Chapter 23

They came from everywhere. I was there early carrying my recorder and trying to look like I belonged to the press corps who were gathered around the steps of State Parliament in Spring St. The crowd had gathered in the Treasury Gardens beneath the spreading elms. Speakers had been present and urging calm and order as they didn’t want a repeat of other demonstrations. It was to be a protest in the form of civil disobedience. University students were singing and dancing around busily ignoring speakers and had their faces made up. Huge placards were carried and long banners were on display. However, what I noticed most of all was the age disparity amongst the crowd. People from all walks of life, from all stages of their life were flooding in. I took some shots with a real camera I carried and pretended to interview some of the various people around.

I couldn’t get near some of Colonel Atkinson’s targets who were each surrounded by a group of supporters. Police lined the route but didn’t interfere with any of the protesters or try to control the march as it left the State Parliament building heading down Bourke St. Even if trams hadn’t been stopped, they would never had got through as the mass of humanity grew. I must admit I was caught up in the moment. There were a few jeers from people on the side who were against the moratorium but also many people stood on the pavement and warmly clapped protesters. Unionists, left wing radicals seem to be equally matched in number by ordinary everyday people who decided that business in the main area of Melbourne should be of less importance than ending Australia’s involvement in Vietnam.

It seemed a wasted effort on Colonel Atkinson’s part. There I was not really gaining information. I was recording some of the noise and discussion. The speeches he could pick up from television as there were TV cameras in abundance. The crowd began to thicken as marches from State Parliament met those coming from the other direction. Swanston and Elizabeth Streets which ran at right angles to Bourke St in the middle of the Melbourne Central Business District began to swell with numbers as people tried to find other routes to get to the centre. The part I found most difficult to comprehend was how orderly it was. People were not jam packed in but given room. Many sat down to register a protest or perhaps because they were tired of standing. People made space for them. It was all so civilized. I wondered what the colonel was worried about. These people were not about to subvert a government. In all likelihood they were likely to vote out a government from some of the comments I was hearing and recording. The Liberal Country Party Coalition was very much on the nose and perhaps Atkinson was worried what an incoming Labor government would do to defence spending. Judging from the speeches by some of the Labor politicians I heard at the moratorium, defence wasn’t going to be a high priority. Perhaps Atkinson was also worried what returning troops would face when they arrived home having lost a war. How could they say they shouldn’t have been there in the first place after losing some mates fighting for their country? For the first time I began to realise what an impact the past five years of bloodshed overseas had on the broader community.

One thing for sure, Atkinson didn’t like me. As a Queenslander growing up in a north western town, the nights can occasionally get quite cool but I swear that they were never as chilly as that day in Melbourne in midwinter. The suit was indeed quite thin and the temptation was to find a shop that was open and had a heater on. Had the tape recorded my teeth chattering? While I was trying to find an answer to that deep philosophical question, I spotted one of Atkinson’s ‘specials’ standing near a door way to a shop. He was smiling broadly and probably smugly as he stood away from the crowd. I seized my opportunity and made my way over to him, microphone extended.

I introduced myself and explained that I was out gathering information and comments from as many disparate members of the crowd and asked if he minded a few questions. Happily he answered and I proceeded to ask him what had brought him here today.

“My feet,” he laughed, “We’ve stopped all the trams.” I gave him my best ‘I’m just a youngster at this game please help me’ look and he continued in a more serious vain.

“Listen we shouldn’t have gone to Vietnam in the first place. There should have been no Australians losing their lives or getting injured there. That’s why I’m protesting. The government got it wrong and they need to be told that. All these people here,” and he waved his arm around, “are telling them that. We must have wasted millions on that war too. Those fancy F 111 bombers and all the bullets and stuff, well the money could have been spent in teaching kids and allowing anyone to go to university. My mum needs an operation and she is still waiting because we haven’t got enough hospitals. The government don’t care do they? They’d rather play war and pretend that they’re great mates with the USA. Bloody childish, if you ask me. I can’t get a job because I had to drop out of school and people think I’m a bludger because I ain’t got a job. How does that make me feel? The people up in Canberra are all pisspots who have no idea what life is like. My younger brother’s over in Vietnam and I need him back to help me look after me mum. Dad buggered off ages ago so me and mum are doing it rough. If my brother was back here then we’d be able to work something out. This protest is very personal to me. The war has gotta stop before me brother gets killed. The stress and worry of that is taking a heavy toll on me mum.” He paused and pulled out a packet of cigarettes offering me one. I politely refused and he lit his and puffed away slowly as if regathering his thoughts before continuing.

