“Even if you’re imprisoned for life, that’s still a short time. After that, Jesus will come back. All you have to do is try to make the best of the situation you’re in” (Lindy Chamberlain).
Alice Lynn Chamberlain-Creighton, known simply as “Lindy”, is one of Australia’s most famous women. After her story divided the country in the 1980s, the Sydney Morning Herald ranked her among the 100 most influential women in Australia. It is astonishing that almost 20 years after her exoneration, 30% of Australians still believe she is guilty of killing her nine-week-old daughter, Azaria, according to Lindy’s official website. Lindy was completely and definitively exonerated, after 32 years since the tragic incident that led to Azaria Chamberlain’s death.
AB: The night of 17 August 1980 unfortunately became the defining moment of your life. Have you ever wondered what your life would have been like if that night had never happened?
LC: It’s hard to say. If we had some magic mirrors, we would know everything. At the time, I had three young children and a husband who was a pastor. We were planning to produce more television and radio programmes about health education. The future looked promising. Perhaps it would have turned out to be a quiet, even monotonous life.
AB: But that’s not how it turned out. Looking back to before that tragic night, do you think there were certain circumstances in your life that prepared you for the challenges to come?
LC: Yes, looking back, I think that’s how it was. I was shy as a child. I used to read a lot. By the age of 10, I had read all the volumes in the “Works of George Washington” series. I also read the story of Marie Durand, who was imprisoned because they couldn’t find her brother. She remained in prison for the rest of her life and inscribed “Resist!” on the prison walls.
Now, whenever someone buys one of my books and asks me to sign it, I always write “Resist!” in the top corner. People always ask me what it means. I first read that word when I was 10 years old. I remember thinking, “One day you’ll be in prison, and you’ll have to be ready to resist.” Then I would tell myself, “That’s ridiculous!” Looking back though, I can see the influence the book had on my life. Marie Durand had no idea what impact she would have on a young girl, nor what would happen in Australia.
Trust and faith are like a marathon. You can’t run a marathon without training first. The same applies to faith. You have to learn to have faith in the little things. Don’t assume that you will have faith when big things come along. You won’t, if you haven’t learned to trust God little by little. There have been all kinds of small yet special things in my life. I believe this is how God has prepared me.
AB: You said something very profound. We don’t know what the future holds, but we are called to make the most of the time we have and accept the influence of the Holy Spirit. Perhaps one day we will understand why God put that obstacle in our path.
LC: I think I have been very privileged because God has shown me some “whys”.
When I was going through hard times, people would ask me, “How can you believe in God? Look what He has done to you!” Not only do I not believe that God did it, I believe that He helps us through our trials. I have learned many lessons. I’ve been to prison and I’ve been through the courts. I didn’t enjoy the process, but I wouldn’t change what I learned because it’s invaluable.
People have written to me, saying things like, “Lindy, seeing what you’ve been through gives me the courage to face my own difficulties.” Another person wrote, “Seeing you going in and out of court made me turn back to God.” I wondered what people could learn from my court appearances. But they did learn something.
AB: What happened that night?
LC: I was on holiday at Ayers Rock—now called Uluru, an Aboriginal name—right in the centre of Australia, in the middle of the desert. Several hundred people were camping there that night. What we didn’t know was that there had been numerous dingo attacks. There were small signs, but if you had poor eyesight, you wouldn’t be able to read them. They said that if you fed the dingoes, they might bite you.
We had our nine-week-old baby girl with us, as well as our two boys, who were aged six and four. We had camped the night before and hiked up the mountain that day. Everyone was tired. There were designated areas on the campsite where tourists could cook, and my husband was there. I put the children to bed in a small tent. My son Aidan said he was still hungry. I went to the car to get another can of food. The cooking area was very close by. I could see the tent from there—well, just the top of it.
