Blame

A trial is underway, following the violent death of a young man. As the witnesses are
called to give their accounts, the twisting circumstances behind the tragedy are revealed.
Through flashback, we are taken between the trial, the crime and ultimately the funeral.

Production note
This play relies heavily upon the impact of its final monologue, so the first step is to
ensure you have an actor you trust to get that right. From thereon in, the rest comes
together very easily.

Cast
Prosecution
Defence
Matthew
George
Carrie
Ethan
Principal
K
Father
Peter
Preacher

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On stage stand three people, the Prosecution lawyer on one side, the Defence lawyer on
the other, in the centre The Accused (Matthew)

The prosecution lawyer steps forward, addressing the audience:

Prosecution Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the case to be put to you today is a
simple one. Nobody claims Matthew was not, on the night in question, at
the bach. Nor does anybody dispute that this is where the crime took
place. And it will not be argued today that Matthew played no part in this
barbaric act. In fact, it is freely admitted that he played a key role in all
that unfolded. You will not hear anybody in this case say otherwise. And
so, you might ask yourselves, as I have asked myself, why are you here?
Why is the defence insisting upon putting up a case? What does it say
about us as a society that we are offering Matthew this chance to defend
his actions?

It might say, I suppose, that we are compassionate. That we are so

committed to fairness that everybody deserves the opportunity to defend
themself. I would like to think this is the case.

Of course it might also say that we have lost our moral compass. Perhaps
we have lost the nerve borne of common sense, the backbone it takes to
stand tall, point and say, I hold you responsible. Not your background, not
your circumstances, not your medication, not your teachers, not your
family, your video games nor your friends. But you. You who thought,
who decided, who acted. Could it really be true that we have moved so far
from the common sense of our forebears that we can no longer respond to
the demands of the civilised society? I hope not, for my sake, for your
sake, for the sake of the young victim and his family, and for all those yet
to come, who may suffer as he suffered, if we do not find the collective
strength to defend ourselves.

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You will hear today about the things that Peter has done, and yes, I will
admit here and now that not all of it is pretty. But Peter is not on trial here.
This was not an act of self defence, no one is claiming it was, and so you
must not allow yourself to consider it.

You will hear too that the act in question was unintentional, a prank taken
too far, a joke gone wrong, and again I must remind you this is not the
issue. You must ask yourself simply, could the defendant have reasonably
foreseen the impact of his actions. If the answer is yes, and I put it to you
it must be yes, then Matthew is culpable. It is not enough to say he did not
know what would happen. We live in a world of probability and
expectation and Matthew could have reasonably expected events to unfold
in the way they did. And so Matthew is responsible.

You will be told also of the others involved in this incident. None of them,
we will be told, were leaders. Each followed the promptings of the other,
like a flock of birds in flight, swirling and turning through the air in
perfect formation despite the fact that apparently none makes the first
move. But to accept this point is to accept that we, none of us, are to be
held responsible for our actions. For none of us are immune to the
surroundings of our world. Yet you and I do not wish to live in a world
where none of us is held responsible. For that is the world of chaos and
disorder. This court exists only because we believe we have it within us to
deny such a world.

And finally you will be spoken to of the insanity of the moment, of a

young lad whose rage exploded upon him, a chemical flurry fuelled by a
history of torment, triggered by a sudden and unexpected turning of the
tables. So let me finish by saying this. That Matthew felt a great rage is
not in doubt. But who of us does not feel such rage? Who amongst us does

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 not rail against our personal challenges, who amongst us does not want to
throw a child’s tantrum and scream out this is unfair? The defence must
establish not rage, but uncontrollable rage, the sort that will move this
from a matter of justice to one of medicine, and this they can not do. Bad
not mad, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is the only conclusion we can
reasonably reach. I challenge you now to stand up to him. I challenge you
to stand up to all of them.

The Prosecution lawyer turns and walks across the stage.

Prosecution Matthew, you spent the afternoon of the 23rd playing a board game, is that
correct?
Matthew Ah yes, I mean no, well sort of.
Prosecution Sort of?
Matthew There is a game, called Ethics, a board game, and we had it out, and we
were using it, we were using its questions, as conversation. As a way of
prompting our conversation. But we weren’t actually playing the game as
such. We weren’t following the rules.
Prosecution I see. And could you perhaps give us a taste of this conversation? What
were some of the things you talked about?

Light changes, lawyers leave the stage. Enter Carrie and George, Matthew’s friends.
They sit, with bottles of drink beside them, a bowl of chippies and another of dip. There
are cushions on the floor. Matthew and Carrie lean against one another, Matthew
looking particularly pleased with himself. In front of them is a board game, a pile of
question cards spill across the floor. They are taking turns picking one up and asking
questions. The mood is relaxed and contented. Even smug.

Matthew Okay, here’s one for Carrie. Your best friend is cheating on her boyfriend.
Do you confront her about it, or do you consider it none of your business?
Carrie None of my business.