“I don’t want me name used because that would be disrespectful to me brother but you tell who you are writing for that this war is wrong; that it wastes money, wastes lives and for what? The North Vietnamese want to make the country whole again. Is that such a bad thing? They want people to be treated equally and food and stuff to be shared. They want people to have a say in what happens in their lives. If that is what communism is, then it is a whole lot better than what we have here in Australia at the moment.”

I thanked him for his comments, promising that I wouldn’t mention his name. I promised myself that I wouldn’t either. I hadn’t taken a picture with my tie camera and would somehow fudge the transcript to confuse his identity when I passed the precis of it on to the colonel. There was nothing that he said, I thought, that was in anyway harmful to our defence agenda. It was pretty much like some of the reports that had been marked NAR that I’d sent to the dungeon without handed them upwards anyway.

Back in Canberra, I was confused by what I had witnessed. There was definitely a broad spectrum of the community who were anti-war. Did that translate however, to anti-defence force or anti-government policy? Surely it had to be the latter. Hopefully they wouldn’t vent their annoyance at the troops arriving home. They didn’t deserve that.

I reported to Colonel Atkinson after dropping my fancy dress costume, camera and film back to the “props department”. I had transcribed and then edited my interview with the brother of the soldier and walked straight into Colonel Atkinson’s office unannounced. He was busy conferring with another colonel and a major as I entered and insisted that I leave immediately. I waited outside and after a few minutes I was summoned. The colonel’s office must have had two doors as there wasn’t a sign of his two visitors. The glasses of alcohol that they had been sipping on had been cleaned and placed back on the sideboard. The only evidence was in the ashtray which had two different cigarette labels on the butts. To all intents and purposes, it was as if his two visitors had never been there. I asked who they were and his somewhat threatening, quizzical and dismissive reply was, “Who are you talking about?”

I put the question on the backburner. If he didn’t want me to know that was okay. That was his prerogative. He was my boss. It wouldn’t stop me finding out though. In fact, it made me keener to find out. I had a photographic memory for faces and had seen enough. It did increase greatly my suspicions about Colonel Atkinson. The fact that these two men were army indicated a lot too.

“Lieutenant Downs, what did you find out?” Atkinson queried.

I relayed some of the basic information and my difficulty in catching up with his hit list. The major issue being that these people were generally surrounded by a group of loyal followers who didn’t allow others to get close. I did mention that I had interviewed one however towards the end of the protest. He demanded to know which one that was. I said that I was pretty sure that he was on the list but as he was theatrically made up with a death mask painted on, I couldn’t be sure which one. I did point out however that he had a brother in Vietnam.

“Good God man! They all have brothers in the army. That’s why they are wanted. We can persuade them…… Never mind. What did he say?”

From my edited transcript I gave him the salient points. Firstly, that he believed that we shouldn’t have gone to Vietnam. That the government was wrong and they needed to be told. He had bemoaned the amount of money being spent which could have been spent on schools and hospitals. I didn’t mention anything about his mother or father as that may have identified him. I said that he was against us just going along with what the US suggested. I quoted him directly saying, “The people up in Canberra are all pisspots who have no idea what life is like.”

I said that he thought that the North Vietnamese just wanted to make the country whole again with people treated equally with enough food for everyone. I again quoted him directly when he said, “If that is what communism is, then it is a whole lot better than what we have here in Australia at the moment.”

The colonel rubbed his hands with glee saying, “He’s a communist who hates the US, is pro Viet Cong and thinks our politicians are, what did he say ‘pisspots’? Oh, that is great. We can use that.”

I protested that it wasn’t what the man had actually said but the colonel wasn’t having a bar of it. “Downs I want you to carefully edit the tape and get it to me saying exactly that. If you can’t do it, or refuse to do it, I will find someone who can and will.” There was a long meaningful pause before he said more to himself than me, “The press are going to love it. Now how can I leak it discreetly? If I hand it off to ASIO they can hand it directly to a right-wing conservative politician…. This is so good.” He looked up and realised that I was still there. “Well what are you waiting for? I need that tape here on my desk this afternoon at the latest.”

I was left with the dilemma as to whether I should sacrifice the full truth and remain in a position to stop or delay the colonel, or just do the right thing and be excommunicated. As I handed in the cobbled together tape that afternoon, I hoped I made the right choice.