36. The ugly face of a curse
Those still doubting that my story is fact, not fiction, would have to give me credit for brilliant planning, timing and juggling numbers to my best advantage. But I did not do that. Naming Chapter 53 in my last book “Dilemma in landing” would have been my masterstroke. But I only discovered the words “Lamm die” as I wrote and noticed that Isaiah 53 is all about a lamb dying. Plus my story has at least two events, no three where there were problems in landing.
I thank HIM almost daily for masterstrokes. My diaries are full of HIM. They are all to HIS credit. The previous Chapter (35) finished with the amazing reappearance of number 1550. It was days later that I discovered I could simply insert 35 into the number and make a simple mathematical equation. A mastermind is at work. I have learned to trust HIM and not try to create magic by myself; otherwise I would have stuffed up long ago and my mind gone over the edge.
One of the discoveries that surprised me over the past few years and months was the weather and earthquakes. Every time I started writing or was uploading it was either raining or an earthquake took place. (On the day of writing we are having our first rain since the last upload). Sorry, if I sound repetitive, but on 15/5/05, the day I uploaded Chapter 35, both an earthquake and rain occurred. Luckily both were very small. The report about the earthquake may have had another purpose. (Read on).
What if this report is a little fairytale? Somebody loved the action-packed trip of my journey to the Flinders Rangers and was so shaken and excited, they sent a report of a little earthquake to the newspaper. Look at the names, Love David or Mt. John, they smell of DaNinci. Either way, an earthquake or just a reported earthquake, the date of the event fitted perfectly.
Sadly, my colourful story does not only consist of magic with numbers or fun and games. There was a time when there was nothing but a dark black cloud. This cloud had been over South Australia for decades. After we had arrived in this state the sky was literally black. It was the result of the worst bushfire ever to hit this state. February 1983 has long been forgotten. The sky is starting to clear. The cloud is disappearing. Thank God.
April 4th 2005 will go down in the history of South Australia as a sad day for justice. The Speaker of Parliament Mr. Peter Lewis resigned under intense pressure. He had rung the alarm bells after a number of men, who had given him information, were murdered. He claimed to have evidence in support of allegations linking pedophilia with members of the police force and one senior politician. Out of a total of 8 or 9 people, three had died, most likely been murdered.
Only yesterday, May 26th 05, Mr. Lewis was reported to have brought to the attention of State Parliament another murder, which took place the day before in a Northern Suburb. Mr. Lewis said he also had spoken to this man, about six months previously, who was now dead. The news report ended with a statement by Police: “The man found murdered on Wednesday evening was most likely the result of an outstanding debt”.
If the newspapers are doing their job reporting the truth about such key events, we shall hear more of this case. Whatever happened to investigative journalism? Has fear silenced a whole profession, like it has silenced those whistleblowers? Perhaps Chris Nicholls was the last journalist to fearlessly pursue criminals? He was jailed for 3 months for exposing crime. Did his fate serve as a lesson what happens to investigative journalists, who ask questions?
Let’s come back to April 4th 05, the day before I was to fly to the USA. There were still preparations to complete, but I’m flexible enough and did two things at once. I wanted to attend the rally on the steps of Parliament House (Chapter 34) to show support for Mr. Lewis. He was fearless in exposing evil in our city and bringing justice to the victims. Since he allegedly had no evidence to prove his bombshell claims, he decided to resign under the intense pressure. The rally at Parliament House was taking place just prior to his announcement.
One of Peter Lewis’ staff members had days earlier pleaded on TV to have this matter thoroughly investigated, despite lack of evidence. She had pointed out, and rightly so, that in most sexual abuse cases no cameras are rolling, no witnesses present, no clues left behind to later prove what took place. For the police to close the case and point the finger at Mr. Lewis and demand he be charged is not only premature, it is denying free speech.
Until the murders are solved and it clearly is established that they have nothing to do with Mr. Lewis’ allegations, the case ought to stay open. Victims should be encouraged to come forward and at least be listened to. (An enquiry is under way which is doing just that. (There is more on this further on in the chapter). I personally met an abuse victim at the rally that morning. Before reporting his awful story let me tell you, how I reached another level of outspokenness in this, my journey:
Above item I found in Liberman Road, just around the corner. The label attached to it priced whatever it was at $ 19.95 Love it! Maybe there will be a Museum one day.
Parliament was to resume at 2PM on April 4th, the first day of sitting after a break. The first item was Mr. Lewis’ expected resignation as the Speaker of the House of Assembly. The protest rally on the steps of Parliament House was still in progress at the time. When I realized how late it was at about 2.05pm I decided immediately to walk into the building, hoping to still get a seat in the public gallery. I was stopped by three of four police officers, who had formed a barrier to get near the door.
One of them told me the public viewing area was filled to capacity and they (the police) had been instructed to not let anybody else enter the building. I wanted to just go upstairs and see for myself, if this was really true; that there was no room. I got very angry and shouted at the officers. I can’t recall what I said, but inside I was seething and accused them of lying.