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George I knew you’d say that.
Carrie Why?
George Because it’s what you think you’re meant to say.
Carrie You saying I’m lying?
George No I think you honestly think it’s what you’d do, but you wouldn’t. You’d
interfere. It’s just how you are.
Carrie Interfering?
George I’m not saying it’s a bad thing.
Carrie Of course it’s a bad thing.
George No, it’s seen as bad thing, which is completely different.
Carrie No, it’s completely the same thing. How can something be good when
everybody thinks it’s bad?
Matthew So you don’t believe in absolute values?
Carrie Absolutely not.
Matthew I agree with George you know. I think you would interfere, and I think
you’re right, nobody thinks being interfering is good, but in this case, I
think they’re wrong.
Carrie You’re making no sense.
Matthew I hadn’t finished.
Carrie No but you’d started badly.
Mathew I think it’s the fact that nobody interferes, that everybody says, ‘you just
have to leave them to make their own mistakes’ that causes the problem in
the first place. I think more people should be like you. I think more of us
need to get involved.
Carrie But people do need to be left to make their own mistakes. How’s it any of
my business?
Matthew If somebody starts driving on the wrong side of the road you’d think that
was your business.
Carrie Because they might hit me. It affects me.
George Everything affects us.
Carrie It’s not the same.

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George You think we should check on Peter?
Matthew He’ll be fine.
Carrie Have a look.

Making a great show of his reluctance George stands and pulls back the curtain. Peter,
gagged and with his hands tied together above his head, sways from an anchor point in
the ceiling. All three regard him. Blood drips from his mouth.

Matthew Happy now?

Carrie Sure.

George pulls the curtain back and sits again next to Carrie.

Matthew Your turn. Choose a question.

Carrie Okay, here we go. A good one for you actually. You find an advance copy
of the end of year exam. Do you use the knowledge to your advantage?
Matthew Of course I do.
George That’s a stupid question. Who wouldn’t? What’s the downside?
Carrie I think you’re meant to consider the damage to the integrity of the system.
George The system has no integrity. Last year right my accounting teacher was
like twelve years old, he had pimples and shit, he used to bike to school, I
don’t think he even had a licence, and anyway, he knew nothing. He
taught us all the wrong stuff and if I didn’t know Michael from Coll I
would have failed. I was the only one in the class who didn’t fail. So
where’s the integrity in that? It all comes down to luck, the roll of a dice.
You show me the answers in advance, I’m going to use them.

A roaring from offstage, Peter from offstage, sounding like some sort of enraged animal.

Carrie He doesn’t sound happy.

George Gag must have come off.

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Matthew My turn.

Matthew moves to the side of the stage, picks up a baseball bat then disappears behind
the curtain. We hear the beating being administered. The initial howls of pain are quickly
muted. The casual brutality is reinforced when Matthew returns, whistling, swinging his
bat. He doesn’t miss a beat, picking up the next question and reading.

Matthew You see a bully standing over a smaller boy for his lunch money. Do you
intervene?

They laugh together, almost hysterically.

Lights back up on the courtroom. The two lawyers and, in the stand, the School
Principal.

The Defence lawyer steps forward.

Defence And you are the Principal at the school both Matthew and Peter attended.
Is that correct?
Principal Yes.
Defence And on the day in question, that would be Friday May 7, you met with the
board to consider Peter’s place in the school, is that also correct?
Principal Well, we met the night before, the evening of the 6th, not the full board,
just the discipline committee.
Defence And what was the outcome of that meeting?
Principal It was decided that Peter would be excluded from the school.
Defence But Peter wasn’t informed of this until the morning of the 7th?
Principal That’s correct.
Defence Why the delay?
Principal He, ah, he left the meeting. The hearing. He swore at us and stormed out.
Defence And that was the last straw?

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Principal No. No, we would have reached our decision regardless.
Defence You would have known, at his age, that Peter was unlikely to have been
accepted into another school. This was Peter’s last chance wasn’t it? And
so what I’m asking is, this wasn’t a decision you took lightly was it?
Principal No, it wasn’t a decision we took lightly.
Defence Can you explain to court perhaps, what it was that led you to take this
drastic action?
Principal You are quite right, for many many students we represent the last chance
they will ever have to climb out from the trench circumstance has dug for
them. We are told that it is our job to make a difference, that we mustn’t
write off a child just because of their background. For to do so is to accept
the deficit model, and the deficit model is bad. And we pretend to agree.
Agreeing makes us look good, and it makes us feel good, and I don’t know
which of those is more important. But we are just pretending. We know,
all of us know, this is simply untrue.

In one study it was estimated that by the age of five, children brought up
in language impoverished backgrounds have been exposed to 32 million
fewer words than the average child. 32 million. It is exposure to language
that programmes the emerging mind, and those connections not adequately
stimulated simply shut down, for ever. The human being is not like some
rusting car neglected in the back shed that a patient pair of hands can
lovingly restore. A young mind deprived of attention stays broken, to
neglect it is an act of unimaginable social vandalism. 32 million fewer
exposures. That is the truth of the matter, the style of impossibility the
modern school is confronted with.

