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Remembering Josh
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Remembering Josh Bali, a father’s story
BRIAN DEEGAN
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First published in 2004 Copyright © Brian Deegan 2004 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act. Allen & Unwin 83 Alexander Street Crows Nest NSW 2065 Australia Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100 Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218 Email:
[email protected] Web: www.allenandunwin.com National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry: Deegan, Brian, 1955- . Remembering Josh : Bali, a father’s story. ISBN 1 74114 277 6. 1. Deegan, Brian, 1955- . 2. Bali Bombings, Kuta, Bali, Indonesia, 2002 - Personal narratives. 3. Terrorism victims’ families - Australia - Biography. 4. Terrorism investigation - Indonesia - Bail Island. 5. Terrorism Indonesia - Bali Island. I. Title. 303.625095986 Set in 11.5/16 pt Adobe Jensen Pro by Bookhouse, Sydney Printed by Griffin Press, Adelaide 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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Contents Contents Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18
End of season The getting of wisdom? Our first great sorrow It can’t happen here The wedding is over The brown speckled duck A celebration of life Just bring him home Dear Prime Minister Right of inquiry There are no books Political language Remedying a wrong Following Josh to Bali Sara and Safdar Anatomy of hate I am confused Unfinished business
Epilogue Acronyms
ix 1 9 17 31 37 51 73 87 111 135 155 158 168 178 193 206 208 217 234 240
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The cyclonic forces of Islamic extremism and western politics had for years been gathering momentum, hovering ominously over much of Southeast Asia. On 12 October 2002, they clashed, the eye of the explosive storm centring over Bali. At 11.08 pm a tidal wave of terror struck the shores at Kuta Beach, sweeping before it the lives of two hundred and two people, injuring five hundred more. To the memory of those innocent lives, and to the survivors, brutally sucked through the devastating vortex, I dedicate this book. To the parents, children, brothers and sisters who have been handed a life sentence, my thoughts are constantly with you. I share your grief, your pain, your isolation, your desolation, your tears. Brian K Deegan, 2004
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Prolo g ue Prologue
25 December 2002: It is 7.10 am and I am driving away from Josh’s gravesite in Adelaide’s Centennial Park, in the oldest part of the Catholic section. I buried him alongside my grandparents. It is an unmarked grave, since I can’t yet determine the appropriate words to write on his headstone. For now he lies with my forebears, who were born in the 1800s, some of them dead forty years before he was born. All but two who lie there died in their seventies or eighties. The others were young men in their thirties and forties, who, ironically, died in World War II. I look about and am overcome with a sense of unfitness, of impropriety. He shouldn’t be there, lying where he is, anonymously and unaccompanied. He is and will always be twenty-two years of age and no more. ix
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I haven’t slept for seventy hours or more. Walking, watching, waiting, praying that this is a nightmare from which, at some stage, I must awake. But reality is setting in and I know in my heart that at least in this life, I shall never again speak with my son. Never again shall I laugh with him, nor drink with him, nor discuss his future, nor watch him play football. Nor will I witness him marry, nor father children. I take solace in the knowledge that I still have three children, but my fears for them, too, grow steadily. As a consequence of the Bali tragedy, and for what have been fifteen of the most lonely months of my life, I have travelled a very personal journey to understand why Josh died, and to comprehend what it is that manufactures bitterness and malice sufficient to transform men into homicidal malcontents, to detonate bombs, misappropriate lives and confiscate dreams. Where appropriate I have challenged the wisdom of the self-assured and the brimming self-righteous. I have sought compassion and understanding for the victims who returned, though with only limited success. I’ve struggled, fought, pleaded and begged to achieve any semblance of justice for Josh, my family and the survivors— including two beautiful Balinese children, Sara and Safdar, whose mother Endang was murdered along with my son. But I assumed too much. I presumed too much. I believed our country’s leaders were compassionate, honest and reasonable—I was mistaken. It has become quite apparent x
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that we don’t breathe the same air. Gone is the face of the just, democratic Australia for which my dad and uncles fought and died. In its place I see the mask of an arrogant small nation. Constantly I reassure myself that it is only a mask. I continue to reassess my rights as a parent to seek the truth behind the murder of my child and the means to best protect his brothers and sister. I can do no less.
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1 End of sea son End of season
‘My life has never been this perfect.’ J OSHUA , 10 O CTOBER 2002
osh wouldn’t have been much older than two when I bought him his first football. Despite my sporting limitations, to kick a ball with your son was the Aussie thing to do. But Josh’s mother, my first wife, Angela, was a selfconfessed football fanatic, a past member of the local team’s cheer-squad who—too often, I thought—interfered by entering the domain which I had suggested was exclusively male. Her ability to perfectly drop-punt the ball forty metres or more wasn’t welcomed and was only met with derision by Josh and me as we agreed she kicked like a girl. I would never allow him to be exposed to the fact that Angela’s kick
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was longer and higher than mine and indoctrinated him early in life that my ‘injury’ of old prohibited such a contest. He was about five when he first played in the school football team. To me, his ability was unquestionable, his kick equal to the best, and his marking ability was second to none. The modified rules seemed perfect for him as his gentle demeanour demanded he share. Although frustrating to watch, I understood his reasoning when he stood and applauded as the other school scored. Despite his egalitarian nature, he loved the game and his dedication and talent was great enough for him to be invited to join Sturt Football Club’s senior squad in 1999 at the age of nineteen. Two months before the end of the 2002 football season, Josh told me he’d signed up to go on the trip to Bali with boys from the club. At that stage they were far from assured of winning the grand final but that wasn’t the determining factor. He was travelling with a group he considered to be amongst his best friends. I remember the day because for some reason I felt anxious, not due to knowledge of the region but more because it was his first overseas trip away from the family. I remember him pausing, awaiting my response, but what could I say? He wasn’t a child anymore; he was twenty-two, entitled to make his own decisions and spread his own wings. My apprehension obvious, Josh added the unsolicited comment: ‘It’s okay, James and Blake are going too.’ These were boys 2
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with whom he had grown up and, aside from the boys from Sturt, he knew I felt comfortable with him in their company. Sunday 6 October was the South Australian National Football League grand final. Josh wasn’t playing as he was still in the reserves team awaiting promotion. Sturt started the game as the underdogs, having played Central Districts four times throughout the year, convincingly beaten by them on each occasion. Sturt’s last premiership flag had been won by a former generation in 1976, and the club was playing an opposition that boasted back to back premierships in the preceding two years. Friends of Josh had flown across from Melbourne for the occasion, but as the game got underway it quickly became apparent that Sturt was on a ride to success. At quartertime, I caught up with him as prearranged, meeting in a bar under the members’ stand. When I walked in he was smiling broadly, proudly wearing one of the club’s old lace-up football jumpers. He had often boasted that he filled it out better than the previous owner. We met again at half-time. It was clear by then that an energised Sturt were invincible, leading the game 8 goals, 7 points to Central’s 2 goals, 4 points. Josh was with a girl he had known at university but more recently had sought to pursue. We looked at each other not saying a word until finally the silence was broken with him asking what was wrong. I replied, ‘Two things, you look ridiculous and your breath smells foul. Either take the jumper off or go behind 3
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the goals with the rest of the cheer squad . . . and clean your teeth. You’ve been eating too much garlic; you’re hardly going to impress this girl.’ He didn’t say anything but as he returned to his friends, I noticed he removed the jumper and held it over his mouth. At the end of the match we met again in a nearby hotel. It was filled with celebrating Sturt fans and anaesthetised opposition supporters. Sturt had finished the game, doubling Central’s score and winning the state’s premiership flag for the first time in 26 years. I was with Patrick (my fourth born) and Warwick, a long-time friend who had once coached Josh in junior football. As he was sipping his CC and coke I watched Josh eyeing his eleven-year-old brother Patrick. A few moments later he bent down and asked Paddy if he’d like to try on the laceup jumper. It was far too large, the hem reaching below his knees, but his smile said everything. Spontaneously Josh turned back to me and whispered that Patrick could have it. At the time I was surprised by his sudden benevolence; the jumper was irreplaceable and had become one of his prized possessions. I now often wonder whether Josh gave it to Patrick because of our earlier conversation, or because he knew that for some reason he would no longer need it. Patrick has kept that jumper in safe custody ever since, wearing it with pride on special occasions. 4
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I left Josh with his friends, slightly concerned about the intentions of some of the opposition supporters, but he phoned the next day telling me not to be such an alarmist, and that all was well. They were a ‘great bunch of blokes’. I spoke with him again on Tuesday and suggested he join me on Thursday night for a couple of farewell drinks. He didn’t show but Friday morning he rang to inform me that he’d gone out to dinner with his best mate, James Begley, and two girls. In those circumstances I was able to forgive him—after all, at twenty-two is there any real contest between a drink with your old man and taking out a girl you’ve had your eye on for years? It was only then, while talking to Josh, that I became aware that James and Blake, having gone to Bali the previous week, were no longer going to be travelling with him. For weeks I had put his trip to the back of my mind, but now my concern resurfaced. Hyper-caution or the simple fact that he was travelling thousands of kilometres away from home? Regardless, I was uncomfortable. Whilst Bali has always been regarded as a safe haven and popular destination for western and European tourists, the surrounding islands of Indonesia have been haunted by political disharmony, autocracy, economic mismanagement and the perception, real or otherwise, of government and military corruption. Ethnic unrest has been endemic in many of the twentyseven provinces. Kalimantan (Borneo) has seen fighting break out between Dayaks and Madurese. Ongoing violent clashes 5
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between Muslims and Christians in Poso, Central Sulawesi and the Maluku provinces have prompted government intervention, and recent violence in Aceh province precipitated the declaration of martial law. Jakarta, Indonesia’s capital, is constantly on alert, the subject of sporadic bomb attacks. Paternal concerns to one side, Josh had bought his ticket and was full of anticipation. I wasn’t prepared to dampen his excitement. The Australian government had declared Bali a safe destination and he was, after all, one of a large group of strong athletes and I knew the nature of the boys. If there was going to be trouble there was little doubt they would support each other. On Friday 11 October, Josh arrived home at about 4 pm. He was in a rush, wanting to leave his car at his mate Tom’s house before driving to the airport with some of the players. I mentioned to him that I had a going-away present. As he grabbed another T-shirt to take with him, I laughed at the small size of his overnight bag. Smiling, he assured me he had the essentials: his toothbrush, hairbrush, jocks and socks. He said he would buy whatever else he might need in Bali. Cantering to the car he called for me to give him his present—he loved presents. I walked over, took a small package from the paper bag I was carrying and gave it to him. He looked, smiled, looked back at me:‘You dirty bastard,’ he said. Inside were twelve Australian-made multicoloured condoms. Never before had I bought him such personal items, but a young man on his first adult trip overseas 6
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made them essential. For decades Bali has been a hub drawing countless young travellers from every quarter of the globe. I can remember telling the chemist’s assistant the reason for my purchase and her words as she handed back my change:‘Wouldn’t it be fabulous to find one sufficiently large to completely cover our children and protect them from all harm?’ At the time I agreed, never imagining just how prophetic was her prophylactic comment. Josh went to hand them back to me when I said, ‘I’m serious—don’t bring back anything you don’t have to.’ He then offered to buy me some shirts and shoes and asked for my order. There was little need to give him my size as we had often swapped clothes in the past, but I couldn’t immediately nominate anything and told him to buy what he liked, then double it. Walking back to his car he suggested a carved elephant would look great in our games room. ‘Yeah sure, Josh.’ At that moment I was unable to conceptualise it. ‘What on earth would I do with that?’ ‘Strength, Dad, strength. If you have an elephant with the trunk turned up it is a sign of strength.’ I’ve subsequently bought my own elephant from a local importer. We stood for a moment, me asking him whether he had insurance for his trip and advising him to watch out for himself. His facial expression signalled his response: ‘Dad, I’ve been told a hundred times—stay close to the main streets, don’t drink the water and don’t end up in a Bali hospital.’ 7
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‘Good, and I’ll tell you one more thing, stick with your mates. Times have changed, Josh, and there are people in that area of the world who don’t like westerners.’ I was so fearful that, in high spirits inevitably combined with alcohol, he could find himself wandering alone and be confronted. The media had reported incidents, especially around Jakarta, in which Australians had been robbed and threatened with personal violence. He usually took my advice. I looked at him again. ‘Why are you frowning?’ He had his sunglasses on. ‘I’m not frowning, Dad.’ I said, ‘You are, give me a smile, you’re going away and I won’t see you for a week.’ He smiled, threw the condoms and his bag onto the front passenger seat, and got in his car. We shook hands for the last time through the open driver’s window. As I walked back to the front door, I called for him to ring me from Bali. I turned again to wave before entering the house, but Josh was gone. It was to be the last time I ever saw my eldest child. Within thirty-one hours, Joshua would be dead.
