Plague moots

Flattening the curve with remote mooting ... Easter stroll in the park tests Barely Legal's mooting skills ... Barely Legal v Const. Plod ... Public Health Restrictions on Gathering and Movement ... When three people gathering together in a public place become two ... Reprimand and warning 

I hear they're turning-up the waterworks in Phillip Street. Briefs are drying-up, the courts are closed, chambers are ghostly. "Bailouts for the bar", goes the refrain. 

You won't find me shedding any sympathetic tears. Nor any other university mooter. That whole advocacy shtick - we mooters do it for free all the time, sans complaints.  

Think about it: we endure long hours of moot-research, pore over obscure moot-questions, scribble out endless moot-submissions and print reams of moot-documents. And not a single moot-client to foot the bill. 

Sure, the moot "judge" is actually an exhausted senior associate, forced to be there by that partner who thought it would be "great for firm outreach". 

And sure, all us mooters are scrappy fourth-years, who begin every sentence with "I submit" and finish with "Your Honour". And no, we don't know the difference between a CJ and a DJ. 

But this is a question of ethos - in that respect, a moot court is as good as the Banco. 

We mooters know that advocacy is a privilege, not a cash cow. Addressing the court is reward enough. 

Yes, clerkship season may be approaching and yes, my resume may look alarmingly sparse - but that is a complete coincidence with no bearing on my motivations. 

Of course, this year all the moots have been teleported online, in the name of flattening the curve. 

The effect is also to flatten the spring in the moot-orator's step. Masterful submissions on why the Engineers' case was wrongly decided count for nothing if your microphone was muted the whole time.  

But, even in these dark days, there are plenty of opportunities to practise the art of advocacy. 

Take the state government's new health directive: the Public Health (COVID-19 Restrictions on Gathering and Movement) Order 2020. 

It's grist to the young mooter's mill - as I discovered over the long weekend. 

Normally, Mater and Pater Legal hold an Easter gorging-fest, featuring aunts and uncles, cousins and in-laws of all stripes. 

The whole affair is so gluttonous that Jesus is due another round on the cross, if he still wants to save us from our sins. 

This year, however, I was the sole lunch guest, for socially distant reasons. I have long since flown the nest so, dutifully, I schlepped over from my Newtown bedsit to the parental abode. 

Everything was going well. But then came the post-prandial stroll. 

Mater and Pater Legal even asked me if we were breaking any new health rules; I said "exercising" was a reasonable excuse for going outside (Sch 1 s.5). 

The three of us set off, beating the suburban pavement until we reached the park a few blocks from my parents' place. 

That's where we came up against Bobby Peel. 

He was standing near the play equipment, in uniform, no doubt itching to exercise his new powers. 

He made a beeline for Mater and Pater Legal and me. 

"Groups of more than two persons aren't allowed," said the good constable. "Give me one good reason not to fine you."

We're family, I protested. Then prove you live at the same address, was his reply. Alas, we could do no such thing. 

Mentally, I began lacing up my jabots. 

The health order, I submitted, allows children to venture out for the purpose of visiting parents (Sch 1 s.13). 

The constable looked me up and down. "You trying to tell me you're a child? You're, like, 30." 

I was bruised. And my forensic options weren't good. I had no choice but to press the nuclear button: 

"The order allows public gatherings of people who live at the same address. That is because all such people cannot avoid coming into contact, whether publicly or privately ..." 

Constable nodded knowingly. 

"... it follows that, if one of them is contagious, then all of them will probably contract the virus. In other words, they each pose the same level of risk ..." 

Constable checked his watch.

"... the clear legislative intention, therefore, is that people living at the same address should count as only one person ... 

Since they live together, Mater and Pater Legal should be regarded as one legal entity, for COVID-19 purposes. I am a second entity, since I do not live with them. 

The order allows gatherings of two people, as you said yourself officer."

A blank stare from the constable. His Honour has reserved his decision. 

We got sent home with a warning. I was taken aside and told if I ever tried that kind of **** again I'd be fined until my **** came out my ********. 

I've had worse feedback from moot judges.