When I first took a job as principal I promised myself no student would be

excluded from my school. We are their last chance and I would not be the
one to give up on those who needed us most. My resolve lasted only four
months. Peter deserved a chance. Of course he did. But the cost of keeping

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 him in school was too high; he was defiant, a terrible role model to
younger students, an opportunistic thief and, in his very worst moments, a
vicious thug. Having him in the school endangered others. It was that
simple.

No, that’s not true. It could made be to seem that simple. It is never
simple. The cost of not having Peter in school was likely to be far higher.
$80 000 a year, for example, is the price we pay to imprison a young
offender. Over five times the cost of educating them. But that is not the
school’s problem. I am answerable to parents who expect their children to
be kept safe, and I keep my promise to them by making the world outside
our gates more dangerous, day by day. I appease them, I give in. I turn my
back on education’s most important role. Because I don’t know what else
to do. None of us know what else to do. This is how it works.
Defence But you say Peter was a vicious thug?
Principal Yes, he was a vicious thug.

The Prosecution lawyer steps forward. Peter’s best friend, K, takes the stand.

Prosecution Now you and Peter, how would you describe that relationship?
K Mates. Best mates.
Prosecution And what did you think, when you heard Peter had been excluded?
K It was bullshit.
Prosecution Why?
K ‘Cos he was all right. People do lots worse. He got a lot of blame for stuff
that wasn’t his fault.
Prosecution Why?
K You know.
Prosecution I think I do. But the court doesn’t. You need to tell the court.
K You know, it’s the way he looks.
Prosecution What do you mean?

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K You know. People look at him and they make up their mind before they’ve
even said anything to him.
Prosecution So you’re saying the school was prejudiced against him?
K I don’t know. I don’t know, that’s not how I’d say it.
Prosecution How would you say it?
K It’s bullshit. School. School’s bullshit.
Prosecution Why?
K I don’t know.
Prosecution I think you do.
K They won’t get it.
Prosecution We’re relying on you being wrong.
(Pause, K thinks hard about this.)
K I knew on my first day. I was only five, I didn’t know any shit, but I knew
that. I knew they thought I was stupid. I used to be scared of oranges. I
know that is stupid but I was only little and I heard somewhere that when
you peel an orange if you get the peel under your fingers it grows there
and you end up with an orange tree growing inside you and its roots choke
your heart up and that’s so dumb I know but I was the only one home
when my uncle had his heart attack so, I was fucking scared of oranges.

And then we had this teacher who told us if we didn’t eat fruit we’d have
heart attacks as well and she was like so fucking skinny, sucking on this
stupid water bottle all the time, it’s twice the price of coke and you can get
it for free from a tap so why would you let someone that dumb teach
children, and I don’t think she ate anything at all anyway, but she made us
show her our fruit every morning. I used to use mine to throw at cars out
the bus window on the way to school so my lunchbox was always empty.
So she started giving me oranges didn’t she? What could I do? I brought a
knife to school to cut the oranges up, because of my heart, and when I
pulled it out some hysterical little bitch in the class started screaming and

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 so I was suspended for three days, for being scared of oranges. It’s that
sort of bullshit.

I had a good teacher at intermediate. He thought I was smart so I started

being smart cos didn’t want to let him down, but then I got to college and
suddenly everyone was looking at me thinking I was stupid again and
waiting for me to ‘get in with the wrong crowd’. Like it’s a single step
from the basketball court to doing P. And the shit they teach, I tell you.
They have no idea. If you don’t read your Shakespeare, how are you ever
going to survive in the modern world? Cos yeah, I’ve walked down
Lambton Quay and it’s fucking full of people stopping each other on the
pavement and saying ‘a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’
And anyway, it fucking wouldn’t. ‘Happy Valentine’s day love. I bought
you a poo.’

Anyway, they excluded him didn’t they, like they were always going to.
And when he told me I said don’t worry bro, they just don’t understand
you. You’re better out of there anyway. You’re better off with people who
don’t just blame you for everything. And then he said let’s steal a car. And
I said, yeah, okay.

Prosecution And Peter was driving when you crashed?

K Correct.
Prosecution Tell us how that happened.
K The corner tightened up on us a little bit. We were out the back of Makara,
he was learning how to drift, that’s why we stole a rear wheel drive. And
then this one corner, I don’t know, he’s a good driver, but you know,
sometimes shit just happens. We crashed straight through this fence, and
wrapped the back end round an orange tree.
Prosecution An orange tree?

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K Nah, I was joking. Pinus Radiata. And then me and Peter had a little bit of
a disagreement. He wanted to try to back the car out, I wanted to get the
fuck out of there. So we discussed matters. I won’t tell you the words we
used, you know, there was swearing, but in the end I left him to it, cos he’s
a stubborn prick, and he was sure with a bit more practice he’d have the
whole drifting thing sorted.