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2 The getting of w i sdom? The getting of wisdom?
‘A teacher affects eternity, he can never tell where his influence stops.’ H ENRY B RO OKS A DAMS
iving most of my pre-pubescent life in a three-bedroom house allowed my parents the financial flexibility to send my three siblings and me to Catholic colleges. It was our only luxury. I spent my first two and a half years in a cot adjacent to my parents’ bed whilst my grandmother shared a small room with my elder brother. My two sisters shared what is now the dining room. When television came it added a new dimension and, for a time at least, trips to the cinema were a thing of the past. Kids from the neighbourhood joined with me in our lounge to watch Combat, starring Vic Morrow, a weekly series
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depicting the adventures of an American army platoon on assignment in war-torn Europe. The volume was kept low as my father had what I then considered an unnatural dislike of the sounds of machine-gun fire. Dad had been to war and didn’t like it. In 1966, shortly after the Beaumont children vanished, their abduction from an Adelaide beach fracturing the Australian psyche, my father received a promotion and we all tearfully, hesitantly, moved to Melbourne. Starting high school at not quite eleven meant I was young even by Melbourne standards, and lagging behind my classmates in physical and emotional development had obvious drawbacks. I was initially seated across from a girl two years my senior who was rumoured to be extending favours for the price of a Coke and a pie. I could never scrounge together enough money to buy her either a pie or a Coke but then I didn’t know, at that age, what favours were on offer. Pounds, shillings and pence gave way to dollars and cents on my eleventh birthday. It was about that time the hallucinogenic drug LSD had risen its colourful head and the government wouldn’t speak of the Vietnamese dead. In 1969 the bombshell hit—we received news that our family was to return to South Australia. My sisters Helen and Elizabeth, by then aged twenty-one and nineteen respectively, chose to remain in Melbourne, having made a new circle of friends—indeed, Helen was contemplating marriage. 10
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Driving home to Adelaide in our new family car with my father, my mother crying and our family dog (my brother Philip joined us a few weeks later but was rarely at home), I pondered what changes in life my newfound circumstances would bring. It would be some time before my sisters’ decision, which caused so much anguish for my parents, would impact upon me. Effectively, I moved from being the youngest of four to the eldest of none, and it soon proved significant. School reports became treacherous. Scholarships easily won in the past were no longer sought. Sport, something I had craved, was now a hindrance. Truancy became a diversion. I didn’t know why at the time. Returning to Adelaide in my fourteenth year allowed me to reunite with old school friends and cousins, which was a positive, but it was a year that in many respects I’d be content to forget. In July, man landed on the moon. Sitting astride the legs of my teacher, a man in a black robe, I witnessed Armstrong taking one giant leap for mankind. Selection to sit upon our teacher’s knee demanded compliance which outweighed the alternative associated with refusal. To this day I suspect my mother denies the impact on me of witnessing the beatings my classmates endured. I think she denies the beatings. The damage that could be inflicted on one’s hands by six of the best with a leather strap interwoven with lead was nothing compared to six of the best on each hand with an additional six on your backside. 11
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An example was set very early in the term. The boy’s face reinforced the point our teacher intended: crying, unable to write, unable to sit, completely disabled. I detested the black robe but he held the power. When the resentment set in and my smile vanished, I was ushered to a youth counsellor; her unsolicited confirmation that the ‘black robed’ was wrong was small but significant. The year finally ended. Scholastically it had taught me little but philosophically I felt enriched. Two years after our return to Adelaide, Philip was conscripted into the army as part of Australia’s support of the US war in Vietnam. For a decade after World War II the French had fought a losing battle to re-establish provincial control over Vietnam. When they withdrew, the Americans supplanted them, US President Dwight Eisenhower arguing that ‘If Vietnam falls to communism there will be a domino effect throughout Asia.’ The Australian government’s exhortation at the time—‘Beware the yellow peril—the commies are coming, they’re on our doorstep!’—was successfully employed to unsettle, seduce and unnerve Australians. The Menzies and Holt governments respectively adopted the advice of the American CIA, and warned of a communist, Chinese, Vietnamese, Asian invasion, an attack on our way of life. It was prejudicial, but effective. Australia followed the United States into war. 12
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Under the successive administrations of presidents Dwight D Eisenhower, John F Kennedy, Lyndon B Johnson and Richard Nixon, the Americans delivered 6 162 000 tonnes of ammunition to Southeast Asia during the Vietnam War. America dropped more bombs on the Vietnamese city of Hanoi alone than had been dropped on Germany and Japan between 1941 and 1945. In the early 1970s millions across the world marched with one voice, protesting against the war in Vietnam. In Adelaide, as in each capital city, scores of thousands marched in protest at Australia’s involvement. Standing behind the perimeter of young police officers, I could barely observe the marchers’ faces, many of whom did not seem to be much older than me. In recent years, I have discovered that colleagues of mine were marching in protest, and current friends were then young police officers ordered to keep control. The evening news showed footage of soldiers my brother’s age, returning from their tour of duty, being spat on and heckled. I thought at the time—and still do—that such behaviour was grotesque. With conscription a kind of lottery, most of those young boys, including Philip, had been selected at the fall of a marble, involuntarily taken from their families. Philip undertook his jungle training in Queensland and then returned home on leave. In 1972 Gough Whitlam ousted William McMahon as prime minister. I think it was the night before Philip was to depart for his tour of duty in South Vietnam that God 13
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answered my mother’s prayers and instructed his disciple to recall the troops. My brother completed his army service and within a year was married. In 1973 the United States finally withdrew, and in 1975 Vietnam was unified under communist rule. Millions of innocent civilians had been killed. There was no domino effect. I now think back and wonder how noble was the cause that claimed 508 young Australian lives and ruined thousands more. Were we really so wise to have followed the call from America and to ‘go all the way with LBJ’? This was not the last time Australia heeded America’s call to war, however. Josh was almost eleven when, on 17 January 1991, Operation Desert Storm began. My daughter Eloise was a toddler, and my third son, Patrick, was soon to be born. The UN Security Council sanctioned America’s demand for the ‘immediate and unconditional’ withdrawal of Iraqi forces from Kuwait, which had once been part of Iraq and subjegated by the Ottoman Empire, before Britain reneged on its promise to give autonomy to the region and divided the Arab lands at the conclusion of World War I. But Iraq had made a fatal error in that American companies operating in Kuwait from the 1930s contracted with the Emirate to supply oil to the United States until the turn of century. As a result the United States led the United Nations coalition on the war which would last just forty-three days. 14
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When the invasion began one thing the allies weren’t prepared to accept was the loss of their own soldiers. The return of flag-draped coffins has always been a catalyst for domestic anti-war sentiment. The United States had learnt that lesson in Vietnam. It’s receiving an updated tutorial now. The USSR had learnt a similar lesson when it invaded Afghanistan. With more than 15 000 of its young soldiers killed, the Russians withdrew for much the same reason the Americans withdrew from Vietnam. Determined to destroy the Iraq military, United States field commanders argued that supremacy could be achieved through the extended use of the airforce and missiles. Little thought was given to lessening the impact on the general population. Sixty thousand tonnes of ammunition was dropped during those seven weeks. A quarter of a million Iraqis died that year. More die each year as a result of the 8000 tonnes of depleted uranium left behind. I was building the nursery in preparation for Patrick’s birth but thought it could wait as I focused on a television report beamed live from the war zone. Television cameras positioned atop buildings in Baghdad relayed the invasion into our homes. A relatively new weapon was employed: the laser-guided Tomahawk cruise missile, its 1000-pound warhead coated with titanium. A weapon of distinction, fitted with the latest in technology. With a 70 per cent rate of accuracy, it was ‘designed’ to save the population while destroying specific targets. Images of long cigar shapes moved 15
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across the sky, slow and deliberate, almost in sync with the camera’s pan. Whether it was a Tomahawk or a more deadly slim-lined ‘bunker-buster’, one of these new-age missiles went astray and struck a building, killing the hundreds of men, women and children sheltering inside. America’s first response came from a White House aide: ‘We don’t know why civilians were at that location but we do know that Saddam Hussein does not share our value for the sanctity of human life.’ Weeks followed before the military, under the scrutiny of the world media, would admit its mistake. I looked outside. My boys were safe in the backyard kicking their football from end to end.
