She's Ours Too!

Dedicated to my friend and countrywoman Carina

With admiration and respect

Fellow citizens: clouds and darkness are around about Him; His pavilion is dark waters and thick clouds of the skies. Justice and judgement are the establishment of His throne. Mercy and truth shall go before His face. Fellow citizens! God reigns, and the government at Washington still lives!

- future President James A. Garfield, quieting an angry crowd after the death of Lincoln

I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant, and fill him with a terrible resolve.

-- Admiral Yamamoto, after Pearl Harbor

It's our birthday, and we'll bitch if we want to!

- dedicated supporter Karen, after hearing once too often that there are too many American pro-Schapelle comments on Australian online message boards

God gives all men all earth to love
But since man's heart is small
Ordains for each, one spot shall prove
Beloved over all.

--Rudyard Kipling



The game is afoot, Watson! An encouraging development in the ongoing Schapelle Corby saga occured when HBO aired the Australian documentary "Ganja Queen" in this country. This has caused among other things a sudden upsurge of visitors to this site, some of whom actually came here on purpose. Already the monthly gathering of loyal R.M. readers has had to stop meeting in a phone booth and move to an elevator, and if this goes on we may have to rent a coat closet. But there are important consequences as well. HBO claims a subscription audience larger than the population of Australia, and Americans approach this story with none of the negative press baggage attached to it downunder by the tabloids. This is only the second time to my knowledge that a major media outlet of ours has picked up this story at all, so many of us are hearing about Schapelle for the first time and instinctively feeling about her the way Australians used to feel. As heir to the genuinely free and pluralistic traditions of my country, this American libertarian rodent can burrow in on Independence Day to an Australian support forum, while watching an English tennis tournament, eating Belgian chocolate, and listening to a patriotic overture written by a Russian -- not to mention quoting a British imperialist, who, whatever his other limitations may have been, DID understand loyalty and honor.

God gives all men all earth to love... It must have seemed that way to the early settlers of both our countries, to leave Europe with its crowds and petty quarrels and arbitrary laws, to risk everything for a second chance in an unknown continent where you could be out of sight of hunman habitation for days. Australia and America were both settled largely by the despised and dispossessed, ignored or written off in their homelands. Our free and egalitarian traditions stem from our belief in a God who is no respecter of persons, and from our experience of an unrelenting wildnerness that certainly is not either. In both countries our tradition of respect for the underdog gives us an instinctive sympathy for a young woman whose only crime was not putting a lock on her luggage, caught up in a nightmare she doesn't deserve or understand. Most of us in both places are the descendants of people who, like the Corby's, were working class and unpolished and would have looked awkward on television. This story resonates very well here in America -- to us the Corby's instantly look genuine, the official story instantly looks false, and we instinctively ask the questions we're not supposed to ask. What happened to the security camera footage in all three airports? Why was the bag not fingerprinted? Why should we believe anything from a "justice" system where the police are known to plant drugs on people to extort bribes, and where a judge proudly says he has never found anyone innocent in 500 cases? Was the marijuana ever in Australia? With all forensic tests refused during the trial and all the physical evidence destroyed afterwards, how would we know?

But since man's heart is small... true, in more ways than one. We Schapelle supporters have heard our motives questioned countless times by her detractors, who claim we have been caught up in media-driven sensationalism. Actually the huge groundswell of support in the early days after Schapelle's arrest was grassroots and spontaneous, with the media circus jumping on board later. But regardless of timing we are told we support her only because she is young and white and beautiful, with derisive questions about what if she were old and male and ugly. It is a valid point - but the question has even more force the other way round. If we cannot love the so easily lovable and guard the so obviously innocent, what will we do with God's command to love our enemies, or how will we handle real moral ambiguities? The most common American reaction to the HBO special is "this story broke my heart." If that is all it does and our commitment does not outlast our emotion, the cynics can feel justified. As C. S. Lewis said once, "The more often he feels without acting, the less he will ever be able to act, and, in the long run, the less he will be able to feel." But the Americans posting on our support forum are not describing their feelings only, they are asking what they can do - where to write to Schapelle, what to send her, which Australian politicians to write to. Some of them even say... and I gulp as I write this, and it flattens my fur and curls my tail, but desperate times call for desperate measures... they do say, some of them, that Schapelle's case has upset them so much that they will dare invoke the name that is death to utter, that they will tell O-P-R-A-H W-I-N-F-R-E-Y. If you thought HBO's audience was large...