Back to the bach. George and Matthew sitting. Carrie walks in, carrying the bowl of dip
and chips, as yet untouched.

George You brought dip! Marry me.

Carrie No.
George Why not?
Carrie You’d get sick of dip, and then you’d go looking for someone else.
George I will never get sick of reduced cream and onion soup dip. Never.
Matthew Let’s play Ethics.
George Ethics is stupid.
Matthew Have you ever played it?
George No, because it’s stupid.
Carrie Let’s just read the questions. We don’t have to worry about the scoring.
George I like the scoring.
Matthew You’ve never played it.
George I’ve never played underwater hockey. I still know it’d be shit without the
scoring.
Carrie I can’t swim. Do you think that’s bad?
Matthew You can make dip. Everyone has their talents.
George Anyone can make that dip.
Carrie And yet you’d marry me for it?
George I’d marry you for sex as well, and I can do that by myself.
Matthew Who wants another beer?

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A loud knock at the door. George gets up and answers. Peter stands there, out of breath,
surprised to see who it is.

Peter What are you doing here?

The other two, seeing who it is, stand. A nervous moment.

George It’s my uncle’s place.

Peter He here?
George No, we’re just…
Peter My car’s stuck.
George Didn’t know you had a car.
Peter Why would you know?

Carrie walks forward.

Carrie We can’t help you. I think you should go.

Peter I just need to use a fucking phone.
Carrie Yeah, there isn’t one. Use your cell phone.
Peter My battery’s dead. Give us yours.
Carrie I’m not…
Matthew Here.

Matthew hands over his phone. Peter thinks for a moment, hands it back.

Peter Nah, don’t know the number. Number’s on my phone.

He tries to swap the batteries over but they’re different. He throws both to the floor in
frustration. Looks around, uncertain.

Matthew Okay, well hey, sorry we couldn’t help. You all right?

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Peter Why wouldn’t I be?
Matthew Well you know, if you crashed your…
Peter It’s fucking stuck. It’s not crashed.
Matthew Okay.
Peter You going to offer me one of those beers then?

He pushes by the startled Matthew, helps himself to a beer, and sitting digs into the chips
and dip. The others watch, nervous.

Peter Please, no need to stay standing. Have a seat. Help yourself to chips if you
like. Actually, have you got any more?

He finishes the dip with his finger and hands both bowls to Carrie. She scowls, walks out.
Matthew and George look at one another then sit.

Peter That’s a good woman you got yourself there. Or is she yours? Not sharing
are we? Kinky shit. Well, fair enough. Hard to go past a woman who
makes you dip. Hey, speak of the main attraction. And look, she’s brought
more. Here, set them down love, you look a little tense, I could offer you a
back rub if the gentlemen here don’t object.

Carrie sits as far away from Peter as possible, between the two helpless boys.

Peter So what are you all doing?

George Nothing.
Peter I hope I haven’t interrupted anything. I could just watch if you like.
Carrie You’re disgusting.
Matthew Don’t.

A long silence, tense and increasingly dangerous. Only Peter is enjoying himself.

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Peter Your uncle needs a television.
George He doesn’t live here. It’s like a bach.
Carrie Not everyone needs television. Some people can talk.
Peter Sounds interesting. And what are we talking about today?
Matthew Ethics.
Peter Ethics?
Matthews You know, like questions about what you should or shouldn’t do.
Peter I know what ethics are shithead. Well don’t let me stop you. Just pretend
I’m not here.
Carrie Why are you here?
Peter Matthew here offered me a drink. It’d be rude to just leave.
Carrie I don’t think he did.
Peter Matthew, I heard you offer me a drink right?
Matthew Yeah.
Peter Yeah. So, Ethics anyone?

Silence, looks from one to another, wondering how to dislodge the visitor. Eventually
George picks up a card.

George You are undercharged twenty dollars at a restaurant. Do you tell them or
leave without saying?
Peter That’s a stupid question?
George It’s meant to… there’s rules. You’re meant to guess what the person’s
going to answer.
Peter But you know how they’re going to answer.
George You’re not meant to.
Peter Oh I’m sorry sir, but I have to give you another twenty dollars. And would
you like me to turn around and take you up the arse while I’m here?
George So what questions would you like?
Peter Something fucking real.

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George picks up another card and pretends to read a question.

George You put your baby in the tumble dryer for the entertainment of your
family. It stops breathing. Do you call an ambulance?

Peter, in a sudden rage, grabs George by the throat and lifts him across the room,
slamming him against a wall. The other two stand but do not intervene. Matthew looks
out the window.

Matthew Peter, let him go. No, I’m serious, there’s a police car just pulling up the
drive.

Peter is uncertain, and without letting George go, swivels to look out the window.

Peter I’m not here. Don’t say anything. Where do I hide?