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3 Our first g reat sorrow Our first great sorrow
‘Bali is calm and tourist services are operating normally.’ G OVERNMENT
ADVIC E TO
A USTRALIAN TOURISTS , O CTOBER 2002
ith endless hot summers and unparalleled surf, the island of Bali, the mystical isle of the gods, has for decades been a mecca for young travellers pursuing the pleasures of an exotic world. Cradled between the islands of Java and Lombok, with its Hindu religion, Bali is the enigmatic jewel, the unique link in a chain of some thousands of predominantly Islamic islands comprising Indonesia, the world’s largest archipelago. It was 2 am local time on Saturday 12 October when Joshua and the twenty-one other members of the Sturt Football Club arrived in Bali. Tired, bug-eyed, exhausted
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by the flight, Josh and his team-mates ambled their way through the arrivals lounge and aimed for the nearest exit. Although the airport was busy, their passage through customs was swift as they only had one overnight bag each. A few of the players had been to Bali previously, but for the debutants of the group, their first overseas experience would commence as they walked through the automated glass doors. They were slapped by the heat, their shirts instantly soaked by the suffocating liquefied air. Bali’s oppressive tropical climate was in stark contrast to the temperate spring weather they had left far behind in Adelaide. They headed for the nearest bemos waiting to ferry them to their hotel in Kuta, about 10 kilometres southwest of the island’s capital, Denpasar. The travel agent had held to her promise that they’d be ‘close to the action’. The Dewi Shri resort was but 100 metres from Jalan Legian, the main street of Kuta. Re-energised, revitalised and revisiting Bali, a small group of senior players splintered from the party, dropped their bags in their rooms and left. Having finally arrived in Bali, they were impatient to join with members from the sixty or more Australian sporting clubs arriving that month. But for Josh and the majority of the team, the long flight, the sultry night air and the unripe hour had conspired against them. Save for a quick reconnoitre along Jalan Legian, they sought the comfort of their beds. Not even the booming bass speakers ricocheting Red Hot Chilli Peppers off the 18
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walls could coax them in. They were content for the moment to observe from across the street,‘That’s where we’re heading tomorrow night, boys!’ It was their first glimpse of the Sari Club. • Six hours was more than adequate sleep. Their first day in Bali was to be a huge celebration party. Meeting in the hotel foyer at 11 am, Josh and his team-mates split into smaller groups to spend a few hours bartering, sightseeing and sunbaking, topped off with a massage on the beach. For an extra $2, the young masseuse applied a temporary tattoo to Joshua’s bicep. Tim Weatherald, one of the Sturt footballers, would later recall: ‘I remember Josh Deegan said to myself and Adrian Burton, “We should make this a tradition every year”.’ Early afternoon—a long swim, drinks beside the pool and dinner at six allowed them plenty of time to get together at Paddy’s Bar at 7 pm. Paddy’s hadn’t yet opened so they crossed Jalan Legian and advanced on the Sari Club. ‘We were the first ones there,’ said Tim. The Sari Club, built predominantly from timber with thatched straw ceilings, had a modest floor plan of 300 square metres, and frequently accomodated up to 800 patrons, predominantly Australians. With few basic dress rules, a choice between Bintang beer and jungle juice, life was simple and easy. Josh rarely danced but shortly after 11 pm when a track from Eminem blasted from the overhead speakers 19
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he took a gorgeous new acquaintance onto the dance floor nearest Legian street. • That Saturday evening Virginia, my second wife, and I debated the merits of a night on the town, but earlier that day I had been installing pipes for the pool’s solar heater and was physically tired. After tossing options back and forth, we eventually agreed to stay at home with our two younger children, thirteen-year old Eloise and Patrick. Nicholas— my second son, who had recently turned twenty-one— dropped by, but only for a loan; he was taking his girlfriend Bel out for the night. Patrick, in his inimitable fashion, spread out his bed on the floor, taking prime spot in front of the television, leaving me the task of collecting the pizza he’d previously ordered. Eloise thought it prudent to accompany me if only to ensure I would also hire a movie. I decided that for once it would be my choice. Negotiating over a comedy, we settled on the Australian production The Castle. Although I had seen it before, I thought it was an amusing compromise. It is a comedy that I have since decided parallels in many respects my recent family story and my dispute with a large, unwielding government. At about 11 pm, I kissed Eloise and Patrick goodnight and retired to bed, silently wishing Josh and Nick ‘Bon chance’. • 20
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At about 10.30 that night Jemaah Islamiah ( JI) operative Imron, cloaked by the anonymity which darkness provided, carefully positioned a small bomb on the footpath in the vicinity of the American consulate in Denpasar. Fifteen minutes later he returned to the ‘safe-house’, collected Jimi Arnasan and Feri in a white L-300 Mitsubishi van and, with Idris accompanying them on a motorcycle, drove from Denpasar to Kuta, stopping about 500 metres from the Sari Club. Alighting from the van, Imron jumped onto the back of the motorcycle driven by Idris. Feri also jumped from the van and began to walk towards Paddy’s Bar while Jimi continued driving the short distance to the Sari Club where he brought the van to a halt in the one-lane street. At 11.08 pm Feri moved onto the dance floor of Paddy’s Bar and detonated his explosives-laden vest. Thirty seconds later, Jimi Arnasan, who by then had created a traffic jam outside the packed Sari Club, detonated the second device, a one-tonne car bomb.The explosion, measuring .2 on the Richter scale, was felt 10 kilometres away. Idris, having heard the explosions, used his mobile phone to detonate the third bomb outside the US consulate. Curiously, it caused no physical damage to the building, yet uprooted a tree nearby. • A good night’s sleep was interrupted in the early hours of the morning by Peter, Joshua and Nicholas’s step-father, calling to say there had been an explosion in Bali. Angela, 21
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their mother, then came to the phone. The panic, the urgency in her voice failed to alarm me. She often, from my point of view, worried needlessly about our sons. It was because of that very quality that Virginia and I requested she honour us by becoming Patrick’s godmother. Ever since Josh and Nick were little boys Angela had acted more like a doting grandmother, giving them breakfast in bed and polishing their boots before each football game. She considered it a privilege, not a chore. A box secreted in her bedroom bulged at the sides with all manner of memorabilia, from the boys’ first shoes to locks of their hair. Unbelievably, she retained their belly buttons, denying any suggestion that they had reverted to dust, but oddly refusing to display them. She simply adored her boys. Lately, she recalls that during our first phone conversation that night I told her not to worry, that Josh was strong and would be all right, but when I put down the receiver I did pause for a moment. Rolling over to resume my sleep I suddenly felt uncomfortable. Something she said that had not fully registered at the time now alarmed me: ‘Joshua‘s missing.’ I called Angela back, ostensibly to reassure her but in fact trying to reassure myself. That telephone call failed on both counts. My hope was that she had returned untroubled to bed, but by this stage she was sobbing and that, coupled with her quavering voice, was sufficient to send a shiver surging through my body. I could hardly decipher her words 22
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but I heard ‘explosion’, I heard ‘Sari nightclub’ and I heard ‘all accounted for bar Josh, Julian and an older man named Bob travelling with the team’. Virginia and I raced to the television which was broadcasting footage of the burning Sari Club and annoucements of a rising casualty list. Together we stood, stunned, frozen in disbelief. Angela’s words continued to turn in my mind: ‘Brian, please wake up—listen to me! Josh was with all the boys at the Sari Club.’ Suddenly disabled, I dropped to my knees. ‘No, no, no, fuck no! No, please God, no, please don’t let him be in that.’ My invocations, pleas and prayers woke Patrick, who ran from his room. Blocking his view of the screen, we assured him all was well and returned him to bed. My nightmare had begun. • With the passing hours, reports of suspected casualties grew, with estimates given at first by the tens, and later by the twenties. Rumours of a gas explosion soon gave way to more sinister theories with images of the devastated areas giving an insight into the magnitude of the carnage. Patrons at the Sari Club were literally picked up and hurled by the force. The club’s metal fence spikes suddenly turned into barbs, spearing those unlucky enough to be in their path. As one survivor described it to the Age: ‘I saw all the television screens around the bar explode. I saw heaps of people burning and dying around me. It was an inferno. I saw one guy whose 23
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leg had been blown open . . . he couldn’t walk . . . he was just lying there screaming.’ George Eliot was so right when she wrote: ‘There is no despair so absolute as that which comes with the first moment of our first great sorrow.’ By sunrise on 13 October and despite no militant group claiming responsibility, the Indonesians were certain the bombing had the hallmarks of terrorism. Indonesia’s Defence Minister, Matori Abdul Djalil, exclaimed, ‘We are sure al Q’aeda is here.’ Interestingly, Australia’s Minister for Foreign Affairs, who appeared on Channel 9’s Sunday program, said he wasn’t as certain about the true identity of the perpetrators. ‘ The organisation we’ve been very concerned about in Indonesia is an organisation called Jemaah Islamiah. It certainly has quite a lot of links to al Q’aeda . . . It’s not the only organisation we’ve been concerned about in Indonesia, but it’s the principal one . . .’ I had heard of JI, read about the group, witnessed through the media its bomb attacks in Manila and Indonesia in October to December 2000. But as at 12 October 2002, I had scant knowledge of the level of its hatred for westerners, deployment, the achievability of its designs or its strong connection to al Q’aeda. JI is a Javanese based militant organisation which has been operating largely throughout Southeast Asia and is assumed to have been founded in the 1960s by clerics, Abu 24
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Bakar Bashir, the alleged emir or spiritual leader, and the late Abdullah Sungkar. Included on the United Nations list of terrorist organisations since Bali, its genesis can be traced to the radical group Darul Islam, still actively opposed to secular government in Indonesia since its formation in 1949. In 1972 the two clerics opened an Islamic school in Solo where they taught fundamentalist Islamic philosophy. In 1978 the two were arrested and sentenced to nine years imprisonment for the offence of subversion. They appealed and were released, having served four years in gaol. The Superior Court subsequently overturned the decision and reinstated the original penalty, but the clerics had fled to Malaysia. In 1998 Bashir returned to Indonesia in the wake of Suharto ceding power. Estimated as having anywhere up to 5000 members throughout Asia, there is division within the JI hierarchy, some advocating restraint in political activism, others having sworn an open declaration of violence. Over a thousand members are veterans of the Afghanistan wars of the 1980s and 1990s, allied to the rebellious Mujahideen, a coalition of Muslim fundamentalists opposed to secular government. Paradoxically, the Mujahideen were sponsored by the opportunistic American CIA during those decades, their temporary alliance underpinned by mutual opposition to Afghanistan’s pro-Russian President Babrak Karmal. The Mujahideen feared the Afghan government would interfere 25
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with its religious autonomy; the United States Administration feared a ‘communist state’. In 2001 JI was foiled in its attempts to blow up the American and Australian embassies in Singapore. More recently, the group has been linked to the bombing of the Marriot hotel in Jakarta, killing twelve on 5 August 2003. Since 1998 there have been fifty-nine bomb attacks throughout Indonesia, many of which have been attributed to JI, but the militants had always focused their attacks on disrupting and impeding the governments of Indonesia and neighbouring Asian states. Indonesian journalist and author Dewi Anggraeni notes in her recent book Who Did This to Our Bali, that targets have been predominantly public places, bridges, restaurants and shopping malls. Of interest, she observed that the victims of bomb attacks before Bali were of Indonesian extraction. • Early on the morning of Sunday 13 October, Angela and her husband Peter joined Virginia and me on the balcony of our home where I had set up base. Mobile phones in need of recharging were scattered on the table amongst a dozen or more cups of coffee, some partly drunk, others overturned in the midst of confusion. News bulletins flashed regularly on radio and television, giving updated reports together with information relating to hotlines established by the Department of Foreign Affairs. We took turns, at times two or three of us simultaneously 26
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dialling, attempting to establish contact with any one of the government agencies. But impatience grew quickly and tempers wore thin as our calls went unanswered. No one was responsible for the message I received that morning. No one could imagine the pain it caused. Mobile phones have become a necessity, no longer a luxury in life. To be out of immediate contact is inexcusable. I had fallen into line with mobile etiquette but experienced considerable difficulties with the technology. I cannot erase messages, nor do I know how to retrieve a missed call. My phone, with its own life, independent of me, delivered information in its own time. Hearing the tune signifying I had a missed call, I looked down at the screen on my phone: ‘missed 1: Josh’. Running back into the house, I screamed for Angela. ‘Josh is ali . . .’ Mercifully my words tapered away before she heard. I stopped short, stared down at my mobile phone. It had taken only a millisecond for my heart to race but a few moments more to recall that Josh told me he was leaving his phone in Adelaide. I have been told he had tried to phone me before leaving for the airport. Eloise sought information via the Internet, but it was futile. Patrick now sensed tragedy and retired in tears to his room. By mid-morning my sisters in Melbourne and Angela’s brother Kim, living in the United States, had booked their respective flights. My brother and mother had joined with our close friends bringing all manner of support. Angela’s 27
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gravely ill father accompanied her mother but found the stairs insurmountable and took refuge in the games room. Unable to make any contact with the Australian government agencies here or in Bali, Virginia called her boss, the Chief Executive of the Royal Adelaide Hospital (RAH). I was seeking other contacts or help, anything. I had to accept the possibility that Josh might have been harmed and, mindful of the advice I had given him not two days before, I initially determined we should send a private medical retrieval team, and contacted a distant relative of Virginia’s, a doctor living in Sydney. A doctor contacted in Bali on our behalf called and advised that Bali was in turmoil, but he promised to help. My intention to send a team proved unnecessary as the hospital and state government were already working in tandem and were planning to send retrieval teams to Darwin. The RAH staff had been given Josh’s details and promised to search for him immediately upon the arrival of any injured people airlifted from Bali. Televised reports showed volunteers armed with black Texta pens scribbling names of suspected victims on butcher’s paper pasted to the hospital’s corridor walls. With each replay my family scrambled to the television for a close-up view. Frustration mounted as each call to the Department of Foreign Affairs was automatically disconnected. Alternative contact numbers only produced pre-recorded information advising us to consult the Internet, which in turn directed us back to the telephone. 28
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Another phone call to Angela, this time from the girlfriend of a Sturt player, confirmed that Josh was last seen in the company of a girl. Angela’s suggestion that he was probably sheltering with her, lost in the confusion, momentarily gave us some confidence, but that soon dissipated with the advent of nightfall. By nine o’clock, coffee and tea gave way to spirits, wine and beer, but for me a bottle of sambucca was essential. A commercial television station, having ascertained that my son was missing, released Joshua’s name. Later that night I called its complaints department and very impolitely admonished the station for traumatising other family members who we had not had a chance to contact. • On Sunday 13 October the Department of Foreign Affairs issued a warning to Australians to defer all non-essential travel to Bali until further notice, while investigators in Indonesia detained and arrested suspected members of JI. At the same time neighbouring governments were calling for Bashir’s arrest, if for no other reason than he was known to be the spiritual leader of the organisation. ‘I challenge them to prove anything. I suspect the bombing was engineered by the US and its allies to justify allegations that Indonesia is a base for terrorists,’ Bashir told Associated Press. Despite fears of civil unrest the Indonesian government finally arrested the elderly cleric on 19 October 2002, on suspicion of involvement in the 2000 Christmas Eve 29
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bombings in Ambon, and for an earlier attempt on the life of then vice-president Megawati Sukarnoputri. He was subsequently convicted of treason and immigration offences, but following successful appeals the treason charges were dismissed and the four-year sentence halved. At the time of writing he has not been charged in respect to Bali.