Ordains for each, one spot shall prove..

I have appreciated ny own "spot" much more since taking an interest in this case, far away from the maddening crowds, the noise and pollution, the infuriating propaganda, far away from... from everything, actually. "We ain't friendly here, just lonesome" as the saying goes. Few people, lots of cows, lots of time to think and to consider the advantages of being a foreign Schapelle supporter. For one thing it is easier to write letters from here. I can drivel along endlessly about my mountains without making her miss her beach more than she already does, and can tell her stories she has not heard of our wild bristly local pigs and wild bristly local politicians. But it is also socially less risky. In Australia calling yourself a Schapelle supporter generates "knowing" looks from your co-workers, and putting a Free Schapelle! sticker on your car can bring honks and rude comments from other drivers. The smear campaign against her in the Australian media has been astonishing. There are ugly rumors that there are two different versions of the documentary; that the Australian one is slanted more against the Corby family than the one shown here. Some people apparently believe you can pay almost anyone to say almost anything about the Corby's and the Australian public will either lap it up or say "We're tired of this story, change the channel. " Then suddenly the whole story goes across the ocean and out of range of their propaganda, reaching an audience whos opinions they can't influence and whose channels they can't change, an audience who instantly recognizes Schapelle's innocence and is outraged at her treatment. Are there Australian media producers right now expressing their misgivings, like Yamamoto's, a little late?

...beloved over all. Australia, what do you love? What happened to the tradition of mateship and the "fair go" for everyone, or is that just in the movies? What do you fear - looking foolish, showing emotion, loving your national daughter too much? Is that worse than loving her too late? I can remember reading about the early days of the court coverage, Australians' open defiance of Asian criticism of Schapelle's tears in the courtroom, saying she's ours, and we support our own, and yes we DO show emotion in public. What happened to THAT Australia? In our jaded entertainment culture have you "seen through" justice and honor? Are you proud of your cynicism, and expecting America to share it? Were we supposed to look through Schapelle and see whatever ironic point you thought you were making? Sorry, we look AT her and see Lady Guinevere, and see a monstrous injustice for what it is. Our famously narrow focus, provincial outlook and short attention spans all work in favor of Schapelle and against her detractors. We're narrowly focused on the main issue - the blatantly unfair trial; our short attention spans don't leave room for the cataract of lies and hate her detractors try to counter the facts with, and our provincialism simply puts THIS particular Aussie story on center stage. Schapelle is not merely the largest Australian news story in this country; she is the only one - and we won't forget her again. To quote from a musical most Aussies would not recognize but we simple Americans would know, '''smoke on your pipe and put THAT iiinnn.... I like to be in A-mer-i-ca /O.K. by me in A-mer-i-ca..." OK by me, too.

Miss Schapelle, may you find your rest in Christ and may your earthly path lead you here, where underdogs are respected, where fragile things are loved, and where no one will ask you what your economic background is or how good your family looks on television. No worries, mate -- no one will find you here, as even other Americans don't know what country New Mexico is in. God will see you safe, we will see you home. You are loved much more than you know.

Book Review: No More Tomorrows, by Schapelle Corby and Kathryn Bonella

Phill, Garth - thanks for the book, friends.

I have been young and now am not too old
and I have seen the righteous man forsaken
his health, his honour and his quality taken.
That is not what we were formerly told.
--Edmund Blunden

He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock
that shadows a dry thirsty land
He hideth my life in the depths of his love
and covers me there with his hand
and covers me there with his hand.
--traditional hymn

I am determined to keep mind, body and soul healthy. I don't know how long I'll be waiting for my day in court but I will not cause more anxiety, stress and pain to the people who love me and are doing everything they can to help me. I will never be able to repay or thank them enough, so I'll start with respect. RESPECT." -- Schapelle Corby, diary entry 4 November 2004

I'll start there, too. With RESPECT. Respect for a support community begun in Schapelle's homeland and still distnctively Australian but which has expanded to welcome foreigners like me, illuminating Schapelle's 'bloody long tunnel' for as long as it takes. Respect for Schapelle's incredible family, standing by her through the storm, enduring with equal graciousness the trickle of government support and the cataract of media sensationalism. Respect for her co-author, journalist Kathryn Bonella, who does her job only too well - keeping her own personality in the background and leaving no barrier between us and Schapelle, experiencing her story in linear time as if we are staring out through the bars of Kerobokan Prison with her. Respect most of all for the gallant and gentle one herself, daring all to tell her story before it is finished, allowing us to see her vulnerability while seemingly unaware of her strength.