The officers annoyed me, because my freedom of movement was curtailed. In my mind they symbolized the brute force of a corrupt system. My parents had experienced the same thing in Nazi Germany. I, an ordinary citizen, had become an enemy of a corrupt government. This is how I saw the situation at that volatile moment.
Still a bit irate I turned and walked the few steps to the microphone. When the person speaking at the time had finished his next sentence I took his place let it all out. I can’t recall exactly what I shouted. I was speaking fast and passionately. In my whole life I had spoken in public on no more than on ten occasions. This one I shall never forget. My words were something like this:
“I just tried to go inside to watch Parliament. I was told there is no room upstairs. I don’t believe it. They just don’t want the truth to come out”. What we need is a Royal Commission. Nothing short of a Royal Commission will stamp out corruption, which is rampant in this city from the highest level down to the lowest. Only a Royal Commission, carried out by and independent body, will uncover the truth.
My boldness surprised me, but also the fact that I was not losing total control. I faced the truth, which was simple - I was mainly angry with myself, for missing a seat in the public gallery. Still, the agitation inside helped overcome any inhibition. The other point was, I would not be in town for a few weeks anyway. (Little did I know that only 5 weeks later I would be standing before a real-live Royal Commission).
After handing back the microphone to the organizer I walked straight to my car, very fast, and drove home. Later, facing another truth I asked myself, how I could have gotten so angry with the police officers and why did I doubt that the public gallery was filled to capacity? I found an interesting answer in the Psalms. You will agree that it fits perfectly into my world of questioning and doubting newspaper articles, radio or TV News or events surrounding car crashes etc:
“I said in my haste, all men are liars”. (Psalm 116,11).
I had just uploaded the story about the colour 'telstra-phonecard-petal-pink when I spotted a huge piece of plastic littering a local road. I knew it was for me, for my D.I.Y. Praise 2 Collection.
The protest rally on the steps of Parliament, despite little public support, was not in vain. Earlier in the rally a young man, dressed smartly in a suit and tie gave me his business card after we had exchanged a few sentences. I had asked him frankly (let’s call him Greg):
“Greg, do you think the police is corrupt?”
My forthright probing appeared to have aroused agitation in Greg. His answer was equally frank and brief. He told me word for word: “Let me put it this way, I have been threatened with a gun at my head and police were just looking on.”
After a further brief exchange, knowing full well I shouldn’t accept everything I hear, I sensed there was something bigger, seemingly insurmountable chained like a heavy weight to this man. The media, again and again, pipes through their propaganda channels that our police force is basically clean, which I tend to believe. It’s the word ‘basically’ that’s the worry.
Greg’s outspokenness was one reason I wanted to find out more about his story. The other was his skills in computers. Perhaps he was the person, who could help the twins and I develop our road safety game, and raise it to a level of earning some money with it. My wife or family did not encourage risking money for pie-in-the-sky projects in the head of an unstable mind.
I picked this up off the road, while riding a bike, during a break writing this chapter. It took me a while to see the real magic code. At first I thought it was 11 or NO or even the word LUNCH. Or was someone calling the teacher for duty?
I let you search for the clue, which proves it is impossible to regard this just as piece of paper on the ground. I'm glad I obeyed that prompting to pick up this piece and leave the other 99.
At the rally I learned from Greg that he was an abuse victim and a whistle blower. He could not find work in our city, implying it was by reason of the corruption going on in this place. My experience had not been much different as far as acceptance of ideas is concerned.
On May 18th I visited Greg at his home, a middle class, leafy suburb in Adelaide’s East. I had no idea what to expect, so I just let him tell his abuse story. Here is how I remember it in a nutshell:
In the late 1970’s, at age 13, a teacher at school had abused him a number of times. It took all his courage to go to the headmaster of the school and report what had happened. Greg learned that justice was not always popular. His story was every headmaster’s nightmare – not merely bad publicity but possibly losing enrolments as a result.
Greg was ignored, the abuse allowed to continue. When the teacher had found out about the young whistleblower, he was furious. Life became a nightmare for Greg, who was so traumatized and fearful of more revenge, he did not go to his parents and tell them. (This seems to be the normal pattern in child abuse cases). One day the teacher got so angry with the rebel child, he ran Greg down in his car. Greg was hit and got injured.
In his desperation Greg went to the local Police Station to report the hit and run accident. Sadly, there was no success here either to gain a sympathetic ear. Nothing was done to bring justice.
Greg continued to tell me of an assault on him only 8 days before my visit, while walking on a road near his house. A man had jumped from a car and hit him with a heavy metal object. Greg was able to drop to the ground to avoid having his legs broken. Instead he was hit at the bottom of his feet. He took off his socks to show me his foot, which was still badly bruised, despite having worn heavy boots at the time of the brutal attack.
I saw photos on his computer screen of a dead, white rabbit, blood oozing out everywhere. His house had been broken into and the walls stained with the animal’s blood all over. I could hardly believe this was Adelaide in 2005. What more evidence does the police need to take action?