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4 It can’t happen here It can’t happen here
‘It is the ability to foretell what is going to happen tomorrow, next week, next month and next year. And to have the ability afterwards to explain why it didn’t happen.’ W INSTON C HURC HILL
ON THE QUALIFICATIONS OF BECOMING A P OLITICIAN
ctober 12 was something of an epiphany for the Prime Minister. In one of the greatest understatements since Noah’s wife looked skyward and suggested it might rain, on Sunday 13 October 2002 John Howard exclaimed, ‘people should get it out of their minds that it can’t happen here. It can, and it has happened to our own [people] on our own doorstep . . . We are more at risk than we were.’ Bali shocked the nation and drove a stake through our collective heart. But why were we so shocked? We were at
O
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war. We had overlooked that point. We were a small yet obvious part of Bush’s indeterminate, indiscriminate war on terrorism, ‘Operation Enduring Freedom’. With our military engaged in Afghanistan and being firmly ensconced with the ‘coalition of the willing’, it was inevitable that at some point Australians would come under attack. Bali may well have shocked the government, but it surprised few political analysts. The terrorist organisaton al Q’aeda had warned it would no longer respect the distinction between Australia’s military and civilians. ASIO warned that Australia’s international profile had risen following our intervention in East Timor and Afghanistan. It also warned of threats to Australian interests in Indonesia, of al Q’aeda’s strong presence. Its assessment of terrorist reprisals was ‘High’. The Prime Minister continued: ‘I’ve been saying since September 11 that something like this would occur.’ So had Dennis Richardson, the chief of ASIO, who warned that Australia’s profile had risen following the Prime Minister’s announcement on 4 October 2001 that Australia would be ready to provide assistance to the US in any military response to the September terrorist attack. In the eyes of Islamic militants across the world, Australia had become a hostile nation. In November 2001, not one month after Ground Zero, al Q’aeda issued an ominous warning in a video recording obtained by Britain’s investigative TV program Panorama 32
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and broadcast on the BBC on 26 October 2002: ‘The youth of Islam are preparing things which will fill your heart with fear.’ And the more the government spoke of invading Iraq, so there was a commensurate rise in al Q’aeda’s threats and ASIO’s warnings. Bali was al Q’aeda’s apocalyptic promise. On 11 October 2002 ASIO issued a further threat assessment after statements made by Osama bin Laden on 6 October and by Ayman al-Zawahiri on 8 October:‘another large scale attack or attacks by al-Qa’ida are being prepared . . . [there is] no information specifically related to Australian interests but Australia’s profile as a potential terrorist target had increased . . . ’ An FBI warning cited a senior al Q’aeda detainee who confirmed that al Q’aeda would only release such a statement after approving a specific plan for an attack. Prime Minister John Howard later protested in the Weekend Australian of 23–24 November 2002: ‘It’s not our fault. There is nothing this country has done which justifies the bilious hatred that has been directed against it . . . It’s very important at a time like this that we don’t lose our sense of justified self-belief.’ To say the least, the statement was a trifle purificatory. Had we become so ignorant and so arrogant as to ignore the part we’ve played in the deaths of thousands of innocent people? It most certainly wasn’t Josh’s fault. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Like me, like my dad, he detested war. But he was an Australian and Australia has done many things in 33
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recent times of which, if the entire facts be known, few Australians could be proud. Those actions raised the ire of militants across the globe. For more than a decade from August 1990, under government orders, Australian servicemen and women had been involved in ‘Maritime Interception Operations’, a futile blockade of Iraq. Crippling an already destitute country, the blockade had no impact on Saddam Hussein’s Ba’ath party, but it caused the slow, needless deaths of thousands. In 1996, the UN passed resolution 986, allowing an exchange of oil for food, but the sanctions committee, based in New York, vetoed items considered to be of potential military use to the Iraqis, including syringes, pencils, ambulances and light bulbs. Hearing-aids, toys, wheelbarrows and coffins were subsequently added to the list. UNICEF estimated that between 5000 and 6000 children died each month as a direct result of sanctions. Madeleine Albright, the former US Secretary of State, was asked if the price was worth it. Her reply? ‘It’s a very hard choice, but the price—we think the price is worth it.’ It was scandalous, ironical if not bizarre, that in the process, Australia maintained its own balance of payments by selling wheat to Iraq. Prize-winning American author William Blum got it right when he wrote:‘Of course it’s not America the terrorists hate; its American foreign policy. It’s what the United States has done to the world in the past half century—all the 34
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violence, the bombings, the depleted uranium, the cluster bombs, the assassinations, the promotion of torture, the overthrow of governments, and more . . .’ Following the September 2001 attack on America, US citizens quite rightly held their heads in their hands, unable to grasp why such a travesty of justice had occurred. Following the invasion of Afghanistan innocent civilians held their heads in their hands and asked why the bombing continued. Did anyone in the west pause to consider that otherwise peaceful, intelligent people, Iraqis and Afghans, might be outraged at watching their loved ones die? Or in an arrogant way, did we ignore the point and assume that these fathers and mothers, sisters and sons, were nothing but lesser mortals incapable of embitterment, unwilling to revolt and unable to strike back? Did the Australian government once consider that militant Muslims around the globe might not wait for the next attack before striking back? Jimmy Carter, former President of the United States, also made the point when he questioned his own country’s responsibilities in the immediate aftermath of September 11: ‘We sent marines into Lebanon and you only have to go to Lebanon, or Syria or to Jordan, to witness first hand the intense hatred among many people for the United States because we bombed and shelled and mercilessly killed innocent villagers—women and children and farmers and housewives—in those villages around Beirut . . . And as a 35
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result of that . . . We became kind of Satan in the minds of those who are deeply resentful. That is what precipitated some of the terrorists’ attacks—which were totally unjustified and criminal.’
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5 The wedding is over The wedding is over
‘Have you noticed there is never any third act in a nightmare? They bring you to a climax of terror and then leave you there.’ M AX B EERB OHM
onday 14th October: I woke with a crushing hangover. The bottle of whatever I had skolled much earlier that morning, breaking off occasionally to take in the foul air of my newly readopted habit, had nursed me to sleep, but the mixture of alcohol and tobacco is lethal the ‘morning after’. For one moment I wondered where I was, complaining of a horrid dream. The curtains were drawn, untouched since Saturday night. I lay there, scornful of my overindulgence, staring into space, listening to the ever-increasing fall of the unseasonable rain.
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Virginia, always an early riser, brought in a cup of tea. Rolling over I saw the expression on her face. It wasn’t a dream. There was no word of his whereabouts; her calls to Darwin Hospital from 2 am onwards had brought no relief. Falling back on my pillow, my attention was again fixed on the rain. The rhythmical sound as the raindrops bounced off the balcony eerily reminded me of a book I had read in my final year at school. Ernest Hemingway in A Farewell to Arms had used rain as an omen of misfortune. A sensation of palsy gripped my body, momentarily pinning me to my bed. The light showers continued to fall as we regrouped on the balcony. Peter, a phone in each hand, had made contact with officials in Bali, but there was no word of Joshua’s whereabouts, no hospital confirming his admission. Bali was in turmoil with no one seeming to be in control. The television scenes we witnessed were of fire and I clung on to hope, believing that Josh’s strength and agility would have allowed him to escape. I imagined him walking the streets of the city, dazed and disorientated, possibly burnt, but alive. In the confusion we hadn’t yet considered the immediate impact from the force of the explosion and therefore the thought of his death had not entered our minds. Two weeks later, Tim Weatherald described the powerful torque released by the bomb: ‘I think I must have landed thirty 38
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metres from where I was standing . . . The explosion was so strong that all our clothes were ripped off—my shirt and shorts were gone . . . I already thought I was dead and then it was just so hot . . .’ Shortly after 9 am we received a phone call from a friend of one of the boys who was with Josh. It gave us renewed confidence. Julian, a team-mate, had now been located. The information we received suggested he had been severely burnt but his injuries, we were told, were not life-threatening. With twenty of the twenty-one players and one official now accounted for, there was every reason to remain positive. Witnesses had confirmed that Josh and Bob Marshall (a past player, a giant of a man in his late sixties who had accompanied the boys as a chaperone) had been within metres of the group when the explosion occurred. But by mid-morning Josh hadn’t called and despite the positive air displayed by our friends I was beginning to panic. Fear in his mother’s eyes had unsettled me. It had become more difficult to accept the hypotheses of friends, knowing deep down that if Josh were alive and unharmed he would have contacted me. We were still on the balcony, mobile phones permanently attached to our ears, when Virginia walked towards me. For hours we had been trying unsuccessfully to break into what was obviously an over-extended information service. 39
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We had been told that at any one time up to twenty thousand Australians were in Bali. Tapping me on the shoulder she said that Hayley, a longtime friend of Josh, probably one of his closest, had called again from Melbourne with sketchy news of a sighting of Josh by a member of the media. It had been Hayley who had originally called Angela thirty-six hours earlier with the news of the attack. Hayley’s boyfriend Aaron had called her from Bali after escaping the Sari Club with minor burns. It was news that we had been praying for. It wasn’t a confirmation but it was comforting. The biting, gutwrenching feeling of hopeless despair suddenly dissipated. I knew my relief was premature but I didn’t care because for the first time in thirty-six hours we had something positive. At that moment I was thinking that once I got hold of Josh, the first thing I’d do would be to cry, the second, to yell at him for not calling. Virginia suggested I contact an old school friend of mine, Chris, who was now working in television and had recently transferred to a senior position in Sydney. If I could find him he would no doubt have contacts in Bali who could verify the story. Chris was dining at a restaurant when I called. I hadn’t spoken to him for some time but that didn’t matter—he would do anything to help. I was standing in the kitchen exchanging details with Chris, discussing the media sighting, 40
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when Virginia interrupted, again tapping me on the shoulder. Agitated, I turned away, continuing to talk with Chris, scribbling details on a paper serviette. ‘Brian,’ she said, ‘the police are here. You had better go and see them.’ I swung around with the phone still in my hand. Over her shoulder and out through the window I could see two police officers walking up the drive. I looked back at her and snapped, ‘For God’s sake, what the fuck would they be doing here? Virginia, can’t you see I haven’t got time? You see them.’ Angela, who had obviously seen the police arrive but hadn’t overheard my conversation with Chris, hurriedly pushed past followed by Martha, her sister. Virginia insisted I should go and see what they wanted. Telling Chris I would call him back, I followed Angela. From the foot of the stairs it is about two metres to the front door. By the time I had reached it, Angela was outside talking with the police, wobbling, sobbing uncontrollably, with Peter and Martha supporting her on either side as her legs gave way. At that moment I felt hands grasping each of my arms as someone held me from behind. I suddenly realised the purpose of the police visit. The male officer, having switched his gaze from Angela to me, advised that they were attending on instructions from the Department of Foreign Affairs. He apologised, then regretfully informed me of Joshua’s death. 41