Different people have different reactions to a book like this of course; I have had supporters tell me they read it almost in one sitting and others who said they had to put it down for days at a time, both of which I completely understand. For a book so unavoidably harrowing in parts that before two Aussie friends sent it as a gift I had tried to avoid reading it at all, my own first impression was how understated it seemed. The endless catalog of horrors is treated unflinchingly but with with no more detail than is needed to make it clear; there is no sensationalism for its own sake. There are some awful descriptions of the unhygienic conditions everywhere at Kerobokan, from baby rats in her shoes to carelessness with sanitary napkins by her cellmates to the toxic mosquito infested pool she was sometimes made to clean as punishment, but she describes her reactions honestly and matter-of-factly and moves on. The book is not a long argument for her ( obvious) innocence. You could fill several pages outlining the many UN criminal code violations in Schapelle's show trial and some intrepid supporters have done so, but Schapelle spends a few paragraphs highlighting the obvious idiocies in the prosecution's case, and the failure to do the most elementary tests, and leaves it at that.

Schapelle's story is her own and people who wish to cast her as Nelson Mandela or Joan of Arc will be disappointed. She is not the poster girl for Australia, or injustice, or Christianity. You can sense her exasperation at attempts to idealize her in her caption to one photo showing her crying in a holding cell - "I'm not praying. I really don't have anywhere else to put my hands - they're cuffed." Her reticence concerning her faith is explained partly by the people who attended church with her only for the opportunity to get a covert cell phone camera shot which they could sell, or of the prison pastor who baptized her in jail and then rushed to sell the story to the newspapers. Her real and deep commitment however is shown by her diary entry describing the "bashing" by the guards of an American prisoner caught trying to escape and her attempts to help " ...they won't let Gabriel go to a hospital...I went back to my section and paid the guard to use her mobile - with a friendly smile I told her I was calling my sister. I quickly told Merc what was happening and to call the Australian consulate and the Red Cross...couldn't sleep at all, spent the night crying and praying. The next morning I found out that Gabriel had stitches. He's now in isolation - the tower of the bombers. I went to church . Walking past the tower I yelled out, 'Thinking about you and praying for you." She describes the endless betrayals and apparent friendships of those who wished to profit from her misery with less bitterness than we would believe possible, even with a sort of desperate humor. Her chapter on her self-described "white knight" celebrity supporters ( cell-phone businessmen from Australia who invited themselves into her life, supposedly to help) reads like a poorly written and abandoned script for Twilight Zone. The reader stares in stark incredulity as Schapelle describes the endless pressure and the ridiculous demands - she had to explain to them that (1)she did not wish to write a song about her experiences (2)she was not amused by letters to the Australian Prime Minister and Indonesian President, published in the newspaper as being from her, which she did not write but suspected them of writing, for more publicity, and (3) she did not wish to sign an agreement giving them half the royalties from the presumed eventual book/movie about her life. With "friends" like that, you can't blame Schapelle for being reluctant to trust people. You wonder, rather, why she talks to anyone outside her family at all.

Schapelle throughout does not pretend to be strong when she isn't or to understand when she doesn't. Her description of one act of kindness at the interim holding prison at Polda, beautiful in its simplicity, shows her quiet courage and unassuming character as well as anything can. I'll quote it in full because once we leave the quick summary of her happy childhood in the early chapters, this is the only soft oasis for the reader to land in a book that is otherwise almost all nightmare, all inferno.

"Very early one morning a guard came and unlocked my cell door. I warily jumped up and stood in the middle of my cell, confused, wondering what he wanted. I let out a wary hello. Then he said, 'Come, Come look at the sky.' He was pointing to the cage door that led to the outside world. I jumped at the chance and rushed over with a huge smile on my face. It gave me such a calm feeeling to look up at the vast blue sky. How nice of the guard to offer me this. It was beautiful. As I walked back to my cell, tears were streaming down my face. I hadn't seen the stars and moon for so long, but it was amazing to see the early morning sky. Little things had become so precious."

