Folie a Plusieurs

by *ExplodingDog

FOLIE Á PLUSIEURS; OR, THE PARABLE OF THE MADMEN

The following is a manifesto of my memories, and relevant documents which demonstrate the plight of my city as it tore itself apart; not as a result of social or ethnic divisions, but because of its faith. Let this document be an example to those who read it; that God is dead in the hearts of those who fight for him. In Everingham - “God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him.”


Matthew Branson,
Mayor of Everingham, Sydney.


ACT I: THE LAND OF TWO MINDS

[ See accompanying graphic here: http://explodingdog.deviantart.com/art/Act-1-134922606 ]

In today’s world, everything is a product. If it bleeds, you can sell it.


Memoir of Thursday 26th March, 2009.

Father Zephaniah Windsor paced the halls of St Ursula’s Catholic Church, around the altar, down the rows and through random pews. Perhaps he was considering his duty to the community, and his duty to God, because as he walked he would often mutter to himself.

I know this, because CCTV knows this.

Zephaniah was a newcomer at St. Ursula’s, as the last preacher had, presumably, ascended to the heavens. Father Zephaniah’s aggressive preaching replaced an era of quiet, reserved worship the suburb had enjoyed for two decades. Perhaps that was why he wandered around the church. Perhaps he was considering how he might inspire the wonderfully devout, upstanding people who occupied the pews each Sunday. The truth was, these people were not wonderful, devout or particularly upstanding.

Reality, for Zephaniah, was one of contradictions.

At the stroke of half past four, Zephaniah would ritualistically practise his Sunday sermon for the coming week. He stood at the altar and drew a couple of short breaths before he began to speak into the microphone. On Sundays, when I sat in church listening to the mercurial man delivering his doctrine, I observed the crackling speakers strewn among the rafters of the church. When Zephaniah spoke, it was almost as though God’s own voice was raining down from above.
I watched Zephaniah from the film of a videotape, stopping, pausing, rewinding – on demand. Everything in the modern world is on demand.

     ‘I welcome you, Children of God, here on the Holy Day! It is all too easy to forget that we are at the service of the Lord, ever distracted by immoral pursuits and urges. Such is the nature of life in the modern world!’

     ‘We, the Children of God gather here in His house, now two weeks before the death and resurrection of our Saviour, Jesus Christ, in the holy season of Lent. It is our duty; as carriers of the Catholic flame to deny temptation, to reconcile our sins and give thanks to our Lord and Father. With faith, we will regain our discipline and our composure. It is easy to forget the sacrifices of our Lord, Jesus Christ, in these times of unrest in the world. Remember the ever present danger of the Muslim! It is he who has disrupted our peace, our amity! In the face of these difficulties, though, we must remember our need for discipline and strength. Let us find this strength and faith in our scriptures, the true scriptures. Today we shall read from 2 Chronicles 36:14-16 to reinforce our faithful conviction’:

     ‘“Moreover all the chief of the priests, and the people, transgressed very much after all the abominations of the heathen; and polluted the house of the Lord which he had hallowed in Jerusalem. And the Lord God of their fathers sent to them by his messengers, rising up betimes, and sending; because he had compassion on his people, and on his dwelling place: But they mocked the messengers of God, and despised his words, and misused his prophets, until the wrath of the Lord arose against his people, ‘till there was no remedy.”’

Zephaniah paused, coughed, and wiped his brow, looking around the church, with an air of antipathy. He stepped down from the altar and sat, shuddering in the front row pew.

He spoke in a coarse voice: ‘Forgive me Allah. Oh, merciful one, forgive me Allah.’

Humans don’t adapt to changes in environment very well. We get the bends, altitude sickness, heat stroke, amnesia; that feeling of sickness which overcomes you when you’ve found yourself in a strange, unfamiliar place.

Zephaniah stood again, seemingly over his episode, composed; he returned to the microphone and continued from the point he left off.
   
     ‘The verses of the Old Testament enlighten us to the price of straying from God’s path. People, who gather here today – I implore you to return to tradition in the holy season of Lent and serve the Trinity to the utmost of your ability. It is only through a return to tradition and a return to morality that man will be free of sin, as we approach the Judgement...’

Zephaniah discontinued his speech when he noticed a small boy in a pew a few rows back. The boy was observing, soaking in the allegory. The boy’s name was Luke. He watched, even when the Father had stopped preaching, his wide eyes peering out from below his matted brown hair.