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I could feel myself smiling inwardly. The police were obviously unaware of the information I had recently acquired. I was about to speak, to interrupt him, to tell them of the telephone calls, when the officer continued, confirming Josh’s identification was based on a bankcard located on or near his body. In a flash, it connected. That momentary feeling of elation vanished when I heard the word ‘bankcard’. There was no rational explanation for it having such a great impact, but suddenly it occurred to me that both accounts were plausible. The media’s sighting of Josh had probably been of his body. Sympathetic to the officer’s task I slumped towards the front door, apologising to him. I thought at the time that they had the worst job in the world and I doubted if I could do the same. As they left, the officer gave Virginia a number to call for more information. It was the same tollfree number we had been calling unsuccessfully for the past thirty-six hours. I closed the door and turned to our family and friends waiting inside. I looked at Kristy, Josh’s former girlfriend. ‘He’s dead, he’s dead. It’s unbelievable, Josh my little boy is dead!’ No one uttered a word. What could they say? Silently, the group dispersed, everyone wanting to be alone, to comprehend, to contemplate. Virginia took hold of my arm and led me to our room. As she was closing the door I turned to her:‘It’s not fair, Virginia, it’s not fair.’ Suddenly screaming, 42
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I turned back to Warwick, a close family friend, who had followed. ‘How many fucking times have I said something like this would happen? John Howard’s breast-beating, parading, searching for his role on the world’s centre stage. It had to happen. But why is it the loudmouths, the showoffs who never get hurt? My little boy has never done anything wrong, he’s never harmed anyone. He’s never threatened anyone. It’s not fair, it’s not fucking fair!’ I was so distressed I was punching doors, throwing glasses. In anticipation of the worst, earlier that morning Virginia had called our doctor, who had given her six mild tranquillisers on my behalf. She gave me one. I took three, swirling them down with the nearest glass of wine. The following hours are pretty much a blur, but I recall passing my bedroom door and seeing Angela and Peter lying on my bed. I was in a dream. • I was only eighteen when I first met Angela. We courted for several years and although we had decided to get married, we hadn’t yet set a date. Angela was nearing twenty-one and I was twenty-three. It was when I learnt of my father’s imminent death that we accelerated the wedding plans. In a way I suspect I wanted to prove to my father before he died that I was finally maturing. Our engagement party was in mid 1978 but sadly my father died shortly before we married. Without him 43
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having witnessed my marriage or my subsequent graduation from law school, I felt somewhat cheated of the chance to prove his unwavering faith in me had not been in vain. With the help of Angela’s father we bought our first home in Norwood, a small bluestone villa in urgent need of repair. By the time of our marriage the renovations were underway, but with only the kitchen completed and the bathroom not started, pressure soon mounted. Angela graduated with her teaching diploma but fell pregnant the following year, and six days after my twentyfifth birthday, Joshua was born. If a philosopher once quipped that it’s a father’s right to be present at the conception of his child, it follows that it must be his prerogative to be present at his birth. Each of my four children has at times jokingly denied the former but unhesitantly I seized the latter, witnessing each tiny miracle brought into this world. I remember Josh’s birth vividly. It was about the time an enormous bushfire was raging out of control over a large proportion of the Adelaide hills. Once in the delivery room I awkwardly stood back but readily accepted the doctor’s invitation to move closer. Josh had not yet been fully delivered, and as I peered over the doctor’s shoulder in anticipation, a stream of urine shot out, saturating both the doctor and me. Angela and I had a boy, a beautiful, plump, blue-eyed baby. He had a head as round as a bowling ball and hardly a strand of hair. I recall telling Angela jokingly that he 44
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had a face like a twisted sandshoe. I don’t think she ever forgave me. As a tribute to my father, Joseph Kevin, a staunch Catholic and a very honest and proud man, we named our firstborn Joshua Kevin. • For days after the police visit I mindlessly wandered our home. I’d walk into Josh’s room and lie on his bed, touching, holding, caressing his pillows. I craved just one last scent of my son. Opening his wardrobe, I dressed in his clothes left behind. The clothes we used to swap. I sat in the games room where Josh and I would talk. Just staring. The family photographs which adorn the walls are reminders of happier days. A collection of wartime portraits of men I knew hang proudly. These were men who unhesitantly, unquestioningly, courageously responded to the call to arms and defended Australia in its hour of need. They helped save Australia, build Australia and made Australia safe for me. They built the Australia in which I was proud to raise my children. I was fortunate to have missed Vietnam and I had been certain there would be no cataclysmic experience my children would endure. Australia was, after all, ‘the lucky country’. A photograph depicting my great uncle Laurie, who served valiantly in the Light Horse Brigade during World War I, hangs next to one of my father, who served in the AIF in World War II. Beneath are portraits of my uncles. Phil stands 45
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next to my mum, who was so proud of her younger brother in his air force uniform. I recall him saying to me two weeks before his death how his present battle with cancer was little different to ‘one more sortie over Berlin’. Norman was too young for the war but enlisted anyway, serving in New Guinea when only seventeen. My father and uncles succumbed to complications associated with their wartime duties, leaving my mother and aunt in receipt of pensions for services rendered. The war widow’s card is a badge of honour this government is keen, it seems, to issue repeatedly, in war upon war upon war. • I was twelve years old when I first saw 2001, A Space Odyssey, a movie I have never understood. Trying to hold the hand of my first girlfriend in the front row without being observed by my mates was far more important than enjoying the film. When Josh was born, the year 2001 became more relevant for it would be the year he would turn twenty-one. A year of many twenty-first parties. That year of celebrations was shattered the morning al Q’aeda terrorists struck New York, Washington and Pennsylvania. The name is now synonymous with terror, but until the 12 October 2000 bombing of the USS Cole in Yemen, the organisation and its machinations weren’t really known. But following the September 11 attacks which killed nearly 3000 people in Washington and New York, 46
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Osama bin Laden and his terrorist organisation became a household name. I was in bed asleep on the night of 11 September and was woken by a phone call. It was around midnight. It was Josh ringing from Melbourne, yelling for me to turn on the television. We watched together, over 700 kilometres apart, as the second plane crashed into the northern tower of the World Trade Center. Josh’s words were so clear: ‘ Those poor bastards.’ For minutes we sat in silence. We watched in horror as each tower collapsed.‘Why would people do this?’ Josh asked. ‘They’re cruel, inhuman and insane,’ I replied. I prayed for the victims. I prayed for America, the President. I prayed for Australia. But above all, I prayed for my children. Josh returned to Adelaide days later and I continued to watch the scenes unfold for months, glued to the television each night until the early hours of the morning. Terrified. Our Prime Minister was in America at the time. It was only the day before that he reaffirmed Australia’s commitment to the ANZUS treaty. And standing at the naval dockyards, in the presence of the President of the United States and Pentagon brass, he reaffirmed his policies on Australia’s military upgrading. Following his government’s 1996 election it was to be, he said, the one area of government spending which he immediately circled non-negotiable. 47
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There was little doubt the response to the attacks would be as swift as it was certain. America’s President George W. Bush declared a global ‘war on terror’ and, with the approval of Congress, launched the first phase of ‘Operation Enduring Freedom’. Bush called for expressions of support, and the Prime Minister wasted little time in joining Australia to the coalition: ‘We’ve not embarked on some kind of frolic just for the sake of being there alongside the Americans. That’s not the point of it. Because what happened on 11 September was as much a strike at us— indeed more than twenty Australians died in the World Trade Center—and it was also a strike at the type of life we take for granted . . .’ It was quite right that the Americans should endeavour to bring the culprits to justice. Only the day before September 11, the FBI had upgraded its list of known fugitives. Osama bin Laden was No. 1. But I hoped for what now seems to have become a meaningless cliché—‘a measured response’. Yes, America had come under attack, innocents had been murdered, but no country had declared war. It was the work of a group of fanatics, and not dissimilar to the bombing of the Oklahoma FBI building in 1995. When bin Laden took refuge in the mountains of Afghanistan, I wondered about the wisdom of openly invading such a tortured country, raped by the Russians only a decade before. But the US administration, apparently caught 48
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by surprise despite the billions of dollars spent on intelligence, was intent on revenge. If human rights issues were as important then as Bush, Blair and Howard would of late have us believe, such rights were again put on hold. Despite the fact that fifteen of the nineteen terrorists of the September 11 attacks were of Saudi origin, that very same day Afghanistan’s borders were closed to prevent ‘terrorists’ escaping. The action prevented food and medical supplies coming into the country. It caused the deaths of thousands of refugees. America invoked President Bill Clinton’s 1995 ‘Presidential Decision Directive’ to launch the first wave of bombing strikes on 7 October 2001: ‘If we do not receive adequate cooperation from a state that harbours a terrorist whose extradition we are seeking, we shall take appropriate measures to induce cooperation. Return of suspects by force may be effected without the cooperation of the host government.’ Tracking, capturing, arresting and bringing bin Laden to justice was the reason given for the invasion of Afghanistan. It was the reason, we were told, Australian soldiers were joined in the coalition. The United States adopted the same successful, ‘safe’ practice it had used in the first Gulf War. Afghanistan proved once again the effectiveness of air-power. Over the following months the United States fired cruise missiles, lethal ‘daisy cutter’ bombs, equipped with depleted uranium heads, and cluster bombs. The count of the terrorists’ victims 49
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in New York, Washington and Pennsylvania stood at about 3000, but by the end of December the dead and injured innocent Afghans ‘officially’ numbered 3500. By December the humanitarian group Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders) confirmed that mortality rates in one northern camp alone had doubled since the bombing commenced. I prayed each bomb would find its target, but with each Afghan market or cluster of homes destroyed by a misguided missile or a bomb dropped by a reckless pilot, I realised that little had changed in the art of war. Prior to the invasion, politicians had recognised that innocents would die for the greater cause, referring to the fate of these people as unfortunate, unavoidable ‘collateral damage’. With more selective aerial bombardment the civilian toll may have been kept to a minimum, but there seemed to be very little care taken to interdict the Taliban forces and spare the people. On 1 July 2002 an Afghan man of about my age was reported to be dancing in Kakarak with his daughter, married less than two hours earlier, when an American pilot unleashed his arsenal on the village. Officially, forty civilians were confirmed killed, one hundred and twenty wounded, mostly women and young children. The wedding was over.
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6 The brow n speckled duck The brown speckled duck
‘The quietly pacifist peaceful always die to make room for men who shout.’ A LIC E WALKER
t had been twenty-four hours since the police arrived. I wandered the front yard, pacing the drive, peering around trees, begging for Joshua’s silver Laser to turn the corner, praying there had been a mistake. No one had clearly identified him. The boys who were with him that night had returned. No one else could recognise him. How could they say he was dead on the basis of a bankcard? The television showed images of mayhem, and over the next few days the Advertiser would report:
I
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Official identification of more than 100 Australians killed in the Bali terror bomb blast is expected to take several weeks. Many of the corpses have been decapitated or too badly burnt to be identified . . . At the nearby morgue, where almost 200 bodies . . . remain unidentified, volunteers are helping to translate and to guide those who have come to identify the dead. Elsewhere volunteers hand out water, fruit, croissants and Balinese rice dishes to family, friends and colleagues who have not slept since Saturday as they continue searching . . . Relatives were left on their own to search through body bags, which had been filled by a multitude of volunteers who had mixed body parts, paperwork and identification numbers . . .