The three making a wordless decision. Carrie clearly wants to let the police find him. It is
Matthew who makes the call.

Matthew Here. There’s a storeroom. I’ll lock the door. Don’t make any noise.
Peter If you tell them…
Matthew I won’t.

Peter is ushered into the space where later we see him tied up. Matthew locks the door.
He walks through to another room and returns with a baseball bat. There is crazed look
in his eyes now.

Matthew You answer. We haven’t seen him.

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Back to the courtroom. Ethan, a fellow student is on the stand as a witness for the
prosecution. He is nervous, pale and torn between wanting to tell his story, and afraid of
any reprisals.
Defense Ethan, thank you for being here today. I know it is difficult to tell your
story but you’re doing a good thing here.
Ethan Umm, ok.
Defense Like Matthew, you also had problems with Peter did you not?
Ethan I guess ‘problems’ is one way to put it.
Defense Well in your own words, how would you describe your relationship with
Peter?
Ethan Relationship. Relationship. We didn’t have a relationship, he just made
my life a living hell ever since I came to this town.
Defense The court needs to understand what Peter did to you. We have a young
man, a fellow student, on trial for murder after the death of another student. It is
important that people understand what you and Matthew both went through.
Ethan I get that. As far as I’m concerned Matthew shouldn’t be on trial, he
should be given a fucking medal. I’m glad that bastard’s dead.
Defense I appreciate that but we need to stick to the facts. Again, in your own
words, tell us your story.
Ethan ok. I didn’t grow up here, my family moved down from Auckland halfway
through my year 10 year. I didn’t want to move but my dad got transferred to Burnham
Military base so I didn’t have much of a choice. I liked my old high school; everyone just
got on and did what they wanted to do. I had a good group of friends who were interested
in the same stuff I was and even though there were different groups and stuff no one
really had issues or got in each others’ faces. Me and my mates used to play a lot of
computer games or meet up playing PS3 or PS4 if they were lucky. But it didn’t matter to
anyone else. So even though I didn’t want to move, I had no idea how crap things were
going to be.

When I got down here it was really hard to break into a group. Starting school in the
middle of the year really sucks and most of these kids already had their group of friends

17
and didn’t need another one. But I tried to just fit in, you know. A group of kids used to
hang out in the library playing on tablets or ipods or whatever so I used to go there and
kind of be with them but not with them. The library is where lots of kids like me hang out
at lunchtime because it’s kind of a safe place with adult supervision as well as good wifi.
I wasn’t really too worried about the adult supervision for a start because it wasn’t
something I ever really needed but I just thought it was a good place to meet people who
I had things in common with. It was ok but it kinda sucked because we had a different
lunchtime from my old school so I couldn’t even hook up with my friends online to play
a game or something.

Anyway, it would’ve been about my second week at the school when Peter and K came
into the library at lunch. I knew something was up because everyone got kinda hushed
like the way they do when something bad’s about to happen but I wasn’t too worried
because up until then no-one had even acknowledged my existence.

I didn’t do anything. That’s what I really don’t get. I didn’t do anything. One minute I
was on facebook checking out what my real mates were up to and the next minute I’ve
got two arseholes just leaning over me. Peter got right in my face, calling me an arsehole
and a faggot and all that kind of stuff while the other one just laughed. But I didn’t do
anything, I didn’t even know who they were. I tried to ignore it, like teachers always tell
you, “just ignore bullies and they’ll go away. They’re just trying to get a reaction from
you so if you pretend they aren’t there and don’t react they’ll leave you alone.” Bullshit.
Peter didn’t care what I did. I was just an easy target.

Anyway, I tried to ignore them but he grabbed my ipad and went off at me about being a
rich mf with no friends and other stuff. I looked around for some help but everyone had
taken off. I don’t blame them but even the librarian was looking the other way on
purpose. She was telling someone off about bringing a drink bottle in or something but it
was obvious she knew what was happening but didn’t want to see it or do anything about
it. He threw my ipad against the wall. That really pissed me off. I’m not rich, my dad’s
in the army for God’s sake, and I worked really hard to earn that ipad. I did a stupid paper

18
round for like $3 an hour so I could save up and buy it. We’ve got a computer at home
but I’ve got 3 little sisters so it’s a constant fight to use it and I just wanted to keep in
touch with my friends. It was like a link to the old me and this dickhead just smashed it
for no reason. So I admit it, I lost it a bit and started fighting back. Much good that did
me. Peter dragged me out of the library and beat the shit out of me. Maybe I should’ve
just taken it but I was really upset. I tried to fight him but he didn’t stop he kept going at
me like he was insane. He punched me in the face, body, everywhere. It was like one of
those things you see on youtube and think are staged but I can tell you they’re not. When
he broke my arm I gave in and cried. He did it on purpose, really cold. I can still here the
snap and see him smiling at me. He said if I told the teachers they wouldn’t believe me
and then he’d have at my sister. She was in year 9 and is kinda pretty I guess; at least she
seemed to fit in more and I didn’t want to mess that up for her. I lost that one and every
other time he had a go at me.
Peter comes on stage and just lurks around Ethan, smiling, fake masturbating, being a
general menacing presence.
It was just the beginning and it was constant. Being shoved around, punched, kicked.
He’d take my stuff and chuck it in the rubbish, and once he peed in my bag in front of
lots of other kids. Nobody did anything to help, I guess because they were just happy it
wasn’t them copping it. It didn’t happen every day but I was always on edge waiting for
it. Sometimes the worst thing was when he’d walk up to me and say something like Peter
walks up behind and whispers in Ethan’s ear
Peter I’m coming. Soon.

