liberties.
Max had always gain inspiration from many of the true campaigners in history and
has always turned to his own philosophy when faced with despair; “Things
happen for a reason” When
deciding to write his book Max reflected back to the words of the late Martin
Luther King who once said: “Our
lives begin to end
the day we become
silent
about things that matter”
Max
followed advice given to him whilst at school and chose to work in industries
that involved interaction with people. Max finally setting down to a career as a
fight attendant in February 1984 unfortunately in 1990 the work that Max had
enjoyed so much changed forever following a brief heated conversation between
his immediate supervisor and himself. From that day onwards Max’s working life
became a nightmare. Max
had been a loyal and conscientious flight attendant for nineteen years at the
time he was finally dismissed on medical grounds. The years of harassment at the
hands of his supervisor and the reluctance of senior Qantas management to assist
in halting the harassment finally lead to a series of mental breakdowns and two
suicide attempts. Max
now lives in the fulltime care of his partner of almost thirty years Les. His
experiences have left him so mentally traumatized that he has lost all faith in
the system and all those who failed in their responsibility to
assist when called upon. He now lives as a prisoner of his own mind and without
trust in the world beyond the front gate, only venturing outside for regular
consultations with his psychiatrist. Chapter 1
I
had just come from the house with cups of tea for each of us, it was hot and Les
had been tending his vegies for some time, “cup of tea,” I said as I rested
the two cups on the gatepost. “Great,”
he replied as he looked up, “take a look at the corn, I can’t believe just
how they’re growing, still we need some more rain.”
This was true; even with what rain we had had over the passed few months the
countryside was still very dry. “It’s more then eight years,” I said as I
open the gate to the paddock. “What’s
more then eight years?” Les asked as he dug the little hand shovel into the
ground near where he had been planting new seedlings. “Geoffrey
said yesterday that it had been more then eight years since the Tanya issue
started.” I walked towards Les with the cups thinking to myself only eight
years but to me it really felt like eternity. Les
took his cup, “come and look at the vegies, they’re jumping out of the
ground, we will be having fresh rhubarb soon.”
This
was his way of trying to take my mind of what I had just said and all that had
happened, all the sleepless nights, all the tears, and all the despair. But I
can’t stop thinking about all that had happened; it’s been like a nightmare
that keeps happening over and over and over again. The truth is neither of us
can and our lives will never be the same again.
Geoffrey keeps on telling me that
it’s only time and resolution that can heal the wounds BUT for me the memories
won’t ever go away, I will always have the scars long after the wounds heal,
that is if they ever heal. Geoffrey tries to understand what I am going through
but even as a psychiatrist I know he can’t really understand, no one can they
can just be there to help me as best they can.
“Michelle rang again the other
day………..,” Les paused to wait for a response but I just said nothing,
“give her a call, she wants to hear from you, you know she’s worried about
you, please for me just give her a call,” he said as he bent down scraping
around some of the vegies.
“Yeah I know she does……..but,” my mind just fills with this over
powering fear whenever I now even think of speaking to any one these days. Even
with Michelle and Owen who have been so supportive over the years there is this
fear that shows itself. All the questions, how’s it going, what’s happened,
the questions that any one else would have no problem in answering but I don’t
know the answers and that’s one of the things that scares me.
So
often during times of despair or hardship, in order to try and comfort those
dear to us, we say, ‘I know just how you must feel’ or ‘I can just imagine
what you are going through’ but the truth is we really can’t imagine or feel
what that person is feeling because pain is such an individual thing. When
friends or Les or for that matter even Geoffrey ask me now to try and describe
how I am feeling I find it so hard to explain just how I am feeling because
there is no definite pain as such. Not like a sore tooth where you can isolate
the pain area and say it is here, it’s a pain that exists within your mind and
is so hard to describe. The only way I feel that I can describe it is to say to
those who have asked, “Trying to describe my feelings is like asking me to
descried the colours of a rainbow to a person who has been blind since birth, it
is totally impossible to do so.”
“But
nothing, just give her a ring, she worries about you and she still thinks you
should write a book and tell the world about it all, about all the cover ups and
lies.”
“Yeah yeah I know she does.”
Les finished his tea and went back to
pottering with his vegies. I just stood there leaning on the fence and looking
down the road to where we saw the taxi that day and began thinking of all that
had happened. There was so much that has happened and Michelle has not been the
first friend to tell me that I should write a book about the past twelve years. 
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