Only weeks earlier, after Mr. Lewis had resigned, the Police Commissioner in a press conference stated that no evidence was uncovered to substantiate Mr. Lewis’ claims and the case was now closed. He obviously didn’t know about Greg’s case or had viewed the evidence I saw.
The people of Adelaide might be surprised to learn that Greg has close connections to Mr. Lewis. That’s why I met him at the rally supporting Mr. Lewis.
May I appeal to all parliamentarians on North Terrace: Shooting the messenger, courageous people like Mr. Lewis, is not going to solve the mess our State has gotten themselves into.
The Advertiser Newspaper on 31/5/05, page 22 reports a comment made by Peter Lewis, which sparked a vicious personal attack on him. It came during a debate on doubling demerit points for road safety breaches on Long Weekends.
Mr. Lewis had said to Ms. Geraghty: You obviously don’t mind, if it is your husband who dies and the car gets wrecked.” Here is their reaction:
Lyn Breuer: “Mr. Lewis is a disgrace to this place”.
John Hill: “You are a joke, Peter. You are an absolute joke. You have no credibility anywhere at all in this state. (Not so, sorry).
Ms. Geraghty called Mr. Lewis an appalling individual and suggested he think about it and seek some advice and assistance. Mr. Atkinson added: ‘therapy”.Friends, this smells of a smear campaign against one Member of Parliament, who stood up against child abuse and who knows first-hand, like myself, what Greg and others have suffered and are fighting for.
If Mr. Lewis is really sick in the mind, leave him alone, but don’t tell him to leave, but leave him the freedom to speak out. On road safety as well as child abuse!
While I am at it, please let me get something else of my chest – Don Dunstan’s statue in the corridors of Parliament House ought to be removed. Only after an open debate, if this man deserves the honour of a plaque, should a re-placement be considered. (Whatever happened to the replica Penis that adorned the mantle piece in his parliamentary office?).
Those not familiar with our recent, depressing history – there were two periods 1967-68 and 1970-79, where we had an openly gay Premier, Don Dunstan, who introduced many trendy laws into our state. In his book ‘The Salisbury Affair’ (which is not about a train crash) the writer Stewart Cockburn writes, how pornography of the vilest nature was openly available and tolerated.
In Chapter 11 on page 245 he describes magazines and material the Governor was shown, which concerned citizens had brought to him. The Governor was shocked and understandably so:
One magazine warns that it is not suitable for minors, naming the subjects displayed in the publication: bestiality, bondage, cunnilungus, fellatio, group sex, incest, lesbianism, masochism, masturbation, necrophilia, pederasty, sadism, troilism, veneral intromission. (Please spare me to look up what cunnilungus, troilisms or necrophilia mean. Let's just believe Cockburn that it's real bad, but remember it does not grow in the garden).
Graffiti attack of a different kind - Liberal Headquarters Adelaide
I know who is responsible. Not for the petal-pink graffiti, but for the pretty liberal face.
Click here to find out who has the pretty face.
The Governor, a distinguished nuclear scientist, was shocked at what he saw and asked the Premier to take steps to have it removed from circulation. The Premier’s cool reply was: “Mine is a libertarian Government, Your Excellency, and as long as I lead it there will be no interference with what adults choose to read and see and do in private, as long as others are not harmed in the process.”
If the man were alive today, I would show him the fruits of his bad seed. Our beautiful state is reeling under the curse to this day. Horrendous stories of shattered lives are making headlines almost daily. Mr. Dunstan was wrong to say what adults read, see and do in private is their business. He didn’t take into account that there is ONE, who sees behind the locked doors of people’s bedrooms and searches their heart.
Where were the Christian leaders at the time? Did they preach the lie to keep Religion out of Politics? I have heard it preached; politics is evil, stay away from it! Why didn’t anybody wake up and see that only the first part of this statement is correct! Politics is evil. For that very reason Christians must get involved and be the salt of the earth.
It's quite possible that diligent church leaders spoke out at the time. But if newspapers, radio or television didn't report their critical comments, preaching to their flock on Sundays was not what was needed at at time like this.
Why should somebody, who believes in a Penis-on-the-mantelpiece have any more right to shape our laws than he, who believes in Prayer Meetings Monday nights? Let’s pray, speak up, get involved and then pray some more to see laws made which are in line with God's plan. This is the way to receive God's blessing for our nation.
I could make a song about it, but let me finish this chapter with another co-incidence. Perhaps you can see some significance in it, because it parallels my story somewhere. The name of the liberal-minded Premier Don Dunstan happened to be the same name, both Christian name and surname, as that of Governor Don Dunstan, no relation. The name starts with D and ends in N.
Perhaps these two letters have the power to break the curse over South Australia? Let’s add a 1 and 5, just to be sure. A man named Duncan was murdered on 10.5, 33 years ago. Strange names.Do you see the crosses?