The church was a shelter for the boy; it was better than the chilly air outside, or the sound of his mother crying. Zephaniah stepped down from the altar and approached the boy, but the boy shrank back into the seat and said “I have to go home. Dad will be furious.” Zephaniah just smiled, and allowed the boy to leave. He would watch over this young boy, the product of another broken home. In today’s world, everything is a product.


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Memoir of Sunday 29th March, 2009.

[7:30 a.m.]

I pried open my eyes as the alarm clock reminded me to get up. Every politician in the world has to hear that alarm on a Sunday morning, reminding them that they have a church to get to. Atheism is political suicide. Politicians make the Sunday sacrifice in return for looking good, and I’m my own PR man.

Ariel was hurrying the children into their Sunday garb; combing their hair, wiping their faces, making them look ‘proper’ and ‘respectable’. I sighed as I adjusted my tie in the mirror. I was proper, too.

We eventually got to the car, the big, black, taxpayer-funded car. No-one else on this street would drive something like it – the rest of them, they have Toyota Priuses. They’re all doing their bit to save the planet from heating up and cooking us all. I drove up the street, admiring their new, perfectly square houses. A couple of them have columns at the entrance like the Greek Parthenon, to give their homes a faux sense of grandeur. Others had more ‘modern’ houses; and by modern, I mean, sticking a few grey cubes on a block of land and calling it a home. But they all had Priuses, because they all wanted to be individuals, and the thing about individuals is that they’re all the same.

We reached the M4 motorway and were, thankfully, joined by a thousand other people who didn’t drive Priuses and didn’t give a damn about the environment. It was overcast, speckling rain. Mother Nature was crying.

The ‘city’ of Everingham came into view. Really, it’s just another part of the sprawl generally referred to as Sydney. And I govern it. Like most cities, it came with the usual ‘city benefits’.

- Four McDonald’s outlets on the same street. Really fast food. Check.
- Used car dealerships selling ‘97-model Audis that no-one cares about anymore. Decay. Check.
- Second-floor ‘massage parlours.’ Horizontal refreshment. Check.
- Church, Mosque, Synagogue. Moral guidance, from every version of the Lord. Check.

I looked at the beaten sign as I drove past and read “Welcome to Everingham!”
We peeled off the street into the car park of St Ursula’s Catholic Church. Elizabeth groaned. Elijah was too engrossed in Super Mario Brothers to notice. We got out of the car, and greeted our ‘Sunday friends’, the kind of people who wouldn’t notice you on any other day of the week.

We sat down in the fifth row of pews from the front. Ariel took Elijah’s Nintendo off him. He had to fall into line, just like the rest of us. I glanced about the worship hall we sat within. My imagination proved to be far more interesting than reality, most of the time. In your mind, you have complete privacy. In your mind, there's no difference between what is and what could be.

Purple drapes punctuated the encircling walls. The congregation’s weight created a chorus of groans from the pews that supported them, standing up, sitting down, conforming. Although St. Ursula’s is a new building, most of its furnishings came from the old one in High Street. The Catholics have been recycling things for years; their teachings, their traditions, their seats. So it didn’t surprise me.
The pipe organ announced the next hymn. We all stood, and sang in full, bored, monotone voice. Because that’s just what you do at church. I read the words off a screen; trying to keep in pitch with the organ, but the lady on the organ couldn’t keep pitch herself.

There was a loud, collective thump as the congregation sat again.

I glanced for a moment at a boy and his father. Meet Emmanuel. And I believe I have already introduced you to Luke.

Luke looked rigid and afraid. Emmanuel was much like his son – the same wide eyes and the same uncombed hair, although he was much more upright and muscular. I suppose an uppercut here and there on your wife would tone up your arms.

I’ll get back to that.

Zephaniah concluded his sermon, and the congregation rose to either leave, or greet acquaintances. I was one of those people everybody wanted to say hello to.

     
     ‘Hello Matthew! How are you?’
     ‘How was your week?’
     ‘How’s your mother?’
     ‘You really should do something about those hoodlums at Westfield, Matthew.’
     ‘Ah, Mister Branson! The Youth Council meeting is at 4pm on Tuesday, could you come down?


A manifesto of Matthew Branson’s conversational musings:

     ‘I don’t know you, so you don’t need to know how my week was.’
     ‘My mother’s fine, for all you need to know.’
     ‘Yeah, I’ll go to the Youth Council.’
     ‘Hopefully they’ll key your Mercedes.’

I guess you could call me a misanthrope.