photo by jhuff6 at flickr.com,

used with her kind permission

We are left with the image not of a saint or a symbol but an individual, precious in God's sight and loved for who she is. In our instant gratification , "this-is-boring -let's -change-the-channel culture, the book strikes an awkward note. We are waiting for the happy ending, the neat little wrap-up at the end. But this monstrous injustice is still going on, and we serious supporters are in a constant struggle against the bitterness like that in the top quote in this post ( Blunden was describing World War One, in which he had fought at the front) , and in a continuous effort to keep our energy focused, our anger controlled, our tears silent. Those of us who have followed this case online from the beginning ( Oct. 8, 2004) lor like me from the first verdict ( May 27, 2005) are in awe of Schapelle's own faith and courage, and the dedication of her stronger supporters, like the strongest one pictured below. Some new Americans on the support forum have said they have had trouble following this case in the news ( unsurprising in this the most provincial country on earth, with the world's shortest attention span) and were unpleasantly surprised to learn how little has changed in four years. For them and for all other men of goodwill who have never heard of Schapelle, there is no better introduction than her book.

Alan Hodgson, Innocent Welshman in Ghana

Remember that British sci fi series Dr Who? In which "the doctor" has to fly his tardis ( time and relative dimension in space - it's quite roomy inside but outside looks just like a phone booth - pardon me, a call-box) back from interesting alien time through various epochs of boring earth time, dodging cheap special effects and being attacked by mind-bogglingly dull robots? My Welsh friend Alan can do that sort of thing too, apparently - it's the only explanation for his current situation. Before he became interested in time travel Alan was an ordinary village lad in Carway, Carmarthenshire, Wales. Wales is a beautiful but strange place to a rural American rodent, a place with plenty of sheep but a desperate shortage of vowels, the birthplace of Richard Burton, Tom Jones, Charlotte Church, a place filled with dark, brooding castles ( like Kidwelly Castle in Carway, pictured) and the dark, brooding women who have to clean them. Alan was a carpenter for his village council from the time he was 16 until a medical retirement in his 40's. In 2003 he was looking into the possibility of some light work for his uncle Kevin Gorman's fishing company in Ghana. Unfortunately uncle Kevin was casting his nets for other things besides fish - as he explained to Ghanaian authorities, he was offered 50,000 pounds sterling to "look after some boxes" but had "no idea" what they contained. The police understandably found this unlikely. The boxes had been unloaded onto a beach on December 31, 2003 and contained a large amount of cocaine. They were found concealed behind a mirror in Gorman's home in a police raid. A housemaid claimed she saw Alan walking back from the beach on the 31st, quite extraordinary since his stamped passport clearly shows he entered the country a few days later on January 3. See? No problem. Just like Dr. Who. Or like that young lady named Bright /whose speed was much faster than light /she set out one day, in a rel-a-tive way/ and returned the previous night. It seems the authorities got overzealous and swept up everyone remotely connected with Kevin Gorman, and in fact two other men arrested at the same time despite a similar date discrepancy were released on appeal. Alan however has had lawyer difficulties ( though he is happy with his new lawyer) and the bureaucracy in Ghana grinds along very slowly. In the meantime the sentence is twenty years.

Alan and his son in happier times on the family farm and vacationing in Spain, about ten years ago.

Twenty years in an overcrowded third world prison for a drug crime he didn't do, while he waits out a seemingly endless appeal cycle - to a Schapelle Corby supporter this is all so horribly familiar. I know about Alan'a case because my support for Schapelle led me to the Nick Baker support site ( link provided) and in December 2005 Nick's mother Iris opened her heart and her son's support forum to Alan's mother Shirley. Alan has a much smaller support base than Schapelle and anyone who writes him and/or sends a care package has a high likelihood of getting a personal response, though maybe not right away - you have to allow for the vagaries of what Alan calls "pigeon post."Alan has spent the last several months in the infirmary with spinal arthritis and is having a really hard time. The address is

Dr. Dyer - for Alan Hodgson

Box 1766

Community 1

Tema, Ghana

Alan insists that Wales is not so bad, brooding castles or not, and that they have pubs there where you can play darts or "snooker," whatever THAT is. He says the movie Twin Town (1997) explains it all. It is long past time he was back there. The address given is that of a family friend who visits Alan once a month at Nsawam Medium Security Prison where he is held. Care packages are opened before they reach him ( standard practice) but his detailed letters to me indicate that he has safely received everything I've sent. Alan has to pay for some of his food so basic easily mailed food items are ideal, but you can send anything you would send to a prisoner anywhere else ( no weapons, alcohol, etc.) Alan likes football ( what we Yanks call soccer; he supports Manchester United) and was a near-professional darts player when he was younger. Just a regular guy caught in a "wrong place, wrong time" situation - but he has been there for over 4 years.

Kidwelly Castle in Carway, a few miles from Alan's home

May God bring all our Innocent Ones home.

We're Still Here

But I refuse to let this place break my spirit. I use all my energy and willpower to pull myself back together. I forcibly replace negative thoughts with positive ones. Staying sane really does take a lot of energy, but I have to, out of respect for those who love me.

-- Schapelle Leigh Corby





In War : Resolution
In Defeat : DEFIANCE
In Victory: Magnanimity
In Peace : Goodwill

-- Winston Spencer Churchill




It is one thing to fool the people and quite another to keep them fooled in perpetuity.

- - DJW, Schapelle supporter



The English people are not good haters, their memory is very short... to twentieth-century political theories thay oppose not another theory of their own, but a moral quality which must be vaguely described as decency. On the day in 1936 when the Germans reoccuppied the Rhineland I was in a northern mining town. I happened to go into a pub just after this piece of news, which quite obviously meant war, had come over the wireless, and I remarked to the others at the bar, "The German army has crossed the Rhine." With a vague air of capping a quotation someone answered "Parley-voo." No more response than that! Nothing will ever wake these people up, I thought. But later in the evening, at the same pub, someone sang a song which had recently come out, with the chorus:


For you can't do that there 'ere,
No you can't do that there 'ere;
Anywhere else you can do that there,
But you can't do that there 'ere!

And it struck me that perhaps this was the English answer to fascism.

-- George Orwell, 1943





On March 28 the Indonesian Supreme court refused to grant Schapelle a judicial review, ending her last formal appeal. Officially the twenty year sentence ( less remissions) stands unless she is granted a presidential pardon, which would require admitting guilt. ( She has from the beginning refused to do so, and the Indonesian president has made a point of stating he would not pardon drug criminals). Knowing the nature of the Indonesian "justice" system, nearly everyone who has kept up with the case on the support forums expected this yet it is still a shock. I guess I vaguely thought the judicial review results would be delayed indefinitely for political reasons. There was nothing to review, really. No new evidence of the non-existent Corby drug gang ( which is known to be non-existent by Australian law enforcement, who did not search the Corby's home or do any serious investigating), no new information on Schapelle's supposed contacts in Indonesia ( or was she planning to sell the marijuana herself on Bali's beaches crawling with local drug-dealing cops who would have arrested her within 5 minutes), nothing new regarding security lapses in Australian airports ( the latest official word is that the airport cameras aren't switched on except when officials see a "person of interest" - say WHAT?). What physical evidence there was was burned after a previous appeal, which is standard procedure in Indonesia. A judicial review is supposed to review the proceedings of the court itself - not much to review there either in a country where the courts are essentially a rubber-stamp for the police. Justice Linton Sirait had never found anyone innocent in 500 previous drug cases, ( actually rumor has it he has never found anyone innocent of ANYTHING ). The joke told by those who know about the Indonesian system is that their courts are there to separate the guilty from the very guilty, with only the severity of sentence being really in doubt. The prosecutors in fact seemed strangely uninterested in their own case, not doing the most elementary tests which might prove her guilt. For example

• Fingerprinting is standard in any such case; the explanation of why it was not allowed was that too many others, particularly the police in the airport had handled the bag. This is nonsense, of course - modern techniques could separate Schapelle's prints from the large number of others - and who told the police to handle it without gloves anyway?

• DNA-testing is similarly not difficult in this day and age - if Schapelle had packed the drugs tiny fragments of her hair would be embedded and identifiable, but no such test was done. DNA-testing would certainly have shown country of origin and other characteristics of the mj, something which ought to have been of interest. Remember this is the first ever drug IMPORT case to Indonesia from Australia, a country not previously listed as a source for drug smuggling. As it stands there is nothing to disprove the ( quite plausible ) theory that the marijuana was from Indonesia not Australia and that corrupt officials there planted it themselves.

• Schapelle supposedly said "the drugs are mine" after her bag was searched at customs. No one would admit that under those sircumstances, even if he were guilty. Pleading guilty to get a reduced sentence is what you do in court later - all real criminals give the same amazed "how'd THAT get in there?" explanation when first caught. What Schapelle actually said of course was that the boogie board bag was hers. The customs officer did not speak English well and there was no real attempt to test his language competency or question him closely about his mistaken quote.