My husband and the others told me that Azaria had been crying, but I hadn’t heard her. I was a little further away. I told them I would go and check. The tent was about ten metres away. Halfway there, I saw a dingo coming out of the tent. The bushes prevented me from seeing everything. Thankfully, God didn’t let me see any more. Then I realised. The whole tent had been torn apart. All her blankets were scattered around. And she was gone.
I told the people around me that a dingo had taken her. I shouted for torches so that we could look for her. It was late at night. People searched everywhere, but they couldn’t find her. A week later, her clothes were found very close to a dingo’s den, about five kilometres away.
A large tourist complex was under construction there, with $20 million already invested. That week, the final contracts for hundreds of millions more were signed. They were afraid that a case like this would affect their plans. Added to that were political ambitions, private funding, and all sorts of other factors. That’s how the lies began. That’s how it all started.
Initially, they concluded that it was a dingo, but then they changed their minds and accused me of lying. Another trial followed, and I was sentenced to life imprisonment with hard labour for my little girl’s murder. The press wrote that the murder was part of a religious ritual. Many rumours were spread. It was said that I had dressed her in a black dress and slit her throat in the car to atone for the sins of the Adventist Church around the world.
AB: So, suddenly, you were faced with two tragedies: On the one hand, the loss of your daughter. On the other hand, there were these outrageous accusations. You told them what happened, but they didn’t believe you. Other witnesses said what they had seen, but they weren’t believed either. I think there was even an indigenous man who knew something, but his testimony was rejected and he was discredited. What was it like fighting on two completely different fronts?
LC: I had always thought that God was good. I believe in Him, I work for Him, and I know Him. But I told myself that if anyone touched my children, I would no longer believe in Him. When these things happened, I realised I had two options. One was to kill myself; the other was to put my faith in God and ask Him to help me get through this. I chose God in an instant because He was the only one I could rely on. I said to Him, “God, you have to help me!”
I knew the truth. And God knew it, too. Then I told myself, “I’m going to fight!” I’m not going to let my children go through life thinking that everyone believes their mother is a murderer. They were there and they know it’s not true.
The power of faithI knew that God had a “plan” for Azaria, and that I would see her again. Some people asked me, “Do you realise what that dingo did to her?” I told them not to worry about that. The park administrators, the police, and the doctors told me that it took her very little time to lose consciousness; a fraction of a second. The cry that was heard and then stopped suddenly would be the only thing she would remember if she had to start her life over again. So I don’t have to think about what the dingo did to her. It all happened after she died; she didn’t know anything. The devil wants me to torture myself by thinking about how it happened. But I mustn’t do that.
I think that’s what happens in most cases. People torture themselves by thinking, “What if…?” and imagining all kinds of horrible scenes. I have chosen to remember the happy moments I had with her. I will not relive the day she died, or the terrible things that happened. That’s what the devil wants me to do. I’m going to move on with my life. I will never forget my daughter. Never! But I will remember the happy times we shared, not the sad ones. I can’t wait to see her again. |
All the witnesses knew it wasn’t true. The Aboriginal trackers knew it wasn’t true either. After all the trials in Australia had ended and there were no other courts to turn to, a piece of Azaria’s clothing that had not been seen before—a knitted jumper—was found. It was the only item of clothing that hadn’t been found. The prosecution said that she wasn’t wearing anything like that and that I was lying to clear myself. Then, suddenly, it turned up. The trial was reopened, and everyone in Australia realised that my accusers were lying and that something was amiss. Then new laws were passed. The case became eligible for review through a Royal Commission, which allowed each witness to present all their evidence without restraint or interruption for the first time.
They had been told, “You mustn’t say that in court. It could work in their favour. Don’t give that testimony. You must remain silent.” They tried to prevent the man who had found the dingo tracks from mentioning them, but one of their lawyers made a mistake and asked the witness, “Do you have anything else to say?” The witness replied, “Yes, I found dingo tracks where the child had been put down.” Then we were able to question him. But they had tried to keep that quiet. Throughout the trial, God allowed them to make small mistakes. After that, I heard the lead attorney swear loudly and tell the other one, “You’re on their side! You asked questions you shouldn’t have asked!” God works in mysterious ways.