I escaped the encircling ‘Sunday friends’ and joined my family waiting at the car.
Sometimes, they’re the only people who seem real. I smiled as I glanced at them in the rear vision mirror – Elijah engrossed in his Nintendo, Elizabeth asking if we could stop for pizza. While I was reversing, I eyed another sight – Emmanuel hurling Luke into the back seat of his car. I felt sorry for the kid, but I pushed the image to the back of my mind.

Even now, I wonder if things might have been different.  

The rest of the day was free from other obligatory appearances, so we drove off in pursuit of another kind of revelation: Lunch.  Looking back now, I crave such lazy days.




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Excerpt from The Sydney Morning Herald: Tuesday, 31st March 2009

Domestic Violence Skyrockets in Everingham: Religious Groups in Uproar

In a report issued by the Everingham District Court yesterday, it was revealed that convictions related to incidences of domestic violence have risen a staggering 40% over the year 2008-2009. The total number of convictions rose to 97; the highest level seen since 1976. These figures carry a darker statistic – the death of nine victims.

Community reaction to the statistics has been mixed. Susan Williams, from the Everingham PCYC’s Community Clinic has blamed socioeconomic factors for the breakdown of the family unit. ‘It is becoming clear that the breakdown of the economy has had a disastrous effect on families’. Other community groups blame the problem of gambling in the community. Anti-gambling lobbyist James Marshall pointed out that the Everingham RSL Club has 250 poker machines available to members and said yesterday, ‘Everingham’s love of ‘having a punt’ is getting out of hand and beginning to take its toll on family life’.

A church group affiliated with St Ursula’s Catholic Church has blamed the increasing presence of Muslims in the community. A representative for the group, Catherine Denton has argued that the increase in domestic violence, particularly towards women, is due to the increase in the Muslim population and their faith’s views and ideologies. She said yesterday that ‘The Koran is full of deeply misogynistic creeds and ideals, and we can see how this is having an effect on our community.’  However, this viewpoint has been widely panned as only seven of the ninety-seven cases involved active adherents of Islam. Nevertheless, the church’s views on Islam have attracted the ire of Muslims around the country.

St Ursula’s new priest, Father Zephaniah Windsor, did little to mitigate the group’s comments as he commented yesterday ‘Australia is in a moral recession, and Islam is very much at its centre.’

The Everingham Mosque has not made any official comment on the church’s statements.

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Memoir of Tuesday, 31st March 2009

Ariel woke me with warning that it was going to be ‘one of those days’. I opened my eyes to be met with the report on the front page of the Herald lying spread out on the bed. I thought to myself a while. Even one of the most multicultural places in the country was not free of zealots. The media loves getting on the Muslim hate bandwagon, though. We’ve been doing it since 2001.

I kissed Ariel goodbye and headed to the circus. The media circus, that is.

I was in a haze when the 7 a.m. news bulletin announced to the nation that Everingham was a cradle for violence, and the effects of the financial crisis were starting to affect how people got on at home.

The story was now national news, and everybody was after a story. The media is a strange thing. News actually stands for “North East South West”. News parades around on your radio and on your television as the one big objective global voice.
What it really does, is bottle up peoples’ tragedies and plays and replays them on a screen for your entertainment, on your demand; because if it bleeds, you can sell it.  

The streets are always jammed with traffic at that time of morning – it gave me time to think. Thinking this morning, however, was tiresome – I imagined the reporters waiting outside the building, microphones in hand, waiting for a story. When I arrived, they rushed towards the car park, struggling and clambering to harvest my opinion with their microphones. I must have said ‘No comment’ twenty times, and still they followed like the carriages of a train, my own personal bandwagon.

I walked into my office, closing the door behind me and watched them wander off disappointed. I sat for a while, wondering what could be done about all of this. An idea came sudden on me. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and I had to put out the fire. I picked up the handset and called the church – I needed to speak to the preacher at the centre of all this; and I wasn’t going to do it over the phone.
A meeting with Zephaniah was arranged for 3 p.m.

I hung up and returned to office work, fending off enquiring journalists. Headlines aren’t always as juicy as this one.  Three o’clock came soon enough.

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Meeting with Father Zephaniah Windsor; Tuesday 31st March, 2009.

Start Recording: 2:57pm

     “‘Hello Father. Thank you for coming in.’

     ‘My pleasure, Mister Branson.’

     ‘Father, I must ask you whether you have any control over the St Ursula’s Community Group – the group responsible for the comments in today’s Herald?’

