Davoren Park: Part 1 (cont.) - Walking a Mile in the Shoes of a Suspected Pedophile
Hello again to those that follow my blog. Apologies for being away and it taking so long to publish my second post of my visit to Davoren Park. Lots of developments have unfolded in my life recently, all good stuff!! One of which will see me stationed in Adelaide for the next few months at least. So hopefully lots more stones to turn over and #wallstojump right here down under! I was actually prompted to get a move on with this after watching Prince William and Duchess Kate visit the nearby suburb of Elizabeth a couple of days ago.
Before I go onto to tell you in photos and words about my follow up, I thought it best to fill you in on my last experience in Davoren Park. Now I must apologise again, this time for not telling this side of the story straight up. I’ve been toying with the idea of leaving it unpublished for some time, because my aim was to go in search of the good that this stigmatised neighbourhood has in it’s foundations and it’s community. Many that read this might find this particular story detracts from that idea, but I ask the reader to hold judgements until they have read my third post (not far away) that will follow this article. So without further ado: the story of my ordeal of mistaken identity!
It occurred when I was out in the Davoren Park last summer when I took the photos for my first post. It was smack bang in the middle of a 5-day heat wave. On this particular day it was a scorching 43-degrees Celsius with a cloudless sky that offered no break from the sun’s beaming rays.
Having no car myself, I drove out in my sisters black Holden Barina (HB) in a pair of blue shorts, a basketball singlet (#32 LA Lakers, Magic Johnson throwback, for those interested) and a pair of thongs; armed with my Canon 600D, 1.4, 50mm and 17-85mm, mobile phone and my wallet.
When I arrived, I did a few sweeps in the HB to check out some interesting places to photograph - stopping and shooting as I went - and mentally noting places to come back to later. I had been doing this for about 45 minutes, when I suddenly spotted a Sudanese woman waiting at an unusually shaped dark green concrete bus stop with her baby in a pram beside her (see map below, the bus stop is indicated by the yellow box). I was struck by a visualisation of an amazing exposure in my head and abruptly pulled the HB over, parking under the shade of a large eucalyptuses tree. Without thinking I gathered my camera and stepped out of the car, holding the handle and locking the car at the same time. A rookie error - I had locked myself out. I blame a mixture of excitement to capture the shot and the fact that I hadn’t driven a car for the past 2 years because of living overseas. Excuses aside, I instantly became aware of my grave position and a sudden rush of fear swept over me. How foolish of me, not only had I entered into one of Australia’s most infamously dangerous suburbs on my own, I was now locked out of my car with the keys still in the ignition and no RAA cover.
Lucky for me I still had my mobile in my pocket and was able to organise my best mate (thanks again Beno) driving out a spare key. But he wasn’t to finish work for another 2 hours and it would take him at least an hour to get from Mile-end to where I was. So I had 3 hours to kill, with a DSLR, my phone with only 10% battery and a $5 note in change from the petrol station that I filled up at on the drive up.
To make matters worse I couldn’t leave the car out of my sight, a petty thief rolling past had only to see the keys in the ignition and break the window and the HB was theirs. So I decided to hang in the shade of the bus shelter nearby, the Sudanese woman and her child now long gone. I sat there in the sweltering heat trying to keep cool and made use of my time by shooting locals as they passed by. I noticed that more and more people were around and entering an empty allotment behind me with a single path that served as a thoroughfare to a bunch of single storey structures off in the distance. I shifted positions to the other side of the bus stop to see where all the people were heading; I noticed then, it was a thoroughfare about 300m long that led back to a community centre, shopping centre and a school.
The steady flow of people continued for another 20 mins or so and then some of the adults returned with children in their arms. Not long after, a middle-aged woman wearing business attire approached me. She enquired what I was doing and more specifically why I was taking photos of people. I told her I was there to take photos for my blog that aimed to raise awareness of the ‘true’ Davoren Park and it’s residents. She looked at me puzzled, so I handed her my camera. She flicked through the photos as I continued to explain the purpose of my visit in greater detail. It turned out that the woman was a teacher from the nearby school. She had received numerous reports from residents that there was a stranger taking photos of children outside the school. I immediately reassured her that I had no intention to… but she quickly interrupted and acknowledged that she believed that I meant no harm. She went on to tell me that the reason why I may have been seen as a threat by the locals was due to the large numbers of actual pediophilia incidences that had been reported in the past. In addition she advised me that I should cease taking photos in the area as it was putting the local residents on edge. I agreed and decided to move down the street, walking a block north and then east and winding up at the local community and shopping centre complex.
