IN AND OUT ON THE MERRY-GO-ROUND

The Sunshine Magistrates Court is as flat as the land that surrounds
it. A barren building, long and low.

Outside Court One people sit or hover, hollow-eyed. Some in suits,
papers tucked under arms, walking with purpose, rounding up their
clients, waiting their turn.

Court One, the mentions court, is spotless and almost silent. In here,
everybody pleads guilty. And most cases relate to drugs.

The most common offence, say the prosecutors, is theft, mostly due to
heroin. An attempt by users to get enough money to score.

The day's first heroin-related case involves a young and tiny
defendant, hair cropped tight to his scalp, a long dyed fringe
shielding his eyes.

He is up on eight counts of burglary and theft, a weapons charge, and
heroin possession. His Legal Aid lawyer tells the court her client has
been working voluntarily with Open Family and is "attempting to deal
with drug issues".

When he was picked up, he told the undercover police he had bought the
heroin to make him feel better. "I've got an addiction," he said.

Magistrate Greg Levine, who has seen this defendant in court more than
once, takes his time deciding his fate.

In the end, he suspends his sentence and gives him another chance.
"You need to stay out of trouble for 18 months, which, given your
record, is not an easy task," he says.

The defendant, 21, walks out quietly, lips shut tight, hunched like a
man four times his age.

Nobody really knows if he will heed the magistrate's advice that it is
time to act wisely, "make yourself useful and get off the drugs".

One Sunshine prosecutor is frustrated there are not more jail
sentences, frustrated with seeing the same people in court for the
same offences over and over again. "It's bullshit" he says, "bail no
jail".

The prosecutors agree that without drugs, crime rates would plummet
and none say the so-called heroin drought has lessened the number of
drug offenders before the Sunshine courts. The only evidence of a
shortage is that more people are picked up for dealing Panadol, not
the real thing, they say.

Back in Court One, a man in cuffs waits in the dock, arrested after
parking the car he had stolen metres from police. He winks at a thin
young girl in the public gallery who smiles back quickly before fixing
her eyes straight ahead. He is charged with stealing cars, aftershave
and socket sets, but his problems run deeper than that.

He has a severe addiction to heroin and prescription drugs. He has
spent about 12 years of his life in jail, his father is gravely ill
and his six-year-old child's mother died suddenly when the child was
an infant.

"Mr Justice Vincent once asked me in front of a parole board `do I
steal to take drugs or take drugs to steal' and I couldn't answer the
question," he says desperately, earnestly, from the dock.

"It's just a merry-go-round."

The magistrate sentences him to six months jail with three months
suspended. "I agree that it's going around in circles but in the end
there's not much choice," he says.

The defendant thanks the magistrate as he leaves court for jail and
blows his girl in the court a kiss.

By the end of the day most of the court time has been taken up by drug
offenders. And this day, say the prosecutors, is typical of most, just
a little quieter than usual. There were 65 cases on the list for Court
One, of which 19 were heard. "It's usually double that," says a
prosecutor. "It's been a good day."