     ‘Yes. They are members of our church, and as members of our church we feel it is commendable that they express their views in relation to community issues, and community issues don’t come any bigger than the issue of domestic violence. In fact, I consider it their duty to speak out about these issues.’

     ‘Father, they must stop. It is ill-considered and inflammatory for the church, or any group connected to the church to make comments like these – they merely invite dissent with the Islamic community. Islam is not the reason why domestic violence has increased in Everingham – out of ninety convicted cases; only 8 of the men were active adherents of Islam.’

     ‘This may be so, Mister Branson. However, consider this: the Qur’an is a violent, unfounded work. It promotes violence in manners our church finds unacceptable in modern society. They attack the Christian faith on the grounds that it is not a ‘true faith’, when Islam itself is based upon the forerunning Abrahamic faiths – Judaism and Christianity.”

     ‘Father, have you even consulted your own scriptures? They are as violent as the Koran, and just as ‘corrupt’! The church must retract it’s judgments on the matter, they are biased and obviously xenophobic.’

     ‘Corrupt! Ha! Are you criticising the very basis for your faith, the true faith?”

     ‘Why should I not, Father? It would be blind to place my faith in something which I do not understand, and to understand something you must question it.”

     ‘Mister Branson, what you are suggesting is preposterous. Our church will neither retract its comments, nor will it apologise for them. And - the Holy Bible is not to be questioned.”

     ‘Goodbye, Mister Branson.’

End Recording: 3:13pm




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Notes: Evidence examined by Everingham District Court, from Day 23 of the Windsor Trials, 27th September, 2009.  
Diary entry of Zephaniah Windsor, 31st March 2009. Written following meeting with Mayor Matthew Branson.

Hear me now my Lord,

There are a strong group of men within the Islamic faith who would go to their deaths for their faiths. But there are no martyrs for the guiding light, Catholicism. It seems, Lord, that people are challenging the validity of the Holy Book, which has stood as our absolute moral code for millennia – why now, God, do the nonbelievers rise up against your light, against your truth? Even the believers would not defend their faith with their life, for there are no saints today.

But Zephaniah, Men relish dying in the name of Allah. Why do you not yet seek the Truth?

My darker self tempts me into blasphemous thought! Zuhoor - do not speak such ills within me!

Oh? I think I will.

If there is no passion driving a belief; then there is no faith at all – merely a promise one never keeps. Submit to Allah, Zephaniah. Do not live your life in the veil of sin any longer.

Never will I submit to the blasphemy of Islam!

Great God, have pity on my soul, for it is tempted by my darker self – Zuhoor. I have tried, God, to shed this other self which tempts me in to despicable thought.

My Lord, please forgive me, your servant, Zephaniah, for I struggle with all my might against this dark Islamic self. He has attempted to overthrow me before, God, and it is only by your Grace, your guiding light that I have been able to ward him away. My Lord, I feel that my resolve against his unstoppable force is taking its toll on me – I plead now for your Mercy, God, as Zuhoor intensifies his grasp over my mind.

Deliver me from evil, my God. Deliver me from Islam.


                                                               ✝✝✝


Reality, for Zephaniah, was one of contradictions.

The Commissioner of the New South Wales Police saw fit to post me a summary of current investigations on the Friday. As if I didn’t already know what was unfolding.  It was a week from Good Friday, and the believers weren’t becoming any more ‘reverent’ as the anniversary of the death of Christ approached.


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Office of the Commissioner of Police
New South Wales Police Force
Police Headquarters
1 Charles Street
Parramatta, NSW 2150

Classified Document                                                                                                  Friday, 3rd April 2009
To The Mayor
Mr. Matthew Branson
Everingham City Council
274 Independence Drive
Everingham, Sydney.

RELIGIOUS-RELATED CRIMES IN THE CITY OF EVERINGHAM – ZERO TOLERANCE.

Dear Mr. Branson,

As you are aware, the City of Everingham is experiencing an increase in violent crime and instances of property damage; and it is suspected that these crimes are related to religious dissent within the community. The New South Wales Police has established a special task force, ‘Operation Nero’, to combat the proliferation of these types of offences and to suppress further incidences of religious clashes.
Operation Nero has identified that many of these crimes may be prosecuted under ‘Crimes (Anti Terrorism Amendment 2008) No. 73/2005.’ This legislation granted Police additional powers to investigate and combat criminal activity; particularly that of ideological motivation. Thus, the force will be dealing with the recent violence in Everingham under Anti-Terrorist legislation where applicable. This is a hardline stance against the violence – I hope that you will make it clear to your community that all religious aggressors will be tried and punished in the court of law.