I had no oak tree but I searched for a yellow ribbon nonetheless. I couldn’t find one, the closest I found was my new yellow tie. It would suffice. On the second day following the explosion I was adjusting the now rain-drenched tie when a brown speckled duck waddled from around the corner. We have all manner of fauna on our property, ranging from a family of koalas to our two family dogs, but I had never before seen a wild duck. Appearing from nowhere it began to follow me, keeping a respectable distance. It kept eye contact as I circled it. It 52
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stood its ground. There was no one within earshot, and I felt an urge to speak to it for reasons still unknown. I have no idea if I did or, if I did, what I said. We stood for minutes not a metre apart before I recognised the madness that was enveloping me. I shook myself, realising that in times of stress the mind can play all manner of tricks and I was determined I would not let myself believe that my son had been reincarnated, especially as a brown speckled duck. I walked slowly up the drive, at intervals turning backwards to observe the motionless bird. I could have sworn it was beckoning me. For some reason I felt momentarily calm, but I thought it best that the encounter should remain my secret. I reluctantly told Virginia later that night of my encounter with the duck. I felt silly. Her tacit acceptance dispelled any feelings of foolishness for a while, but I suspected it was to humour me. Nevertheless for the entire week I maintained my solitary vigil at the end of the driveway. • I was artless, naive, so green in my sixteenth year. Those were my ‘salad’ days. It was the year in which I lost more than my virginity, I lost my innocence and for some time my father’s respect. One Saturday night I had sought solace from a girlfriend, having assisted at the burial of a favourite uncle earlier that day. With insufficient petrol for the evening and no money to buy it, I foolishly resorted to stealing it. About an hour 53
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later, and assuming I had committed the perfect crime, I was sitting in my mother’s car outside the local milk bar when my attention was suddenly drawn to the sight of flashing lights atop an approaching police vehicle. As the patrol car slid to a halt I watched excitedly as two officers ran across the road. It was, but shouldn’t have been, a surprise when instead of passing my car they stopped and pulled at my door, dragging me from behind the wheel. Placed in the rear of the patrol car I presumed that, at worst, the result would be a short ride for a chat with my parents, so naturally I was puzzled when they turned into and drove to the rear of a darkened car park. My denials of wrongdoing elicited a response I hadn’t bargained for. The driver, becoming increasingly agitated, abruptly halted the car and turned back to me. His first punch I felt but not the following four. Confusion turned to terror. Back at home, my reluctance to answer the officer’s questions in the presence of my parents (not unreasonably, I thought, given that my swollen lip was causing a lisp) initially attracted little sympathy. However, my dad came to my rescue when, having heard my complaint and having inspected my injuries, he couldn’t subscribe to the officer’s assertion that it was a recent football infliction. I have never forgotten the support my father showed but I realised I had hurt him deeply. If that night didn’t alter my attitude, the sequel did. Observing my parents as they addressed the Juvenile Court ended any notion of crime and 54
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reinforced my belief in the strength of a loving, caring, united family. • I had lost not only a son but also a tutor. I was proud of Josh’s accomplishments as he was of mine. Josh was under no illusions about the world he lived in, but vulgar cynicism was never part of his character. Joshua’s direct and unaffected manner earned him the nickname ‘Guru’. He never particularly weighed his words, nor counted them. At times there was a role reversal, Josh keeping a wary eye on me as a good teacher should. Proud that I had attained my commission as a magistrate, he was determined that I should keep it, protecting me from myself. Few could ever sincerely accuse Josh of a misdemeanour, but he was acutely aware of every peccadillo I had the misfortune to harbour. Late one night when I had imbibed far too much, he sidled up and quietly whispered in my ear, ‘Dad, just remember who you are, and more importantly, what you are.’ But the words that still resound in my ears were those spoken softly, quietly, soon after his speech at the twentyfirst party for his mate Tom. Approaching from behind, Josh put his arms around my shoulders, squeezed tightly and whispered, ‘Dad, you do know I love you.’ I had waited twenty-two years for that moment. • As the days passed and despite our best endeavours, no one would or apparently could give us an indication as to 55
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when Josh would be returned to us. Colin James, an Adelaide journalist, reported from Denpasar that the Australian government left volunteers with no forensic experience to oversee the identification of bodies from the Bali bombing. Volunteers had sought a meeting with the Consul-General to Bali only to be told that the Australian government had no resources available to help them and they would have to manage on their own.‘We started to set up the crisis centre on Sunday, had it running by Monday and asked for help but were told there were no resources available. On Tuesday, at the first briefing with the families, they [the consul] admitted they didn’t even know the centre had been set up’, reported Lee Downie in the Advertiser. It would be four days before the Australian Federal Police took control. The authorities stressed at the time that with the limited resources at their disposal, the evacuation of the injured had been their first priority. But frightening reports were filtering back that the bodies of those killed had been left in the open under the scorching heat, unattended, awaiting the arrival of refrigerated containers from Australia. The Prime Minister and the Minister for Foreign Affairs were suddenly urging, warning, pleading with Australians in Bali to leave Indonesia. The Department of Foreign Affairs had received ‘new intelligence’ revealing ‘disturbing threats to Australians in the region’. Whether it was cowardice or confusion that initially prevented me from flying to Bali, 56
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the fact that I hadn’t gone was haunting me, with images of Joshua’s body lying somewhere in Bali, alone, isolated, disrespected. The dilemma gnawed at me: stay with my grieving family or stand by Josh and ensure the dignity of my eldest child? Had I been advised from the start to expect such a long delay I would have flown to Bali to be at my son’s side, but for now, in light of upgraded warnings, my family was challenging the wisdom of such a trip. An Adelaide family of four holidaying in Bali had lost their daughter, Angela, in the explosion. They couldn’t and wouldn’t leave Bali without their youngest child. Relatives of the family had flown in to help, one of whom was Joe Golotta, her uncle. He was not to know at that stage the commonality we shared. It was not until later that we learnt it was Angela Golotta on the dance floor with Josh. Ian, a police officer, and his wife Sandra had been part of our close circle of friends since I had coached their son Paul in primary school football. He had been dually touched by this tragedy. His colleague, Steve, a man who I had met on a number of occasions, was a close friend of the Golotta family and was relaying what he learnt to Ian. Ian told me that Angela, a week shy of her twentieth birthday, had remained in the Sari Club after her parents had returned to their hotel, leaving her in the care of a young South Australian footballer, both of whom had died on the dance floor. She was to have rejoined her parents an hour later. 57
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John Golotta and wife Tracey had taken their two children, Michael and Angela, together with Michael’s girlfriend, Jasmine, to Bali for their annual holiday. Staying at the Hard Rock Hotel they ventured the ten-minute walk to the Sari Club for a quick drink and an early night, to be followed by white water rafting the following morning. One of Joshua’s team-mates recognised John from a business he owned in Adelaide and they struck up a conversation. Within minutes John, an avid football follower, had been introduced to the entire group, South Australia’s premiership team. I’ve been denied the pleasure of meeting Angela, but Angela’s father met Josh. ‘Josh was such a beautiful boy, he was just so polite,’ John later told me. ‘I was razzing him about the tattoo on his arm. I said your dad will kill you.’ Josh laughed, confirming it was only temporary. About 10.30 pm John felt it was time to leave, but Angela wanted to remain behind. She had been introduced to Josh. Her parents left her money for the taxi back to the hotel. Less than forty minutes had passed when John and Tracey heard the explosion. Gazing in disbelief through the hotel window, they watched the fireball mushrooming hundreds of metres skyward. John knew which direction it was coming from. Pulling on his runners he took Michael and ran to the club. Surrounded by flames, beaten back by the scorching heat, they called Angela’s name—there was no reply, only the screams of the dying. Grabbing the fire-hose from a Balinese fire-fighter proved futile—there was no water. Falling 58
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to the ground they watched helplessly as the flames continued their beastly mission, until the screams of those inside had been reduced to silence. Angela’s birthday party was scheduled for the following week. Making contact with Joe Golotta, I introduced myself as the father of the boy who had died with his niece. I took refuge in his immediate promise that he would watch over my son. He told me Bali was in total confusion with no one in charge and even fewer who knew what they were expected to do. At that stage no Australian officials were present apart from the few consular staff. Ex-pat Australians were working feverishly with tourists to care for the dead, the dying and injured. Joe told me his family would be bringing Angela’s body home within a day or two as they had fulfilled all the requirements of which they were aware. Begging him to help, I was assured he would. Joe said ‘since we relocated Angela we have kept her next to Josh and haven’t let either of them out of our sight’. Joe told me of the horror his family had experienced. Having identified Angela’s tortured body by the only possible means—a button from her‘labelled’ skirt, and her necklace— they placed her to one side, leaving for a moment to attend to formalities. They returned, only to find her body had been moved. John, Angela’s father, confused and devastated, feverishly searched a dozen or more bags holding what remained of the bodies before relocating his youngest child. 59
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Joe told me that the Indonesians were demanding compliance with international treaties, which meant that at least two of three different forms of identification were required before a body could be released for burial or repatriation: visual, dental or DNA. I never asked how Joe knew the body he claimed to be Josh was my son—I feared the answer. Instead I simply asked, ‘He has already been identified by a bankcard—what else should I do?’ Joe replied,‘That would be sufficient if you can also send his dental records. I’ll give you a number, get his dentist to fax a copy through to me and I promise I’ll run if I have to, but I’ll get them to the consulate.’ I called our dentist. The young receptionist with whom I had shared a few jokes in the past recognised my voice instantly and, having heard of the tragedy, required no further explanation. • Tuesday 15 October: The funeral director arrived to discuss arrangements I’d never envisaged. He was an agreeable man performing an unpalatable service. I had met him through Joshua’s football club; he had introduced himself when complimenting Josh on his speed and agility. In my view, that made him the perfect man for an imperfect moment. Documents required completion, but the only meaningful decision Angela and I could make was the style of Josh’s coffin. Too young for a polished box and too old for a 60
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white casket, we settled for a coffin painted in his team’s double blues with his number 52 in bold white. Had it not been designed for him, Josh would have liked it. • As a child, each winter’s Saturday I accompanied my father to watch Sturt play at their home ground. With my scarf and beanie in the ol’ double blues, I stood beside him sheltering from the rain and gale-force winds. In their youth my father and his brothers had played senior grade cricket and tennis for respective Sturt teams. He later played lawn bowls for Sturt at the highest level. But unlike my father and unlike my children, from the age of fifteen, when puberty grabbed firm, competition sport had become of secondary importance for me. Midway through the 2002 season Josh spoke with me about his fitness. ‘Dad, the operation hasn’t really worked. It still hurts like hell when I run at full speed.’ Concerned that his recurring groin injury would prevent him playing football at the club’s senior level, Josh talked of quitting football and resuming baseball, his second greatest love. He told me Sturt baseball club had been vying for his return. Whether for my sake or his, I encouraged Josh, begged him, to put his baseball on hold and pleaded he give football one more season. ‘Your pop would be so proud of you, just give “footy” one more year.’ 61
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12 October 2002 was the opening round of the baseball season. • Following the arrest, interrogation and trials of the principal offenders in the Bali bombings, it was alleged that members of JI had for some time been co-opted into the larger al Q’aeda terrorist network. It would also appear that despite the multitude of militant groups operating throughout Indonesia, Mr Downer’s insightful conjecture on 13 October had been accurate. On 16 November 2002, the Sydney Morning Herald reported: Explicit warnings that the terrorist group Jemaah Islamiah would strike inside Indonesia and hit the United States and its allies at their weak points were reported to Australia just weeks before the Bali bombings . . . . . . The warnings were blunt and the attacks were expected to coincide with the anniversary of the first day of the war in Afghanistan, October 7th, says a western diplomat based in Washington.