• Speaking of which, the three judges also do not speak English and didn't bother with a translator for Schapelle's last court statement before the first verdict. Not that they needed to, with a previous 500 cases+ perfect record. If everyone standing before you is guilty, what difference does it make what they say or in what language? Presumably Indonesia has something like the infallible pre-cogs in that Minority Report movie, and they really ought to share the secrets of police perfection and judicial omniscience with the rest of the world.

This is not an exhaustive list, but you get the idea.


The mood on the official support forum is shocked ( "gobsmacked" is the Australian word?) but grimly determined. I ntellectually we expected this, but "the heart has its reasons which reason does not know" (Pascal). This affair serves as an indictment of our entertainment culture and the shallowness of public opinion, 95% believing her innocent three years ago because she is young and beautiful ( she looks innocent, so she must be) and many willing to abandon her now for the same reason ( she looks innocent, but the Australian government failed to meaningfully protest her blatantly unfair trial, so she must be hiding something). But entertainment culture has its limits. You can get bored and change the channel, but reality has a way of pulling the plug. Priorities change, alliances shift, today's political expediency becomes inexpedient tomorrow - long before the end of her awful sentence the Indonesians will find a reasson for a new investigation/review/whatever and release her. In the long run you really CAN"T "do that there 'ere, " and the essential gentleness and decency which Orwell saw in the English will prevail in Australia as well. And on THAT day the people who change their opinions as easily as their socks will suddenly remember that they, too believed in Schapelle's innocence all along. It is the task of the support group to stay strong and grow gradually until then.











This is the preferred strategy of the Australian government and most of the Australian people regarding Schapelle's case. It won't work long term.











The truth will out sooner or later, Indonesian authorities will "discover" anomalies in her trial, and Schapelle will come home. On that great gettin' up mornin', what will you wish you had done now? Schapelle needs our encouragement, now more than ever.

Miss Schapelle Corby
C/-LPM Kerobokan JI

Tangkuban Perahu Kerobokan

Denpasar 80117
Bali, INDONESIA

Schapelle Corby, Innocent Australian in Indonesia

In late May 2005 I was standing in a bank line idly watching a cable news station I don't get at home. The featured story was a strange criminal case in Indonesia and showed a young lady crying in court. I was moved in a way I cannot explain or entirely recall although I did not catch her name, only her nationality. I went home and googled on "Australian drug charge Indonesia" which brought up the name Schapelle Corby. A bit of slinking and scurrying around the internet over the next week or two brought me up to date on the story, which began in October 2004. Schapelle Leigh Corby is an attractive and articulate but ( it then seemed) perfectly ordinary 27 year old taking a break from caring for her termially ill father with a quick holiday in Bali, a common beach resort destination for Australians. She traveled with her brother James and two friends, planning to celebrate her sister Mercedes' ( who had married a Balinese man and often spent time there with their children) 30th birthday. Schapelle flew from Brisbane to Denpasar with a stopover in Sydney, checking her baggage through all the way. She had a suitcase and a "boogie board" ( small surfboard) bag, all unlocked but clearly labelled with her name. At customs she was told to check the boogie board bag through at the oversize counter, noticing on the way that the zippers were in a different position than she had left them and the carrying strap had been cut. Her brother helped carry it to the counter where they asked if it was his. "No, it's mine," said Schapelle and lifted it up fopr inspection, noticing far too late that it was heavier than it should have been. The bag contained 4.2 kg of marijuana.

The world's stupidest smuggling gang poses bravely for an airport photo just before going over the top. Do all people risking the death penalty look this happy?