With my fiver I purchased a pie with sauce and a can of Cola and chose to sit on the edge of the complex’s outdoor courtyard to indulge in my eats and the local characters arriving and going. As I sat and contemplated the events that just took place and eating my pie with sauce, two young police officers, a male and a female suddenly approached me. They asked the same questions that the teacher had only just asked me 10 minutes ago, “what are you doing here with that camera?” Again I explained and showed my camera to the male officer. Again I was informed that there had been reports by local residents that a suspicious man holding a camera was taking photos in the area. As it turns out, the police had already run my number plates and done a background check on me. I was in the clear and told to move on, with further advice coming from the male officer to be less conspicuous when carrying an expensive bit of equipment such as my camera around the neighbourhood. “People have be robbed for less,” the female officer remarked as they both walked back to their patrol car. By this stage I felt really uneasy, like an outsider, like I didn’t belong or wasn’t welcome and dare I say it, the accusations made me feel like I was indeed doing something wrong.
It didn’t feel right and I was over it and ready to head back home. But, I still had about an hour to kill. So I made my way back to the bus stop, the only refuge from the blistering sun within eyesight of my car. This time I didn’t take any photos and left my black DSLR semi-hidden in the shadow of the bus stop shelter. Across the road was a young family of three. We exchanged a few stares; I smiled at them but received nothing back. Ten minutes passed; a middle-aged man and a toddler now joined the family of three and engaged in friendly conversation. Shortly after another young family of four arrived and joined the group now congregating on the corner opposite where I sat at the bus stop. All the while they were looking over at me and talking among themselves. Five minutes passed as the stares and pointing got more frequent. All of a sudden one of the middle-aged men started walking towards me. I got up and prepared myself to be accused again. Yet again the same questions got asked and again I explained my purpose of being in their neighbourhood. Again I showed my camera display to prove my point. He apologised and expressed the same concerns that both the teacher and the police had previously stated. He invited me over to chat with the rest of the residents. They all seemed relieved that I wasn’t what they had suspected. I pondered what they would of done if I was. Once the fear had subsided they were very interested to know why a fella like me from the Eastern suburbs would want to come all the way out here. I told them that my intentions were to find a story about the good things that happen in Davoren Park. In response one of the middle-aged women said, “ it never used to be like this mate, it’s gotten a lot worse since some of the younger generations have moved in, with all the drugs and crime and that.” Another added “ its not such a bad place during the day, it’s at night that you gotta be careful.” These were comments made by residents that had lived there for over 20 years. As I thanked them for sharing their stories with me I started to make my way back to my trusty post at the bus stop.
Just as I was about to settle back in, my friend Beno arrived in his black pick-up truck, dangling my spare key out of his driver’s window with a smirk on his face. “Good to see your still alive bro,” he said mockingly.” When he saw my facial expressions in response he toned down a little and asked, “Are you alright.” “You have no idea mate,” I exclaimed.
As I debriefed him on my interesting afternoon, a carload of young indigenous men slowly drove passed us in a late model silver Holden Commodore it was about 6pm. They lowered their speed as they moved passed us only a meter from where I stood; all windows down, the loud deep resinating sound of a subwoofer and all the occupants giving us the cold stare. They pulled up at the T-section 20 meters up the road and came to complete halt. I made eye contact with the driver in his rear-view mirror. Seconds that feel like minutes passed by, it was intense to say the least. Suddenly we heard the sharp rev of the motor, a drop of the clutch and sound of screaming tyres peeling off the vehicles low profile rims. As the car disappeared around the corner, all that was left was the slowly dispersing thick grey cloud of burnt rubber. Much like that smoke we felt the urgent need to get out of there. I jumped in the HB and followed Beno out of Daveron Park.
As we headed west along the desolate Wooma road back towards the entrance of the newly built Northern Expressway - that would take us back into Adelaide - I looked in the rear-view mirror and watched Davoren Park shrink away into a blurred horizon line. I pondered to myself about my shocking experience and wondered what to make of it… I wondered if I would ever return.