• I couldn’t quite read the words on the outside cover but when the patient sitting opposite me threw the magazine onto the coffee table, I reached over and took it. It was 10.30 am on Wednesday 15 October, four days after the bomb attack, and I was sitting in my doctor’s waiting 62
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room. Judging by the numbers I had thirty minutes more to wait. I turned back to the cover: ‘Confessions of an alQaeda Terrorist’. Fucking terrorists, they were the reason for my consultation. I hadn’t slept, nor even closed my eyes, in seventy-two hours, and I had become physically and mentally exhausted. But Time magazine is usually informative and generally free of saturated sensationalism. Published in September 2002, a month before Josh died, the article headed ‘American interrogators finally got to Omar al-Faruq, who detailed the plans to launch the terror spree in South-East Asia’ was a Time exclusive on a captured terrorist. Time reported that al-Faruq, Osama bin Laden’s top envoy to Southeast Asia, was a 31-year-old Kuwaiti national whose attempt to settle in Cijeruk, an hour’s drive from Jakarta, unravelled when Abu Zubbaydah, an informant in US custody, advised the CIA of al-Faruq’s role as a senior al Q’aeda operative. According to Time, al-Faruq was arrested on 5 June 2002 and three days later was deported by the Indonesian authorities to the US air-base in Bagram, Afghanistan, where he was subjected to three months of psychological interrogation, sleep deprivation and isolation. He finally cracked on 9 September and confessed to the fact that he was a senior al Q’aeda operative. He also alerted the CIA that terrorists had put in place preparations for largescale attacks against US interests in Indonesia and other Asian countries to coincide with the first anniversary of 63
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September 11. Al-Faruq told the CIA that despite his arrest, back-up operatives were in place to ‘assume responsibilities to carry out operations as planned’. The article went on to disclose that al-Faruq’s story was corroborated by recent intelligence reports of suspicious activities near American embassies. One day later, according to Time, the US upgraded its terror alert to code orange, indicating a high risk of terrorist attack. According to the article, it was during his confession that al-Faruq alleged the cleric Abu Bakar Bashir had authorised the use of militant operatives in the attempted bombing of the US embassy in Malaysia where JI is active. Al-Faruq also implicated Bashir in the attempted assassination of Megawati Sukarnoputri. Bashir was also sought by the Singaporean police over his alleged involvement in the attempted bombings of the Australian and US embassies in that country. AlFaruq’s confession serves as a reminder that even after losing its base in Afghanistan, al Q’aeda is actively forging and reconstituting ties with violent extremists around the world who are receptive to bin Laden’s cause. ‘ They are bulking up,’ said a US Administration official.‘We don’t have our arms around them yet.’ Within Indonesia, the story created a furore. The Indonesian media went wild with accusations of CIA complicity in false accusations relating to the depth of terrorist activity in their country. The Indonesians were deeply 64
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suspicious of the CIA and were determined that the United States was not about to enter the country under false pretext. The Indonesians had every right to be suspicious. The CIA had meddled in Indonesia’s politics before. In 1965, fearing the rise in communist popularity, the CIA covertly helped Suharto’s military overthrow the Sukarno government. It was the CIA who flew military missions to bomb villages, and it was the CIA who supplied the names of communist sympathisers to Suharto’s new government, who in turn murdered 500 000—one of modern history’s most infamous slaughters. It was the CIA who then helped Suharto rule with an iron fist for the next thirty-three years. It was the CIA who covertly supplied the ingredients to make bombs for the military in neighbouring Vietnam. It was effective in destabilising the population, but that was only part of the story. It had interfered in the neighbouring states of Cambodia, China, the Philippines, North Korea, South Korea, Thailand and Laos, as well as Afghanistan. Put simply, when the US Administration perceived the politics within a country weren’t in America’s national interests, the CIA came to the fore. It was the CIA to whom Robert Kennedy would have turned at the time of the Cuban missile crisis in the early 1960s when he suggested blowing up the American embassy to provide a pretext for an invasion. Ironically, it was the CIA of whom Bobby Kennedy was first suspicious following his brother’s assassination. 65
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On 18 September, CNN’s Amy Chew had reported on the Time article. She wrote: ‘Indonesia, the world’s largest Muslim country, is under pressure from the United States and regional governments to do more in the anti-terrorism war. While the majority of its people are moderates, several radical Muslim groups have raised concerns with their loud anti-American rhetoric.’ Asia Times journalist Bill Guerin wrote on 25 October 2002 that Time admitted the story had been supplied by ‘intelligence sources’ and was based on leaked CIA assessments of the security risks in Southeast Asia, detailing information about the links between al Q’aeda and the Indonesian group JI. According to Guerin, Ralph Boyce, the US ambassador to Indonesia, complained of a struggle ‘to get the focus [in Indonesia] away from the fact that the source of the leak to the magazine was apparently [the US] Embassy, and getting the focus on to the details of the information in the report itself ’. Boyce commented that the Americans now want ‘serious and decisive action’. Australia had previously joined with the United States and neighbouring Asian countries in accusing Indonesia of turning a blind eye to terrorism. Guerin states that the Time article provided ‘e vidence’ that for months Indonesia had been downplaying the possibility of an al Q’aeda presence and had thus far refused to take preventative action. ‘The Bali bombings have changed all that,’ wrote Guerin. The Indonesians had no alternative but to comply with 66
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the US demands. In the immediate aftermath, Jakarta implemented new anti-terrorism laws. Guerin reported that Megawati Sukarnoputri signed off two presidential instructions before jetting off to the Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation summit. The first allowed BIN, the state intelligence agency, to coordinate intelligence operations across the archipelago, the second appointed Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono to head the war against terrorism. Tucked within Guerin’s four-page report was a five-line paragraph which I found disquieting: ‘Detained al Q’aeda runner al-Faruq is said to have told the US Central Intelligence Agency that bin Laden sent US$74 000 to Ba’asyir [Bashir] to buy the explosives used in the Bali Bombings. Ba’asyir [Bashir] allegedly passed this money on to his aides to buy three tons of explosives illegally from contacts in the Indonesian military.’ I asked myself what it all meant. If this was true, then Australians hadn’t been told the whole truth. The article raised the question as to precisely what the CIA had in fact been told by al-Faruq and when. It raised questions as to what the Australian government intelligence agencies had been told by the CIA and when. It further raised the spectre of involvement in Bali by rogue elements within the Indonesian military. It was common knowledge that following East Timor many elements in the military had strongly resented Australia’s interference. It also raised questions as to why the cleric wasn’t charged 67
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with the Kuta Beach bombings, and why Australian tourists hadn’t been warned. • Later that Wednesday morning I had resumed my vantage point overlooking the drive when I heard rustling within the row of agapanthus. As the duck reappeared I called loudly for Virginia to bear witness. This was something I refused to experience alone. The duck circled me as Virginia came down from the balcony. I was startled when a second bird appeared and moved forward, nuzzling under the wing of the first, but my thoughts involuntarily switched to the Sari Club’s dance floor, where Angela and Josh had perished as they danced in their first, their last, their eternal embrace, oblivious to the world, oblivious to the evil but metres away. The two ducks waddled around my feet seemingly without fear while Virginia and I looked on. The first of the ducks then walked further up the drive, the second following. Through the open gate they both flew into the pool. For five minutes or more they swam together, completely oblivious to us. As we stood, searching for some meaning, they flew out of the water, waddled out the gate and flew away together. I have not seen them, nor any other ducks, here since. If this was a sign, it surely meant that Josh was not only dead, but at peace. • 68
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It was approximately seven o’clock that evening when Virginia answered a call from the Australian Consulate in Bali. For the fourth time in as many days, the consular officer laboriously reiterated the difficulties they were experiencing in Bali and the protocols of dealing with a foreign country. Her lectures were of little support and generally offered no fresh information. It was out of character for Virginia to become irritable. I was puzzled. Virginia was holding the phone in one hand and gesticulating with the other. The animation in her face, the level of her voice steadily rising, clearly indicated something was wrong. I recall her saying words to the effect of ‘That’s ridiculous, his father is here, you explain that to him.’ I took the phone and the consular officer started to repeat the advice I had been given over the previous days. I interjected: ‘I’ve told you before and I’ll repeat again, I am a magistrate by occupation and a deputy coroner. I am well aware there are protocols to be adhered to. I am well aware there will be delays. What I need to know is, approximately how long will it take so that I can advise his mother? We have arranged his funeral, why can’t he be returned on one of the planes flying out?’ What I couldn’t understand, because no one would tell me, was why it should take longer than a matter of days given that his identity had been confirmed. I felt the ground suddenly move from under me when 69
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she replied, ‘Your son is only listed as missing. Until he is confirmed dead—’ In despair, I threw off the shackles of politeness, snapping, ‘What the hell are you talking about? He was confirmed dead days ago. He’s not missing, he’s lying dead somewhere in Sanglah Hospital.’ ‘No, the Indonesian government requires compliance with international treaties in relation to identification. Your son has not been identified and it is the Australian government’s official position that your son is only missing.’ For a moment I sat frozen. Josh was no longer officially dead, not even presumed dead . . . If he was alive and well or even badly injured he would have found the means to contact me. Moreover, we had independently received information through sources in Bali, through media reports, which had dispelled any notion of hope. Pointing to the facts, suggesting to the consular officer that she was mistaken, met with denial. Again I begged, ‘Where are the leaders? Who is in charge?’ I received no reply. As I finished speaking with the consular officer, I slumped back in my chair. It wasn’t good news. Josh was dead. They had told me he was dead and at their behest I had sent his dental records to confirm his identification. Why now tell me this? I looked at Virginia in disbelief. Had we been discussing lost baggage or my son? Angela was due to arrive in half an hour. Her first question would be whether 70
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I had had any further news of his arrival. How could I explain to her the details of that phone call? I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t. With Virginia’s help I simply told Angela there had been a delay. She received the news better than I expected, but only after I promised I would get him home soon. Angela’s mood was rapidly altering. The brightness in her eyes had dulled and her constant stare was alarming. It would often take a second call to gain her attention. While we were sitting around the open fire, I told Angela about the events of the previous days. I wanted so much for her to feel the same inner tranquillity that I had experienced. Alone, I took the opportunity to tell her about my experience with the ducks. She didn’t turn her head as I assumed she might but sat silently staring at me, not uttering a word. The following afternoon Angela and Peter returned with fresh clothes. They had become our guests, sleeping in Joshua’s room as we waited for news of our son. Angela walked in carrying what appeared to be a shooter’s decoy. On closer inspection it turned out to be a ceramic duck, slightly smaller in size than the ducks I had encountered on the driveway, but with similar colouring. Presuming it was a gift she had bought to humour me, I motioned to take it. Angela baulked—it wasn’t for me. The duck had been a present inexplicably given to her the previous Christmas by Josh. Responding to Angela’s poorly disguised cheer (Angela liked 71
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practical gifts), Josh remarked at the time that it was a spontaneous thought, the ‘duck’ looked so peaceful as he passed by the shop. I don’t believe in reincarnation of any kind although I now have mixed feelings about signs of peace and resolution.
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7 A celebration of life A celebration of life
‘Whoever uttered the phrase “beauty is but skin deep”, never once seized the pleasure of my son’s company.’ E ULO GY
T
hursday 17 October: An officer from the Missing Persons Bureau called to make an appointment with Angela and me. She came to obtain a DNA sample by buccal (mouth) swab. Compassionate and caring as the police officer was, as I looked on, watching Angela undergo this otherwise simple and unintrusive procedure, I saw the pain in her eyes. I just wanted to hold her so tightly. The police officer also requested details of scars or birthmarks, together with dental records if we could obtain them. I was surprised when she mentioned Josh’s dental records, presuming she would have known they had been 73
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faxed to Bali days before, though in fact presuming the dental records would suffice had been a mistake. I had thought the identification process would be almost complete and we could expect Josh’s return within days when another official called from Bali advising that Josh’s teeth were too perfect, with no peculiarities sufficient for the purpose of identification, and that the third option, DNA matching, was now required. The call was terminated but I couldn’t hang up the phone. I sat for minutes on the stool, wondering who I could contact for help, turning over in my mind the multitude of cases I had handled that had been adjourned for months pending a DNA report. No parent should be compelled to wait that long to bury their child. With each phone call I made I pleaded with the officers to advise me who was in charge of operations in Bali. Each time I apologised for my abruptness and told them I believed that while many good people were working hard, it was apparent that no coordinator had been appointed. I never received an answer. My concerns were reaffirmed later that week when I was told that the South Australian Premier’s suggestion to send DNA specialists to Bali had received a rebuff from the Minister for Foreign Affairs, who suggested the Commonwealth would use South Australia’s help ‘if and when the need arose’. • 74
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Josh wasn’t quite three when I purchased a four-wheel drive. It was the start of a revolution in motoring style. For much of the year the soft top and doors were removed, giving it an appearance of a wartime jeep. Excited by what he saw as the grandest of toys, Josh often made his way into the driver’s seat, swinging the wheel, mouthing the sound of a revving engine. The day I dislocated his shoulder lifting him into the car was the day I decided to sell it. Holding him tightly as we raced to the hospital I cursed my lapse of foresight. I had been cleaning the rear of the car when Josh approached, raising his hands, beckoning to be lifted up. Leaning over the side and taking his right hand, I swung him up and onto the seat but simultaneously I wrenched his arm from his shoulder socket. I wasn’t the only one slow to forgive me. The hospital staff, having expressed an appropriate degree of sympathy, decided the matter required further investigation but the suggestion of child abuse in the face of our misery was something I hadn’t contemplated. Cross-examination satisfied the doctor, but I have never really forgiven myself. • Three months before Bali, with a cool drink all round, Josh, Nick and I were sitting astride the bar stools in our games room, discussing ‘their world’s future’. They were not politically minded. Until September 11, they had never heard 75
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of al Q’aeda and barely knew where to point Iraq out on a map. They were interested in girls and football but not necessarily in that order. Time and time again we had talked of my disenchantment with the leadership of this country and my fears as to the direction we were heading. But it’s when I reminisce about that one particular Monday night that my jaw constricts. I said to Joshua and Nick that if there wasn’t a change in Australia’s foreign policies, someone would get killed. I never imagined that I was portending the fate of one of my own sons. When the boys questioned me as to what I meant, I responded that since the government’s election in 1996, militarism had become all too apparent. The Prime Minister had made it abundantly clear that Australia was no longer enmeshed in Asia, but was a western nation with close ties to Great Britain and the United States. He had realigned the former government’s foreign policies and was aligning Australia with the same belligerent foreign policies held by the conservatives in Washington. Since 1998 Australia had been involved in three military exercises and it was apparent our country’s conflicts seemed certain to expand into Iraq. In Parliament the Prime Minister had been breast-beating about Australia’s emerging role in the region and bragging in the media about his government’s military and political success: Australia’s global links have enabled us to work with the United Nations, the United States and others to 76
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persuade Indonesia that its best interests would be met by inviting in a multinational force. Moreover, our defence links with all these countries through ANZUS, the five power defence arrangements and our bilateral defence cooperation programs provide us with the capacity to cooperate effectively with them and lead a multinational force . . .
