Death-row days as cardinal crushed by another defeat

George Pell is escorted in handcuffs from the Supreme Court of Victoria. Picture: AFP.

George Pell moved like a man on death row.

He has aged terribly, his confidence drained.

The once meticulously combed hair rebelling.

His clerical suit creased, his vision of his future blurred; he walked slowly with his elderly ruckman’s stoop even more pronounced.

This is what prison does; it is what it is designed to do.

First to tether, then to crush.

As Pell sat in the dock, chief judge Anne Ferguson might as well have been his executioner, siding with the jury, embracing the complainant’s evidence.

MORE: Pell eyes High Court challenge | Chris Merritt writes Judge Weinberg’s dissent almost guarantees the High Court will be asked to re-examine this case | Kevin Donnelly writes secular critics get their man in Pell | Hetty Johnston says at last the voices of victims are not only being heard but believed | Inquirer — How all hell broke lose

At 78, we know that Pell may not survive prison.

In the 20 or so minutes that the cardinal spent in the courtroom he barely moved, save for the occasional look at the ground, a slow almost involuntary slump of the head.

Twice he looked towards his legal team, where his barrister Ruth Shann and solicitor Paul Galbally sat listening to what may yet be the cardinal’s death sentence.

On the second occasion, he appeared to nod to Shann, an act one part respect, two parts desperation.

Behind the bar table were probably 75 people; Pell’s supporters, priests, victim advocates, law students. Even some voyeurs.

Pell, to be sure, is a convicted pedophile on the sex offender registry and only the High Court can change this.

But his friends argue that whatever happened in court yesterday, he remains a man of intellect and loyalty.

His brother David drove up from the country, Pell’s niece Sarah was in the second row and his great friend, Sydney-based Chris Meaney, was in the front row, along with Pell’s loyal adviser Katrina Lee.

It is OK to feel sad for these people. They have lost a lot.

But not nearly as much as the many sex abuse victims who gathered for the court hearing, or their parents or friends.

Viv Waller, the lawyer for the complainant, was towards the front of the gallery and the relentless victims’ advocate Chrissie Foster was smack bang in the heart of the group.

Foster’s life — and family — has been smashed by Catholic abuse.

For Waller, there were no winners.

“It’s not a celebration,’’ she said. “No one wanted to be here.’’

Abuse survivor and advocate Stephen Woods was a little less restrained, declaring his network of kindred spirits were shocked by the judgment.

“I am stunned, they are just stunned and amazed,” he said.

For 15 minutes after the court was drained of judges, barristers and the public, roughly a dozen people stayed behind, very quietly confronting the new reality.

These were team Pell, the people closest to the cardinal.

It was a very private moment in a very public place; the courtroom that had just witnessed one of the most significant moments in Australian legal history.

While a woman sobbed from the back of the gallery when Ferguson delivered the judgment, there were no histrionics from the Pell camp.

Just a totally dejected group of people looking for another result.

By the time they made their way outside, William Street was heaving with maybe 200 people, mainly journalists from all around the world, also trying to make sense of what had happened.

Will this go to the High Court? What now for the cardinal?

One point not lost on the victim was the elite legal representation afforded Pell.

From the silks Robert Richter and Bret Walker down, Pell had millions spent on the fight to keep him out of jail.

The former choirboy detailed in his statement how he had never sought compensation and that Viv Waller had acted pro bono.

“I am not an advocate,’’ he said. “You wouldn’t know my name. I am not a champion for the cause of sexual abuse survivors, although I am glad those advocates are out there.’

“But that is not my path.

“After attending the funeral of my childhood friend, the other choirboy, I felt a responsibility to come forward. I knew he had been in a dark place. I was in a dark place.’’

That darkness turned to vindication yesterday.

For the choirboy, Waller and police.