After 14 months at trial, it had been decided that we were murderers. Then a new law was passed that allowed the verdict to be overturned, declaring us innocent. A new appeal was filed and, finally, after 32 years, and the fourth investigation, we were exonerated. In the meantime, three more children had been killed by dingoes.
AB: Were there moments when you doubted yourselves because the court had repeatedly said that you were guilty and had even created a minute-by-minute recreation of the events?
LC: No, because we knew what we had done. And God knew what we had done. That was all that mattered. But there were moments when my husband said to me: “They said we did this or that, and maybe we did. We probably did.” I would say to him, “Wait a minute! They’re accusing me! I was with the girl. You were with the others, cooking. You stayed with them. You didn’t even go near the tent.” He would breathe a sigh of relief. But so many things were weighing on his mind.
Our personalities are very different. His is very different from mine. He gets very upset. Sometimes, he had to take refuge in his master’s study to cope. Everyone has their own way of dealing with problems. I observe what’s happening, process the information, and then move on. I don’t dwell on the past. I am privileged to have such a personality and to be able to look ahead. That doesn’t mean I suffer less.
AB: How was your time in prison? How well informed were you? Did you know what particular newspapers or journalists were saying about you?
LC: I sometimes received up to 400 letters a day. Although I didn’t read the newspapers myself, people would send me clippings or write about articles in their letters. In fact, I think I knew more then than I do now about what was going on in the world, at home, and with my children, because everyone was watching them. They couldn’t do anything without their mother finding out.
On the other hand, it was like asking myself, “Who is that person on TV?” I was portrayed completely differently to how I really was. All kinds of things were written.
In prison, I studied and worked. The working day was normal, and we were paid 30 cents a day. However, we had to buy our own shampoo and other necessities. By the time I was released, I had saved seven dollars over three years.
If you could afford it, you could take craft classes. I took classes in upholstery, macramé, painting, crochet, and knitting. I made slippers for myself and my daughter. I also made clothes for my daughter (I had another daughter while I was in prison). I even made clothes for the boys to keep up with their growth. I did a lot of things to keep myself occupied. Some inmates didn’t have any money, so they couldn’t take craft classes. We weren’t allowed to teach them. Sometimes you had to ask them to “help” you so they would have something to do.
AB: Did living there change your perspective on what prison is like, seeing things from the inside?
LC: I had visited prisons before. Visiting a prison is one thing, but being locked up there is something else entirely. It’s like being on TV, knowing that everyone can see you. It’s like being in a fishbowl. It’s hard to describe. It seems almost surreal. But I always knew it would be temporary and that God would set me free. It’s not the handcuffs that make you a prisoner; it’s what you believe in your mind.
AB: Did you ever think you might stay there forever? Or did you say at some point, “I’m free. I know what I did. It doesn’t matter where I am”?
Yes. I knew I wasn’t guilty; I knew I wasn’t a criminal. Even though I’m here, this is just a temporary home. Our world is just a temporary home, too. I would plan my work accordingly, telling myself, “I’m going to do this because that’s how long I think I’ll be here.” Then I would finish my work. After that, I would think of something else and set myself another timeframe.
Even if you’re imprisoned for life, that’s still a short amount of time. Then Jesus will return. You have to do your best in your current situation.
You could complain that you’re locked up and can’t bear it anymore. Or you could say, “I’m here now. How can I be useful? What can I do to make things better?” I taught the Aboriginal girls how to count. I wrote letters for them, among other things.
During my entire time there, I only met a few people who weren’t nice. You had to stay away from the ones who weren’t nice because they weren’t like other people anymore. They killed people and enjoyed it. When they said, “If you come near me, I’ll kill you,” they meant it. The rest, when they weren’t drinking or taking drugs, weren’t even disruptive. You got to know them as people.
They’re so used to being accused of everything and getting beaten up that they’ll try to hurt you before you hurt them. When they are released, they are not allowed to socialise with other people, not even their only friends, the people in prison. They can’t find jobs, so they resort to stealing again. It’s a place where you learn to be bad.
It’s very sad. But I still keep in touch with one of the girls. She calls me “Mum”. She has her own code of ethics. She looked at the Ten Commandments in the Bible and said, “God said to keep the Sabbath. Well, I’m not going to steal on that day anymore because God said not to work on Sabbath. Since my profession is stealing, I mustn’t steal on the Sabbath. Every time I do, either the police catch me or I crash the car. So God is telling me not to work on the Sabbath.”
AB: Have you ever felt hatred?
No, you can’t hate when God loves you. It’s impossible. The two can’t go together.
These are very difficult lessons. They’re hard to learn, but I’ve learned that even when you think someone is bad, unpleasant, and you’d like to see them punished, you have to tell yourself that God is the one who should punish them. I shouldn’t feel that way. If I want revenge, it will change me for the worse and I will be consumed by thoughts of it. If someone has treated me badly, it means they want me to be unhappy. We must learn to forgive others and ourselves for harbouring thoughts of revenge. We must tell ourselves, “No, it’s not my fault that this happened. I don’t have to accept the blame. I need to give it back to the person who hurt me. They need to take responsibility for it. I’m taking the high road. I’m moving forward. I’m not going to dwell on the negative things that have happened. I’m going to do good things. God will take care of them.”
I remember an incident in prison when something bad happened to me. I considered reporting the person responsible. I was angry. Before I went to bed, I used to read the Bible. I would put my finger on a verse and read it. After your cell was locked, the only place you could sit was on your bed. I read the text that said, “Tremble and do not sin; when you are on your beds, search your hearts and be silent.” It was actually telling me to lie down, to be quiet and to be still! God would take care of it.
I lay in bed, telling myself that it was time to go to sleep and asking God to take care of the matter. The next morning, when they unlocked the cells, I was called to the office. I thought I was in trouble. I asked God to help me keep my mouth shut as He had instructed, and to let Him sort things out. When the door opened, the first thing the officer said to me was, “I’m very sorry about what happened to you yesterday. That officer has been reprimanded. I want you to write a report.” That was what I had wanted to do when I was angry. But now I was being asked to do it. The officer told me to write a report about everything this man had done to the Aboriginal girls because they couldn’t write themselves. He asked me to write the report because the officer was a problem. The other officers had reported him. God had already arranged things.
When I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to read the Bible in prison, I plucked up the courage to tell them that I wouldn’t work on the Sabbath and that I wanted to read the Bible. I asked to speak to the officer. He said, “Come in!” I sat down and he said, “Just so I don’t forget…Your Sabbath is Saturday, isn’t it?” I said yes. He replied, “I thought so. My mother was a Seventh-day Baptist. You haven’t been here long. I filled out your forms.” “I didn’t even know I had to do that.” “I filled out your forms. Here’s your Bible. You’re excused. You don’t have to work tomorrow. But why did you come to me?” “Well… for that.”
AB: I want to ask you what was in your heart when, just a few months ago, after 32 years of trials, you received a clean record?
LC: It was like a double exoneration. I never considered myself guilty. After everything that happened, I told myself I could close this file. It’s over, and I don’t need to relive it. I attached the final court documents and sent the file to the National Archives. It’s over! My life goes on. I won’t have to open that file again unless something I’ve learned could benefit someone else.
AB: It proved helpful to me. An extreme case like yours can be useful to anyone, anywhere, and in any situation. Thank you.
Everyone goes through something that, depending on their personality, is just as difficult as my situation. It may not be as public, but it’s just as bad. I think that sometimes God allows certain cases to become public so that others can see that it can be done and be inspired to do it themselves. The fact that God used me for this purpose is enough for me. We don’t need to know the why, how, or where. What we need to know is that God will help us get through anything.
AB: “My grace is sufficient for you.”
LC: Very true!
This article was published in the May 2013 issue of Signs of the Times (Romania) magazine.