I had said to the boys, ‘Who gives a toss if we led a multinational force in Timor? Only a politician who had never stepped into a uniform, and had never seen war. What the government chooses to ignore is that Indonesia allowed it to happen.’ I explained that in the wake of Suharto ceding power the attractive offer made by the Australian government to increase its foreign aid by one-third to an almost lifeless Indonesian economy, which had been hardest hit by the Asian economic crisis, would have been hard for the new Habibie government to refuse. And for the powerful generals in the Indonesian military who might be reticent, they weren’t blind to America’s undisguised logistical support, US ships anchored off the coast. For God’s sake, has Howard forgotten that we are, in the eyes of 240 million Indonesians, insignificant? The government’s cavalier approach to Australia’s position in world affairs, and its militarist policies, would inevitably rebound. Australia’s flag had been too frequently in war zones not to have been noticed and, with both boys having reached 77
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military age, I was worried for them. I could see conscription as a viable option. I often joked there was no way they would be called up as I’d blow their toes off. From early 2002 the Prime Minister had imitated the United States vitriol aimed at Saddam Hussein. Months before Bali, the media had reported a shift in the sights of America’s leaders. Only two months into the Afghanistan campaign, in November 2001, Richard Butler, Australia’s then weapons inspector in Iraq, was reportedly warning it was apparent Iraq would be next. Five months into the Afghanistan campaign and despite the destruction of the country and deaths of his lieutenants, bin Laden had evaded death and eluded capture, while al Q’aeda remained almost as potent as it had been in September 2001. The United States had declared war, invaded a sovereign country in a retaliatory raid, caused countless deaths of innocent civilians, yet unbelievably the President no longer seemed interested in Osama bin Laden, the terrorist allegedly responsible for the the murder of 3000 innocent people on American soil. Holding a press conference on 13 March 2002, Bush said,‘I am deeply concerned about Iraq. And so should the American people . . . This is a nation run by a man who is willing to kill his own people . . . a man who’s obviously got something to hide. And he is a problem, and we’re going to deal with him.’ As to bin Laden, Bush said, ‘You know, I just don’t spend that much time on him . . . to be honest with you’. When the interviewer asked,‘But don’t 78
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you believe that the threat that bin Laden posed won’t truly be eliminated until he is found dead or alive?’, Bush replied, ‘I truly am not that concerned about him . . .’ But then it was obvious the Bush Administration was seeking any excuse to invade Iraq. Recently released documents disclose that the Republicans had been planning to do so for eight years or more. They had always held plans for the region. America’s economy depends on the region. A White Paper produced in 1996 clearly set out their future intentions. But what better timing for the Bush Administration to tackle Iraq? The military was on a war footing, and the public was still reeling, angry over September 11 and anxious to re-establish its pride. Despite the false denials it was equally obvious the Australian government would follow suit. By August and September, Afghanistan and the very reason for Australian military personnel’s presence had been overshadowed by increasing arguments that Iraq possessed weapons of mass destruction. Domestically, the government’s polices were now being re-evaluated more than ever. Prime Minister Howard would later protest,‘My government’s policies did not kill your son,’ but it was undeniable that government talk of a non-UN sanctioned assault on Iraq had clearly raised the barometer, adding certainty to the threat of Australian citizens becoming potential targets. Since 1998 when the Howard government first flexed its military muscle in East Timor, Australia had received recriminatory warnings from al Q’aeda. The head 79
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of the CIA had been warning in Washington that an attack on Iraq was dangerous. ASIO had warned that Australia’s profile had risen. Throughout winter, political observers who had been monitoring international events were alarmed at the direction the Prime Minister was heading. They were openly challenging the wisdom of joining a non-UN sanctioned, pre-emptive strike on Iraq. Just sixteen days before the Bali attack the Advertiser reported that nine of Australia’s most eminent former political and military leaders, including three former prime ministers and defence chiefs, felt compelled to publicly warn the Federal government of dire national consequences if Australia blindly followed the United States into Iraq: ‘It would constitute a failure of the duty of government to protect the integrity and ensure the security of our nation to commit any Australian forces in support of a US military offensive against Iraq without the backing of a specific United Nations Security Council resolution.’ • As a child Josh would often say, ‘I sleep at 39 but I live at 41.’ This was a reference to our street number and that of our neighbours, Tony and Lucy. Tony is a beautiful man, short and stout and with a strong Italian accent, having migrated from Forgia in his midtwenties. I have always required a minimum of three glasses of his red before I could fathom his English, but from the moment of Josh’s birth he was determined that Josh would 80
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learn his native Italian dialect. I was concerned he would only teach him broken English. Josh wasn’t quite two when Angela ran into our bedroom one day, distressed that he was missing. A search of his room confirmed that his window was slightly ajar. Running to the front yard, screaming Joshua’s name, brought an equally distressed Lucy scurrying outside. Moments later we were inside their house gazing on Josh, sound asleep in her bed, snuggling in close to Tony. Afterwards we determined that Josh had scaled the twometre dividing fence at 6.30 that morning and had knocked on their window, seeking entry. Assuming we were aware, they let him in. It was the beginning of a special bond that was to last his short life. • Josh’s memorial service was scheduled for the following Saturday, a week after the bombings, although there was little likelihood of him being returned before the weekend. It occurred to Angela and me that we didn’t know a priest. Although I had insisted all four children be baptised as Catholics, I could never boast of my own adherence to the church’s rules. Fasting as a child each Sunday morning, tormented by the smell of toast waiting to be devoured— but only after the service—had long since taken its toll, as had old priests asking inquisitive, personal and at times inappropriate questions in the confessional. 81
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David, one of my closest friends, knew a priest. It was embarrassing, for he knew many, yet he wasn’t a Catholic. Appreciating my cynical view of much of religion, he suggested someone who, in the circumstances, he felt would be the perfect person for the job. At noon, a tall, handsome man with dark, wavy hair strolled up the driveway. His face looked familiar but I didn’t know why. His designer clothes were no hint but his immediate smile was. I had known him as Peter since I was sixteen. He cannot now recall—he probably doesn’t wish to as it’s no doubt forbidden—but he won the heart of a girl I had pursued. That was so long ago and my jealousy of the man had long disappeared, locked in our former lives. I had no idea that Peter had become a priest, but he knew that I had lost a child. David was right. He was the perfect man for the job. On the morning of Saturday 19 October, Joshua’s service took place at Norwood in the same church, St Ignatius, where Angela and I had wed, and where Josh had been baptised. So many of the mourners had been guests at our wedding twenty-four years earlier. Josh hated two things more than anything else in life: being the focus of attention, and funerals. His absence on this occasion was something I felt certain he had planned. Not two years before I had seconded his help as a pallbearer for the last of my uncles. He remarked as we left the church that he couldn’t do it again. Funerals he said, were 82
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such an unhappy event. But without his body to bury, Angela and I decided the service should more appropriately be called a ‘celebration of his life’, acknowledging that meant at some future time we would assuredly mourn his death. To the strains of the Righteous Brothers’ ‘Unchained Melody’, I grasped Nick’s hand as we walked down the aisle. Memories of their childhood came flooding back . . . • I was thirty-two when the two boys begged me to take them to karate lessons. At the time I thought it a great idea as Josh was particularly shy and Nick wouldn’t remove his Spiderman suit. It seemed both could benefit. Josh might gain some confidence and Nick could dream he was the incarnation of the comic-book hero. What I hadn’t banked upon was that the instructors felt Nicholas, at the age of four, was a little young but would allow him to stay, if I joined in. A week later, punching the air and screaming at shadows, I felt like a wally standing in line with eight or more kids no taller than my waist, ever ready to duck at the first glimpse of someone I knew. The boys instantly loved the class but it took at least six months—doing the splits, tearing my hamstrings and having my rib cracked—before my embarrassment subsided. • As we rounded the church column I caught sight of the large white numbers ‘52’ sewn to the back his football jumper which was outstretched in front of the altar. His lonely 83
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football jumper tore at my heart. In his twenty-two years I had missed fewer than five of his games. Never again would I watch in unadulterated, undisguised pride as he took to the field. ‘ That’s my boy,’ I used to roar, to his embarrassment. Framing Josh’s jumper on the altar were artist’s easels waiting to display our favourite photos of him, each depicting a special moment in his life. My favourite, taken just the previous year, was of Josh with Stuart and Adrian at their university graduation. Once we had placed the photos on the easels we stood back. A jumper without the player, photos of a boy to whom I would never again speak. I felt strange, hopelessly confused. As I turned, I caught sight of the boys who had been with him that night. Stuart, Adrian and the boys from Sturt . . . Standing before the congregation I paused. All manner of thoughts raced through my head. I couldn’t help but wonder if this moment might be premature. It seemed so inappropriate to speak of him as dead when impossible images of him were constantly gnawing at me. What if by faint chance he was still alive? His death was no longer confirmed. What if the bankcard had fallen from his pocket in the turmoil? What if he was lying in a hospital, unable to talk, unable to be identified, unable to call, terrified? • It was mid-season when I met Angela at Unley oval. From the grandstand there is a panoramic view of the beautiful 84
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Adelaide Hills which cradle the city. Sturt was playing South Adelaide and Josh was roaming the back lines mopping up any loose ball. He stumbled as he handballed to a mate clearing the ball to centre field. An opposing player struck out with his elbow as Joshua’s head was low. Josh lurched backwards and he hit the ground. He didn’t move. Trainers ran from every angle. For moments he, Angela and I remained motionless. An eternity passed before we could see the slightest movement in his legs. Taken down to the change rooms he was laid on the barouche, surrounded by medical staff. When I entered the door, his eyes were darting from side to side canvassing the room, searching for a familiar face. A clear expression of relief appeared as I moved next to him. He smiled up at me while I stood beside him, stroking his head. He had been hurt and was concussed and confused. But he was no longer alone. • Towards the end of the service, Nicholas, guitar in hand, approached the altar and sang Joshua’s favourite, Counting Crows’ ‘Mr Jones’. It drew resounding applause, something I had not, in this type of circumstance, previously experienced. His second song, which he had penned the previous night, Patrick accompanying him on guitar, brought a standing ovation from the twelve hundred people present. Distracted, I was momentarily dispossessed of my grief. 85
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‘I NEED YOU’ I guess we all sit down to pray And remember you in our own way But a few things that I need to say And I’ll say them to you every day. This is not an easy thing to do But I think as long as you’re with me I think I might pull through. We won’t try to hide our feelings And we’ll remember the man that you became. Chorus I need you To help me through and show me What I’m meant to do I need you. You know that this is true, and I also know You need me too. I need you. I know that you have floated away, But I’ll see you some other day And we’ll share memories once again, Long talks of childhood and our transition Into men.
I know that you have floated away, but I’ll see you some other day . . . Angela and I later decided that these two lines should appear on Joshua’s headstone. 86
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8 Ju st bring him home Just bring him home
‘What I tell you three times is true.’ L EWIS C ARROLL
n entire week passed. Angela Golotta’s body was due to be brought home but there was no news of Josh’s expected arrival. Joe, Angela’s uncle, needlessly distressed at the thought he was letting me down, rang in advance of his niece’s return, apologising for leaving Joshua in Bali, reassuring me he had left him in the care of someone he could trust. My brother Philip, acknowledging my pathological fear of flying, offered to go to Bali but I refused, pleading with him that I would never forgive myself if another attack was to occur. In any event I had been led to believe Josh would
A
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be home soon, given that the Australian doctors had now taken some control. Bob Marshall’s sons had arrived in Bali to search for their father. I spoke with Bob’s son David, who could only confirm what I had heard before: Bali was in turmoil. David and his brothers still held hope, faint hope, they would find their father alive. I wished them well. Later that week we spoke again. Bob was confirmed dead. He had died doing what he had done for most of his life, what Bob loved best: keeping watch over his boys from Sturt. ‘I’ve Been to Bali Too’, a song written in the 1980s and sung by the Australian band Redgum, was definitely an Australian truism. Bali was a shock that reverberated across the country. Few could believe the tragedy had occurred in Australia’s tropical playground. Something had gone wrong. Gossip and anecdotal stories surfaced, along with leaked intelligence. Reporters, many of whom had no doubt visited, or contemplated visiting, the island themselves, placed the government under the microscope and gave every indication of keeping up the pressure. Government ministers were faced with fending off a never-ending chorus of damning allegations. ‘Did authorities do enough to warn tourists of the danger?’ asked journalist Samantha Maiden in the Advertiser. Concurrently, the government and its intelligence agencies were on trial. From day one the media launched a twopronged attack. Either the intelligence agencies were not up 88
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to the task of protecting Australians in time of war, or they were, but the government hadn’t heeded its own intelligence material and failed to warn potential tourists of the dangers of travelling to the region. On 15 October, