Ken Crispin - The Chamberlain Case. The Legal Saga that Transfixed the Nation

Scribe Publications
THE CHAMBERLAIN CASE

Ken Crispin began practice as a Sydney barrister in 1973. He moved to Canberra in 1979, where his practice flourished, and he appeared for a number of high-profile defendants, including Lindy and Michael Chamberlain. He became a Queens Counsel in 1988, and was appointed director of public prosecutions for the Australian Capital Territory in 1991, chairman of the Bar Association in 1996, a Supreme Court judge in 1997, and president of the ACT Court of Appeal in 2001. He chaired the ACT Law Reform Commission between 1996 and 2006. In his spare time, Dr Crispin has completed a PhD in ethics, and written three books, including The Quest for Justice (also published by Scribe), numerous articles on law and ethics, and the libretto for an opera.

To my father,

who taught me more of justice

than all the lawyers in Christendom

Scribe Publications Pty Ltd
1820 Edward St, Brunswick, Victoria, Australia 3056
Email: info@scribepub.com.au

An initial version of this work was published by Albatross Books
in 1987 as The Crown versus Chamberlain, 19801987

First published by Scribe 2012

Copyright Ken Crispin 2012

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publishers of this book.

National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication data

Crispin, Ken.

The Chamberlain Case: the legal saga that transfixed the nation.

Rev. ed.

9781921942860 (e-book.)

1. Chamberlain, Lindy, 1948Trials, litigation, etc. 2. Chamberlain, Michael (Michael Leigh)Trials, litigation, etc. 3. Chamberlain, Azaria, 1980-1980. 4. Trials (Infanticide). 5. Judicial error.

345.942902523

www.scribepublications.com.au

Contents

PART ITHE INCIDENT

PART IIJUDGEMENT BY RUMOUR

PART IIITHE TRIAL

PART IVTHE AFTERMATH

PART VTHE COMMISSION OF INQUIRY

PART VIBREAKTHROUGH

Appendix

Introduction

THE PROSECUTION OF Michael and Lindy Chamberlain captured the public imagination in a way that was unique in the annals of Australian legal history. It would take a social anthropologist to fully explore the reasons for this immense interest and the manner in which it seemed to shock public sensibilities, but many factors spring to mind.

The story was a journalists dream. The incident had happened at Uluru, a mysterious, brooding place said to be alive with ancient spirits from the Dreamtime, and Lindy had taken Azaria to the Fertility Cave only hours before she disappeared. There were rumours of a black babys dress and a little white coffin, and claims that the very name Azaria meant sacrifice in the wilderness. A writer of occult fiction could not have asked for better ingredients.

The media suggested that this might have been a case of the cold-blooded murder of an innocent child as an offering in some arcane religious ritual. In this context, the motherhood factor assumed a chilling significance. The very thought of an apparently loving mother brutally cutting the throat of her own baby was bound to arouse strong emotions. Some simply refused to believe it. No mother would do that! was an oft-repeated response to news of the tragedy. Others shared their abhorrence, but reacted with outrage. This woman had betrayed the trust of motherhood. And she was no ordinary mother, but a pastors wife.

The Chamberlains religion was a strong factor. Michael Chamberlain was a minister; Lindy, a ministers wife. Many believed that people with such a strong Christian faith could not have committed the horrific crimes with which they had been charged. But few Australians knew much about the beliefs of Seventh Day Adventists, and the rumours led many to assume that they were members of a bizarre and dangerous cult.

Some also rallied to the dingos defence. Suddenly, it seemed, every office and workshop in the country boasted at least one dingo expert vociferously proclaiming that such creatures would never enter a tent and attack a child. Then there was the scientific evidence. Whilst CSI was yet to burst upon our screens to confirm the infallibility of forensic scientists, many people were already inclined to assume that their oracular pronouncements were scientific fact, and the reports of apparently damning expert opinions seemed, like the mercies of the Lord, to be new every morning.

But much of the cynicism seemed to reflect animosity toward the Chamberlains themselves. We live in an age in which outrage is a saleable commodity, and many Australians have a perverse dislike of anyone apparently claiming moral superiority. Some seemed to relish the prospect of a pastor and his wife being disgraced. Lindys defiance was also resented. Had she been publicly demure and tearful, she might have attracted more sympathy, but she refused to play the role expected of her.

Then, when the Chamberlains were convicted, the case became in the eyes of many people a question of trust in the Australian system of justice.

Whatever the reasons, the allegations against Michael and Lindy Chamberlain evoked strong emotions. Few, if any, legal cases had generated such hostility and outright hatred. There were death threats, and even their children were the subject of suspicion and abuse. It is scarcely overstating the position to say that they became the focus for the blood lust of some people. Yet there were also staunch defenders people who had never met the Chamberlains, but who took to the streets to support them. In some cases, their trust seemed as naive as that of the cynics who had gullibly accepted even the most fanciful rumours, yet it also reflected some of the values that Australians had long professed to hold dear: a readiness to stand with those in trouble and insist that they be given a fair go.

This uniquely Australian drama, set against the backdrop of Uluru rising like a colossus in a sea of red sand, was to create worldwide interest and bring in experts from Britain, the United States, Canada, Japan, West Germany, and Sweden. There seemed to be far more at stake than the guilt or innocence of these two people. There were scientific controversies, political disputes, and, ultimately, serious questions about whether our much-vaunted legal safeguards were really adequate to protect the innocent.

This was a case in which the prosecution had been able to produce no eyewitnesses, no body, no confession, and no motive. It had to overcome significant evidentiary obstacles, including an admittedly honest witness who claimed to have heard the baby cry when, if Lindy was guilty, it must have been already dead. Yet the Crown managed to secure convictions and, in Lindys case, a mandatory sentence of life imprisonment.

What if they were innocent? What if they were wrongly convicted on the basis of circumstantial evidence that had been misleading? The Chamberlains had been able to rely upon undisputed evidence that they were people of impeccable character, that Lindy had loved the child that she was supposed to have murdered, and that she had not exhibited any sign of postnatal depression or other mental abnormality. If, despite all that evidence in their favour, they could be convicted simply through coincidence and error, how many others might have suffered a similar fate? In our understandable preoccupation with the need for protection from crime, have we too readily dismissed the risk that our law might condemn the innocent? Even now, are there other innocent people sitting dejectedly in prison cells and praying that some day their cases might also be reopened? Indeed, are we not all at risk?