I wish to bring to your attention three examples of recently identified religious hate crimes investigated by Nero. Notwithstanding, thirteen other incidents are under investigation and/or prosecution at this time, however – I cannot comment on the proceedings as they are currently in investigatory stages, or are subject to court process at present as doing so may pervert the course of justice.

High Street Break-in: Between 9 and 10pm on 1st of April, the Everingham Christian Bookstore was broken into. A community-run store with no security, the 2 offenders broke through the store front window. Staying for an estimated half-hour, the offenders defaced the stores merchandise and sprayed anti-Christian messages on two adjacent walls to the rear of the store. The offenders lit a small fire with a collection of bibles before fleeing to the streets. The Fire Service extinguished the blaze; however the rear of the shop has suffered significant fire damage. Everingham Police arrested two men of Middle Eastern appearance. Upon their arrest the men were remanded in custody until they appeared at Everingham District Court. Mohammed Abdul Al-Zikawi and Mohammed Fataema Aazad pleaded not guilty to the charges, however, they were yesterday found guilty of the crime and each sentenced to 2 years imprisonment.

Religiously Fuelled Internet Videos: A series of religiously fuelled videos have appeared on the website YouTube. In a series of videos, two Christian activists denounce Islam as “false”, and “violent”. They continue to refer to the Muslim population of Everingham offensively, referring to them as “dogs” and “pieces of shit.” The fourth and final video uploaded by the two men implored viewers to “burn the mosques”. Everingham men Ezekiel Johns and James Shelley were charged under the legislation  and found guilty at trial in Everingham District Court of ‘Inciting Religious Hatred’, and sentenced to 100 hours community service each.

Everingham Station bashing: Three Everingham men, Gary Hughes,  Matthew Marsden and Zac Kennedy were returning home from the Standard Hotel at approximately 10:30pm on the 1st of April when it is alleged they set upon a man of Middle Eastern appearance at Everingham Station, causing serious injury to the man who is currently in a medically induced coma at the Royal North Shore Hospital. It is unclear whether the man will emerge from the coma. Nero’s investigation suggests that the assault was an unprovoked, ideologically based attack. The men have since been arrested and will remain remanded in custody until later this month at which point they will appear in Everingham District Court.

Mr. Branson, it is absolutely imperative that you address the community on the issue of religious violence. A combined response to the events of the last week will ensure that the situation does not escalate further.  Therefore, we will continue to work tirelessly to subdue all such occurrences in Everingham.

Yours sincerely,
Andrew Scipione
Commissioner, NSW Police

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And so it was decreed; it was my duty to unite the people. To tell them that the only way we can prosper is to be united. Divided we fall. But everybody is divided.
Here, we have Anglicans. We have Catholics. We have Shi’a Muslims. We have Sunni Muslims. We have a version of every God that ever existed. Depending on the guy you ask, his version of God is better than everyone else’s.

Before I stood to speak, I whispered a prayer:

     “Vengeful God,
     Loving, forgiving, nurturing God,
     Ever watchful, all knowing God,
     If you are the same, glorious God
     I ask you God, would you like a straitjacket?”





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ACT II: THE DICHOTOMY OF ZEPHANIAH

[See accompanying graphic here: http://explodingdog.deviantart.com/art/Act-2-134922727]

God was just sitting up there watching, with a bucket of popcorn.





Transcript of speech to the public at Everingham City Hall by Mayor Matthew Branson: 7:40 PM, Saturday 28th March 2009.

     ‘We, the citizens of Everingham gather here tonight in the face of a crisis – our city is tearing itself apart as the extreme views held by a select few polarise the community.  Everingham was a suburb which once thrived upon the differences which exists among its people. We are a conglomerate – a suburb comprised of both whites and blacks, Lebanese and Jewish, Indian and Asian, Christian and Islamic. Here, we were a union of culture and faith not often found in Australia, or in the world. Everingham is the crossroads. Everingham was the model upon which Australian multiculturalism was based.

     On the foundations of our diversity, we prospered. This prosperity I speak of boomed in the wave of immigration experienced after the Second World War. A combination of its proximity to the city, and the opportunity for employment for both skilled and unskilled labourers meant that Everingham grew to become an immigrant haven.  Indeed, Everingham was once the industrial centre of Sydney; and arguably the heart of New South Wales’ industrial output.

     In the 1970s, this all changed as the migrants’ children grew into adults. Everingham was gradually transformed from a gritty, industrialized suburb to a flourishing cultural centre especially noted for its diversity. By the 1990s, our suburb enjoyed higher standards of education than the national average and it had completed its transformation from immigrant haven to a cultural haven.
This all changed in 2001. The War on Terror, as it is named, shone the spotlight on the faith of Islam, and it was branded a violent faith; a faith for zealots, a faith whose doctrine mandated hatred. This was simply not true, but the media reported it as fact.

     In 2009, a suburb which was once praised for its diversity is now divided by the groups which exist within it. It is now plainly clear that Everingham’s status as the crossroads for all people was idealistic; a title which we could not uphold.
Like any community or region in Australia, we are plagued by certain societal ills.
The Bureau of Statistics released figures which illustrated that domestic violence has erupted in our region, with prosecutions increasing by a staggering forty percent within our community. As a suburb, we account for forty-five thousand of Sydney’s population, which stands at four million, four hundred thousand people. In Everingham the incidence of domestic violence incidents, per capita, is fifteen percent above the national average.

     A representative from St. Ursula’s Catholic Church laid the blame for those domestic violence figures at the feet of Islam. This accusation was inflammatory and socially irresponsible. This kind of blatant xenophobia, however, is not so unique in Australian society – however, it is a tendency which the police and government will not tolerate in any way, shape or form.  These comments were bound to attract the ire of the Islamic community – and as a ‘snowball’ effect, we are now in a state of social and religious conflict.

     In continuing this state of conflict, the believers are at odds with what they are fighting for. The Holy Bible tells us in the Book of Matthew: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God."

     The Holy Koran tells us, in The Chambers, “O mankind!  We have created you male and a female; and we have made you into nations and tribes so that you may know one another.”

     Any opposition, then, between men of different faith, can be seen as opposition between man and God. On this thought, I implore you to be mindful not only of your faith, but also be mindful of others’ faiths. There is no such thing as a ‘true faith’ – the struggle to assert the superiority of a ‘true faith’ denies your neighbour the right to be human. Article 18 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights states that:

     “Everyone has the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion; this right includes freedom to change his religion or belief, and freedom, either alone or in community with others and in public or private, to manifest his religion or belief in teaching, practise, worship and observance.”

     To force your faith onto others subjugates free will. To force your faith on another is to deny their humanity. Tonight; I leave you with a simple goal. Be mindful of your God, but be mindful of our fellow humanity. The violence and hatred must cease tonight.’


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Thursday, 9th April.

I have, until now, set aside the story of the young boy, Luke. On Monday night, Luke was out roaming the streets again.

His father, Emmanuel, was beating Luke’s mother again. Hannah. Luke preferred the sound of sirens to the sound of Hannah’s cries. Luke didn’t want to listen. Most of the time, nobody ever listened.

Emmanuel and Hannah had money problems. They had around a hundred thousand dollars of debt, in all. It drove him to extremes. He would work, come home, and sit despairing in front of the television watching the news, how seven bombs went off in Gaza overnight and how Muslim developments in Sydney were being shunned.

Breaking news: the man who was bashed at Everingham Station has died in Royal North Shore Hospital.

All news really does, is bottle up peoples’ tragedies and plays and replays them on a screen for your entertainment. Watching everyone else die was Emmanuel’s escape from the pressure of the ‘real’ world, the world whose sole interest was in sending him bills, overdue notices for bills, and then some more bills.

If Hannah interrupted this small half-hour escape, he got angry. This time, Hannah carried in the letters.

And the eviction notice.

Luke, he didn’t like the place he called ‘home’ very much. He took to the streets. The streets were his home. As for a guardian, the moon would watch over him. The moon is God’s big white CCTV camera. But in today’s world, God’s eternal watch over us just doesn’t cut it. Luke went to pray, on a bench. On the edge of Castlereagh Park, Luke sat and looked around.

I know this, because CCTV knows this.

Across the street, he could see the Royal Hotel, with all the men inside drinking, gambling, occasionally fighting. Tall trees from the park behind him towered overhead, the green leaves catching the moonlight.

Or maybe, it was the white neon light from the next street advertising: “LIVE GIRLS”.

This place, despite the surroundings, felt like the safest place in the world to Luke, purely because he was sitting down on the rotting park bench with a silver crucifix between his palms. There he was sitting quietly, praying for peace, safety, stability, something like that.

While Luke was in his quiet worship, two hooded teenagers approached, walking up the broken footpath. They stopped at the sight of the lone boy, asking him why he was there. They told him, he should be at home praying to Allah. Luke disagreed.

The two teenagers threw his silver cross into the gutter. It wasn’t going to save him now. They couldn’t break his resolve, so they just broke him. The younger boy beat Luke near to the point of senselessness. The older, taller one watched on, smiling from under his hood. Luke just sat there without the slightest hint of a struggle. God would deliver him. The older one told the younger to stop.

He had something better than fists. He had a switchblade. Luke still didn’t fight back. The older one stabbed him, and the younger one just stood and watched. The young boys stood around, observing Luke’s spirit draining into the gutter.
God was just sitting up there watching, with a bucket of popcorn.


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It had been decided that his funeral will be convened at St. Ursula’s by Father Zephaniah. I thought this a curious choice because lately in his sermons, he had developed a tendency to reference the Qur’an. Given the circumstances, that was never going to look pretty. Supposedly, he was “promoting cooperation between the faiths”. That’s what the newspaper said, anyway. This was coming from the same man who called Islam a “violent and unfounded faith”, that was what worried me; how violently hypocritical can a man be? But eventually, it all made sense.

The funeral would be held on Good Friday. God died on Good Friday.


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ACT III: THE DEATH OF GOD

[ See accompanying graphic at http://explodingdog.deviantart.com/art/Act-3-134922812 ]

God lied back on his death bed, for each blow to his believers was a blow to him.

Memoir of Good Friday, 10th April.

The mourners gathered at St. Ursula’s for Luke’s funeral. There were some family members, there were some observers with no real reason for being there, and there was a news crew standing back from the black crowd.  They were there for a good story. This was great for the media, this little theological drama, played out in five minute segments on the news each night.

Emmanuel was there to see off his son, wrapped around Hannah crying. I often find it amusing how you can beat something to the point of senselessness and still embrace it. Like your wife, and God.  

Hannah just stood there, a statue: hollow and unmoving.

I was one of the observers with no real reason for being there, admiring the bed of flowers on Luke’s coffin. Everyone had bought a flower to remember a boy that people only noticed when he was dead. When he was alive, nobody really gave a damn about him. Not even me. Now he was gone; forever to be remembered as a symbol of the violence.

Zephaniah took the altar, and we all sat down. Sit down, stand up. That’s all church really is, except this time, people would cry a little bit too.

     ‘In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful.’

He wasn’t even going to stop using the Qur’an now. Even when he was conducting the funeral of a boy killed in the name of Islam. I do not believe in any kind of God, or Heaven, or Hell. The events which I am about to retell strengthened in me this conviction.

We began to pray.

     ‘Our father, who art in heaven.
     Hallowed be thy name.
     Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,
     On Earth as it is in heaven.
     Give us this day, our daily bread,
     And forgive us our trespasses.
     As we forgive those who trespass against us.
     And lead us not in to temptation, but deliver us from evil.
     Amen.’

    ‘There is a sound lesson to be taken from this prayer, believers. We must forgive those who stray from the path of our Father – and we must forgive those who have done… us… wrong.’

Zephaniah looked around the hall, looking with that same air of antipathy.

     ‘Believers, take neither Jews nor Christians for your friends.’

A murmur shot around the hall – the congregation had had enough of Zephaniah’s crosspollination of faith. It was, after all, entirely out of place given the circumstances. Emmanuel was, again, pushed to extremes. He stood up from the front-row pew. The murmur was more like a roar now. Emmanuel walked slowly towards Zephaniah. He spoke through his teeth.

     ‘Zephaniah! Who do you think you are?’
     ‘I am Mohammed Zuhoor al-Akram! Never address me with your filthy, Jewish names!’
     ‘At the funeral of my son, killed in the name of Allah, you preach your filthy Muslim words over his body. You can burn in hell!’

The old man didn’t stand a chance. The congregation protested; for it was clear now that the priest was mad. Their words could never have quelled Emmanuel’s rage.

He pushed Zephaniah up against the crucifix that hung on the back wall. They grappled, but the younger man was much more of a fighter, being well practised on his wife and all. The ceramic figure of Christ’s legs remained stubborn and unmoving while the priest’s head was bashed against them. A few good Samaritans attempted to drag them apart, but they were just drawn into the melee.

The mourners spilled out onto the street, shocked at what had transpired at a funeral.

The cameras were still there. This was going to be a really, really good story

I watched on as I called the police. Everything’s safer when you have a gun handy, ask an American.