Ethan If he’d left me alone for a while then I know the next time would be really
bad to make up for it.

Defense How did Peter’s behaviour make you feel?

Ethan How do you think? Said deadpan The moment I found out he was dead
was one of the happiest in my life. I’m glad he’s dead, my only regret is I wasn’t there to
help.

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Defense Thank you Ethan. Your testimony will help the jury to understand what
Matthew was going through and therefore understand the actions he took.

Prosecutor This is all well and good, but please remember that Peter is not the one on
trial here. Matthew is. Peter, for all his faults, was a young man who had his whole life
ahead of him. He was taken from his family and friends and his death has had a big
impact on them.
Father comes to the stand.
Mr Richards, thank you for coming today and telling your story.
Father Alright.
Prosecutor Tell us about your boy. Tell us who Peter was to you.
Father Bout time one of you pricks asked me. I’ve had to sit here and listen to all
this bullshit about how he was mean and thick and a bully but it’s a load of crap. He was
tough and strong and didn’t take shit from no-one, just how I raised him to be. All these
pansy arsed little wimps complaining about how he pushed them around, they’re the ones
who are useless and pathetic, not my boy. They’re the ones who should be six feet under,
not him. He just stood up for himself. And that fucking school, kicking him out like that.
What was he supposed to do then? Those fuckers should pay for murdering my boy. I’m
out a kid! They took him and I want payback. I want what’s due to me.

Prosecutor Mr Richards, please calm down. I understand you’re very emotional at the
moment, but right now we need to focus on Peter and getting to understand him better.
Father Peter’s dead, how you gonna get to know him now? What good’ll that do
anyway?
Prosecutor It’s about justice for Peter, Mr Richards.
Father What about justice for me? What do I get?
Prosecutor Right now you get to share Peter’s story. Please just answer my questions.
Father Whatever. Ask your bloody questions then.
Prosecutor How would you describe Peter’s early childhood?

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Father Alright I suppose. Didn’t see him much then coz his bitch of a mother
didn’t want me round. Thought she was too good for me and didn’t want me to be a bad
influence on the kid. Not like she was such a fanfuckingtastic role model, shacking up
with whichever prick came her way. She was always lookin for her next meal ticket by
lying on her back, guess my pockets weren’t deep enough for her coz she got rid of me
soon after Peter came along. Chucked me over for some suit. He soon realised what a
lazy cow she was and took off but there were plenty of others came after. Not one of the
bastards married her though coz she couldn’t fool them for long. Wish one of them had of
coz then the IRD would’ve quit hassling me for child support.

Prosecution So when did you come into Peter’s life full time?
Father After the bitch died. She was stupid enough to get cancer or something
and after she carked it the government dumped him on me. He was about 5 I think.
Prosecution And how was he when he came to you?
Father Pathetic. He used to cry all the time, wanting his mother or to go home or
whatever. But I fixed that. I toughened him up alright. There was no way I was gonna
have a little weakling for a son.
Prosecution And how exactly did you toughen him up?
Father Oh don’t give me that shit. Don’t think you’re gonna fool me with all this
‘what did you do to him’ crap. I didn’t do nothing that wasn’t done to me and I turned out
alright. I taught him to take what should be his and not back down to no-one. I turned him
into a man. In this world it’s survival of the fittest, might is right, and I taught him how to
survive.
Defence But he didn’t, did he?
Father Didn’t what?
Defence Survive. After all he was killed when he was still a teenager, as a direct
result of what you’d taught him, because of the ‘man’ you’d turned him into.
Father What are you getting at?
Defence Peter had a violent temper and there were many instances of him hurting
other people. Right from when he started school he was getting into trouble for fighting
or abusing teachers. He had a long juvenile record, beginning from when he was only 7.

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His first school suspension occurred at age 9. CYFS had a big file on him, and the
authorities were often called to your house. He…
Father They failed him! And me! The schools, the police, CYFS and whatever
other useless arseholes were supposed to be looking out for him. They should’ve been
looking into that son of a bitch Matthew, not at me. My boy never killed anyone. My boy
was the one who was murdered. He should pay. At matthew They should pay. You’re all
trying to make me out to be the bad guy but I’m the innocent one here, I’m the good guy.
I’m the one who’s lost something and I want them to pay. It should cost them all and I
want what’s due to me.
Defence And what is due to you, Mr Richards?
Father launches himself at Defence and is dragged offstage, still yelling.

Back to the courtroom. Matthew on the stand. The defence lawyer approaches.

Defence And how would you describe Peter?

Matthew He was a bully.
Defence Did he bully you?
Matthew Yes.
Defence What did he do?
Matthew It depended.
Defence On what?
Matthew Whether I had any money for him.

Matthew sits on stage, looking nervous. Peter approaches, sits beside him.

Peter Matthew. How are ya?

Matthew I don’t have any.
Peter I don’t believe you.
Matthew I couldn’t get it.
Peter You should get a job.

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Matthew I’ve got a job.
Peter So why don’t you have any money?
Matthew It was my mother’s birthday. I had to buy her something.
Peter Didn’t have to.
Matthew I wanted to.
Peter Your choice.

He throws Matthew to the ground, picks him up, pushes him against a pillar, grabs his
balls and twists. Matthew is left to fall to the ground in agony.

Peter Just get me double next week.

Matthew I can’t.
Peter What was that, I can’t hear you?
Matthew I said I can’t, I don’t have any…

Peter crouches, grabs him again.

Peter I said I can’t hear you. My hearing’s not very good. You’ll have to say it
again.
Matthew Nothing.
Peter Oh, nothing. You should speak more clearly. It sounded different before.

Peter stands and swaggers from the stage leaving Matthew whimpering. Slowly Matthew
stands and returns to the witness stand.

Defence And how long did this go on for?

Mathew Two years.
Defence Two years? How much did you pay him each week?
Matthew It changed.
Defence How much on average would you guess?
Matthew Twenty dollars.

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Defence Why didn’t you tell somebody? Why didn’t you ask for help?
Matthew I told a teacher. Peter denied it and the school said they couldn’t do
anything without evidence, not unless I was prepared to press charges.
And the next day a mate of his, he didn’t go to the school, followed me.
He took me to the river, held my head under, I thought I was…. I thought I
was going to die.
Defence And after that you were too frightened to say anything?
Matthew Of course I was too frightened. We’re all too frightened.
Defence ‘We’re all too frightened.’
Matthew Yeah, we’re all too frightened.

Carrie steps forward, into the witness stand.

Carrie I knew what was happening. I should have said something. I know I
should have. But Matthew begged me not to.

He doesn’t sleep. I don’t know if he told you that. He gets nightmares. I

get texts from him in the middle of the night. He sits up in his room,
shaking, drenched in sweat, and he texts me. Two years without a proper
night’s sleep. His mother was worried about him, took him to the doctor.
The doctor said it’s not unusual, sometimes it’s a growing thing, in can
happen to adolescents. He was too scared to explain.

The deans called his mother in last year. They were worried about his
falling grades. They wanted to know if there was anything going on at
home that might be causing him concern. Home was the only place he was
safe, home and my place. He started spending more and more time at my
place.

I’ve got a friend, Lisa, who says it’s just about sympathy, and maybe she’s
right. I do feel sorry for him. How can you not feel sorry for him? But I

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feet guilty too. Someone had to say something, and I knew that but I
didn’t. I couldn’t. He made me promise and I couldn’t.

It was his idea, to go up to George’s place. I’d never wagged before. It

was a misunderstanding really. I didn’t think George was going to be
there. It was the way he said it. I can’t handle going to school today.
That’s what he texted. I texted back, what do you want to do? We could
go to George’s uncle’s bach he said. I thought it would be just me and
him. And I, well I thought he was suggesting, you know, and I would
have. He deserved something good to happen to him right? So when he
came round and there was George, sitting in the front seat, well to be
honest there’s a part of me that was disappointed.

I remember waiting at the supermarket checkout with the chips and dip,
looking at the packs of condoms they have at the counter so they don’t get
stolen, thinking to myself that the afternoon would have cost about the
same either way. George had the beers. I don’t know when it was George
found out, but he’d been keeping quiet too. We all kept quiet.

I saw a teacher once, out on duty, and Peter was relieving this little Year 9
of his lunch money. She definitely saw, the teacher definitely saw, but she
pretended she’d noticed something else, out at the other end of the courts,
and hurried off.

We all kept quiet.

I went to the funeral. I know that sounds crazy. People told me not to.
They were scared someone was going to kill me I suppose. I was too, but I
had to go. I came in late and stood at the back. There was a preacher there,
and he gave this sermon… and I wish you could have heard it. I wish
everybody could have heard it.

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Spotlight on the preacher, alone on stage but for the body of Peter, laid out in the dark
beside him.

Preacher It is my job, in times like this, to offer words of comfort, and I wish I
could do that. I wish I could lie to you. There are so many lies I want to
tell. Too many.

I wish I could say to you this thing that has visited us is an aberration, that
this dark bolt of lightning is not of our world, that this brutal act comes
from without. This is a lie I would love to tell you.

I wish I could tell you justice will be done. I would like to be able to say
that. That to isolate this evil decision, identify the culprit and punish them,
might make our world a kinder safer place. That the courtroom’s careful
retribution can heal us. That too is a lie I should like to be able to deliver.

I would like to tell you that Peter is blameless. For here he lies, emptied
too soon of precious life, and it feels barbaric to tell it any other way. I
would like to tell you that his innocence makes this crime all the harder to
fathom, for you might take some comfort from these words, and I would
like to offer you comfort. I would like to lie to you.

I would like to be able to tell you that from this abomination some good
will come. That our leaders can be relied upon to build for us a society in
which the senselessness of slaughter can not flourish. I wish I could tell
you there are wise policies available to us, and wise leaders ready to
implement them, waiting only for our permission to act. How I wish I
could tell you this.

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Today there is nothing I wish for more than the return of my old talent, the
telling of lies for the comfort of others. But I gaze upon this broken body,
the latest count in the soulless war we wage against ourselves, and
somewhere deep inside me, in that nameless place our hopes and dreams
are tethered, something snaps. A furious storm blows through me. No
longer can my mouth find the shape of the lies to numb us, no longer can I
feign hope in the face of hopelessness, understanding in the face of
vengeance. I do not hope. I do not understand. And so I can not lie to you.

How did this happen? That’s the question you’re asking isn’t it? It’s the
question we’re all asking. But I don’t know we want to hear the answer.

This happened because we let it happen. We turned away, we kept on

walking, we took the easy path, told ourselves these things didn’t concern
us. Perhaps we were distracted by our private dreams of love and
happiness. Perhaps we were too busy worrying about exams not yet
passed, cars not yet paid for, thighs not yet shaped, futures not yet secured.
Perhaps this is our excuse, the pressure of life bearing down on us,
keeping our gaze to the ground, for we did not look up, we did not let our
gaze linger on the pain that has taken root in this land of milk and shit and
dying.

The drunkard takes another drink and we laugh and cheer him on. He
vomits at our feet and we take a photograph. The bully isolates the
weakling and we breathe a sigh of relief, for it is not us, not yet. The
tackler raises his arm and attacks the neck and we whoop, for it makes us
feel strong again, as we grow old and fat in our armchairs. The mother
attacks the child and we sign a petition to protect her from the law, for it
makes us feel righteous to call the family sacred. The rapist moves closer
to his prey and we pretend we have not seen it, for they have both been
drinking and so have we, it’s the weekend, and this is what we do on the

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weekend, shrink our brains down to the size of our understanding, that the
looseness of fit may not make us uncomfortable.

The smart child works at getting smarter and we ridicule her, when she
objects we shout her down. For God forbid than anyone should want to
make something of their lives, should attempt to stand our from the
crushing mediocrity of the crowd. Unless it’s on the brutality of the rugby
field of course, or following a Sherpa up a distant mountain. But don’t
think for a moment we will approve if you try to expand your mind. We
don’t trust intellectuals here, we never have. Fags and PC trouble makers.
Keep your fancy ideas to yourself son, have another drink. Stand by your
mates, not matter how ugly and stupid they become. Never narc, never
question, never challenge the brooding, stupid silence of the tribe. Stand
strong and proud against the outsider, for he is not one of us and for this
alone he must be hated. Pay back violence with violence, never back
down, be a man. Smash ‘em bro. Smash ‘em.

But it is too easy to blame them, those who thrash about lost and angry in
the shallow end of the property pool. The education system buckles
beneath the weight of our broken expectations and still we call upon our
accountants to hide our tax liabilities, because we work hard for that
money and those bastards would only waste it. Those left behind ask that
we wait for them to catch up and we tell them we are sorry but we are in a
hurry, we make our excuses and keep on walking. We’d love to help,
honestly we would, but that would be discrimination wouldn’t it, and
anyway, how do we know you won’t waste the chances we give you? It’s
each man for himself here, in this battle to the death we have come to call
equality. It’s for the best in the long run. Don’t want to teach you to
become dependent, part of the problem, cruel to be kind, and anyway
we’re not doing that well ourselves, struggling to get the downpayment

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together for that house with a view, and such an excellent school for the
kids, and neighbours who are, well, white.

And those who know their history feel their resentment rise to anger, and
those who do not feel lost.

And the lost shall seek a home, with a satellite dish on the roof and
broadband through the wires, that they too can be gangsta, animal
stupidity made international, the Nike sponsored, drug fuelled export of
savagery, no respecter of border nor race, anger for all, the ultimate take
home pack for the homeless.

Anger begets anger, disappointment begets disappointment. And we, not

they, are to blame, for we, not they, neglected to give them a place to
stand.

And I am tired of it. I am tired of calling this long green land of coast and
scar tissue paradise. I am tired of pretending the problem is not our own,
that this is not our doing. We did this. All of us.

And tomorrow? Watch this space. Tomorrow we do it all again.

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