The marijuana was in a transparent plastic "space bag" which was inside a second identical space bag, both unconcealed at the top of the boogie board bag which contained nothing else but a pair of flippers. The inner bag had been cut allowing the smell to escape. Customs officials would later deny cutting it and the cut has never been satisfactorily explained. There was no need for officials either to cut the ( already transparent) bag or to deny doing so if they thought it necessary, but surely no real drug courier would cut his own bag increasing his chance of being caught! Nor would any accused smuggler whether guilty or not, admit that the drugs were his - as officials would claim that Schapelle admitted. What she said, of course was that the boogie board bag was hers. Officials did not detain her brother for long, did not search her other traveling companions, and DID NOT SEARCH HER SUITCASE. There is no previous cse on record of anyone smuggling marijuana FROM Australia TO Indonesia, that is like taking cocaine to Colombia or smuggling heroin into Afghanistan. Marijuana grows wild in Indonesia and has a street value in Bali far less than it can be bought for in Australia. There is a rumor ( based on a single news article with no identified sources) that a high grade of marijuana called "Aussie Gold" is smuggled by Australian tourists to sell to other Australian tourists on Bali's beaches ( to avoid local dealers who may be undercover cops) but the failure of those who believe this to show even ONE such case ( names, dates, trial results ) identifies this as an utrban myth. Indonesia's drug penalties ( including death) are well known and the risks of such an operation would be insane - if it is unsafe to buy drugs from possible undercover cops, how is it safe to sell drugs in competition with them? An "Aussie Gold" dealer (if there were any such thing) would be arrested within the hour. Even if someone were crazy enough to try it he would hardly walk through customs whistling with the drugs unconcealed ( having cleverly cut the bag beforehand to give customs agents an extra chance). The only kind of drug courier I can think of who might try this is one who was using his own product at the time ( Schapelle's blood and urine tests were clear). Other obvious tests common to all modern law enforcement were not done - there was no fingerprinting of either bag ( officials claimed too many police had handled them) and no DNA-testing for the origin of the marijuana, although Schapelle requested both tests repeatedly. Officials also refused to weigh the luggage and compare it with the original claim ticket from Australia. Closed circuit TV footage from all three airports was mysteriously unavailable, with varying explanations given.

Authorities refused to DNA-test the marijuana for point of origin or even to fingerprint the inner bag, claiming too many people had already handled it. Like the presiding judge, for instance.

Schapelle was taken to a holding cell at Polda while Mercedes frantically tried to find lawyers they could trust, arrange consular visits, and deal with the mounting press attention paid to the "celebrity prisoner." Schapelle goes into bitter detail about all this in her book My Story, based on interviews given to Kathryn Bonella from Kerobokan Prison to which she was eventually transferred. The book is very difficult to get through with its uncompromising description of Schapelle's unfolding nightmare - the numbing sense of unreality in the first court apearances, the horrible sanitary conditions in her holding cell, wondering whom to trust. Realizing after hiring her first legal team that one of the lawyers was not on the conulate's approved list and another was not a lawyer at all. Dealing with self-styled "representatives" who wanted a signed contract with a percentage of profits from Schapelle's presumed eventual book/movie deal. Endlessly traveling back and forth from prison to court in a crowded bus in handcuffs. Seeing demonstrtors carrying signs she could not read except for her own name and wondering if they were supporters. "No, Schapelle, they're here to support the DEATH SENTENCE" her translator gently explained. "The signs say KILL you ." Being often unable to sleep or keep food down until she was briefly hospitalized after collapsing in court. Then, finally, the appearance in May 2005 for the final verdict. There was a surreal Twilight Zone quality to that day, with Schapelle desperately trying to believe that presumption of innocence and requirements of evidence meant the same in Bali in Australia, that her innocence would be clear to the judges and she could go home that day. Unbeknownst to her the presiding judge ( Linton Sirait) openly boasted of never finding anyone innocent in over 500 previous drug trials. In her book Schapelle describes trying to learn enough Indonesian to understand the verdict but was unable to concentrate when it came to the point and looked to her translator for the meaning of "Tahun dua pulu tahun" - "Two. Two years?"..."No. Eka said, shaking her head. "Ten years?" "No, not ten years..." Then Eka said, "Twenty. Twenty years." I froze. A tremor ripped through my soul. I was in shock, motionless, stunned, disbelieving. My heart stopped. Time stopped. The room went hazy. Nothing felt real. I wasn't there..." But it is real, and nearly three years later Schapelle is still in Kerobokan Prison sharing a cell with between 6 and 12 other women, locked in for over 15 hours a day. Two appeals failed to exonerate her and she is presently awaiting the results of a "judicial review." Sentence remissions will probably reduce the sentence to 11 years or so , but few in Indonesian prisons survive that long. A Prisoner Transfer Agreement ( PTA) could allow her to serve part of her time in Australia, but no such agreement has been finalized between the two countries. To qualify for a PTA she might have to admit guilt, which she steadfastly refuses to do.

It was Schapelle sniffling through her last statement before the court that I saw standing in that bank line in 2005. The judges do not speak English and had no English translator for the time she was speaking. This story has moved me more than any news story I can think of except Sept. 11. If it can happen to Schapelle it can happen to anyone. While I have a sister her age I don't look at Schapelle and see her - I see myself, caught up in a nightmare through mo fault of my own and with no end in sight. Except that I could not remotely do what she has done - remain strong and continually proclaim her innocence, through the failed appeals and the endless waiting. In her place I would long since have told the authorities to shoot me and be done with it. I am in awe of her courage and her Christian testimony, repeatedly saying she still loves the people of Bali and bears no ill will toward them, praying for her lawyers and judges and fellow prisoners as if "love your enemies" were a serious command. And dictating her book in secret interviews from her cell, knowing that might anger authorities enough to get her transferred somewhere even worse. I could not do it, not in a million years.