Some young men of Middle Eastern appearance, apparently Muslims, chose this particular time, of all times they could have chosen to walk by the scene. Some of the mourners wanted to steal the spotlight; and an exchange of words led to an exchange of fists, and the police were still nowhere to be found.

Welcome to Everingham.



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Memoir of Easter Sunday, 12th April.

The riot squad cordoned off St. Ursula’s. News of the bashing of those young Muslims spread like a cancer. And then there came a flood of people looking for revenge. Armed with whatever implements they could find, the people of Everingham descended to the streets to fight for their faith – to fight for God; whichever God it was.  

Hate messages were sprayed upon walls; as was the blood of enemies. When the police tried to intervene, the people turned on the police. The city burned and the gutters were soaked with the blood of the faithful.

God lied back on his death bed, for each blow to his believers was a blow to him.

As each one died in his name; God became weaker and more languid with each passing hour. The archangels gathered around his bed; and watched on as the halo of their Father faded and became nothing more than a dim, ineffectual light. In the early hours of the morning of Easter Sunday, God had passed on into a black abyss, because God had been forgotten by the faithful.

God was dead. On Easter Sunday, seventy-six men, women, and children lay dead.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

The police had taken Zephaniah Windsor into custody. They too observed the eccentricities in his pattern of speech, and the manner in which he held himself, as though he was suffering some kind of internal conflict. His personality lapsed between his constructs, Zephaniah and Zuhoor, by the hour. At one moment, he could be Father Zephaniah Windsor – protector of the Catholic faith, and champion of The Lord’s Path. And in other moments, he was Mohammed Zuhoor al-Akram – Muslim faithful of the ‘only true religion known to Man,’ or so he believed. The police psychologists concluded that he suffered from a split personality.

Reality, for Zephaniah, was one of contradictions.

It was time to speak to the people once more.



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Mayor of Everingham Shire, Matthew Branson: Transcript of Address to the Australian public at Town Hall, Sydney. Easter Sunday, 12th April 2009.

     'The nation welcomes the Resurrection of Christ on the morning of Easter Sunday. It is clear now, though, that the faithful of Everingham and Sydney as a whole have forgotten the creed of their faiths. In an address last week; I attempted to quell the tensions between religious groups by noting a few essential doctrines of both Christianity and Islam.

     The Holy Bible tells us – ‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.’ The Holy Koran tells us – ‘O mankind!  We have created you male and a female; and we have made you into nations and tribes so that you may know one another.’ In the past weeks, the faithful have forgotten these essential creeds and instead turned to observe how Christianity and Islam are at odds with one another. Yesterday night, it was revealed to me that the man at the centre of the religious conflict, Father Zephaniah Windsor, is a sufferer of a mental illness known as Dissociative Identity Disorder, or in layman’s terms, a split personality. In one moment, he is the staunch advocate of Christian morality and in another; he is the defender of Islam, the ‘true faith’.

      Zephaniah, then, embodied the conflict and confusion which has engulfed the city.
It had been noticed by members of his church that he would often make reference to the Holy Koran in his sermons. It was dismissed as an attempt to restore peace and cooperation between Catholicism and Islam. However, it was an action of his that could not be controlled by the duality of his psyche.

     The comments made by the preacher brought animosities between Islam and Catholicism to the forefront. Men were bashed. Stores were ransacked. Anti-Islam and Anti-Christian sentiment developed on the internet, on television and in newspapers. Never before has conflict been so close to our fingertips.

     This development of dissent was at odds with the faiths that the believers were fighting to protect. Now, after the riots which will surely go down as a dark chapter in Australian history, the believers should realise the error of their ways.

     Seventy-six people now lie dead. And to what avail?  I feel an intense bitterness arising from these events. Not towards either faith – for faith is not to blame in these riots. The blame lies at the feet of those who will resort to violence to assert their beliefs.

     Look to your left; there is a Christian. To the opposite side, there is bound to be a Muslim. While you look at these people, you subconsciously classify them as irrevocably different, and yet, they share a common humanity. There is no difference between us; there are only beliefs which we were brought up with, taught, or come to believe in through life experience. To fight for faith is to deny our common humanity.

     I now recall the famous words of Nietzsche, as the very essence of our spirituality lies in ruin:

“God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How will we console ourselves, the murderers of all murderers?”

     I hope that these events serve as an example to the children of the future –an example of the futility of religious violence. As seventy six believers died for their faith in the Easter Riots of 2009, the essence of God in our hearts and souls, too, passed away.