Miss Schapelle is enormously comforted by the letters she gets, though she cannot answer them all. Care packages also get through and are gratefully received by her and the others she shares the contents with. The address for letters and care packages is

Miss Schapelle Corby

C/-LPM Kerobokan JI
Tangkuban Perahu Kerobokan

Denpasar 80117

Bali, INDONESIA

"But I refuse to let this place break my spirit. I use all my energy and willpower to pull myself back together. I forcibly replace negative thoughts with positive ones. Staying sane really does take a lot of energy, but I have to, out of respect for those who love me."

- Schapelle Corby, MY STORY

May God grant her peace until He brings her home.

Shifting Shadows, Shimmering Lights

"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." -- James 1:17

"This particular evening, if it is remembered for nothing else, will be remembered in that place for its strange sunset. It looked like the end of the world. All the heaven seemed covered with a quite vivid and palpable plumage,;you could only say that the sky was full of feathers, and of feathers that almost brushed the face. Across the great part of the dome they were grey, with the strangest tints of violet and mauve and an unnatural pink or pale green; but towards the west the whole grew past description, transparent and passionate, and the last red-hot plumes of it covered up the sun like something too good to be seen." -- G.K. Chesterton, The Man Who Was Thursday




The fantastic sunset that frames the opening scene of Chesterton's incredible novel is unusual in New Mexico though not unknown. Our famously clear skies and high winds lend themselves more to sudden changes of scene, such as a moderately colorful sunset followed by a clear unobstructed view of the Milky Way. A stroll in the soft moon-dark in Spring can provide a view of the heavens like few other places on earth. Our mornings at sunrise are also crisp and clear and shining, or at least that's what they tell me. Like all sensible rodents I am usually still in hibernation then. New Mexico is so well known for its climate and scenery ( and lttle regarded for anything else) that it is easy to take for granted. But last Thursday I had new reason to appreciate it all. This was the third follow up appointment over nearly a year for a laser coagulation prociedure to staple down a retinal tear in my left eye. This was in fact the second near-miss with my vision. Two years ago I had surgery to remove a hemangioma ( blood vessel tumor) from behind the right eye, where for years it had been wrapping around the optic nerve causing strange shadows and distortions in dim light, and causing ghost images of bright lights at night. That surgery was very frightening and had a several-week recovery period; the laser surgery was over in ten minutes. It is astonishing what they can do with lasers these days. It simply involved staring into a very bright light while the doctor instructed me to look in various directions, putting me mentally in a cockpit with the beleagured spitfire pilots of the 1969 movie Battle of Britain -- "Beware of the Hun in the sun," (a few seconds lost trying to compenmste for the dazzling glare can hide the Messerschmitt that is coming in to kill you), "break right and climb," and of course, "you can teach MON-keys to fly better than THAT!" The pain went away within an hour and a half though it was hard to think about other things for the next month, until the first follow-up. I was accompanied on that appointment by a dear friend who instantly saw the advantages of traveling for two hours through some of New Mexico's least interesting scenery in exchange for a fast food lunch and the companionship of a rodent. We live in a sort of oasis, with a trackless desert to the south ( the direction traveled) and a swiftly ascending mountainous area to the north. The southern scenery does have a certain austere elegance in certain lights, but I had difficulty appreciating either it or the five tacos I managed to ratfully force down. There followed a world-without-end time in the waiting room trying not to overhear the details of other patients problems, then at least my own turn and the welcome news that everything seems fine and should stay that way as long as I can avoid boxing, riding skateboards off buildings or falling down stairs onto my head (difficult adjustments, to be sure). I wrote the first version of this entry on another blog server at the time ( last April) and after the current positive checkup have decided to start this mirror site on blogger. Both versions of rodent millenium have a foreign prisoner emphasis, involving particularly the case of innocent Australian Schapelle Corby whose life also changed in an instant through circumstances beyond her control. Sudden medical questions can have ( in a much smaller way) a similar effect - giving one a sense of the preciousness of every day, every small pleasure, and of how totally our lives are in God's hands.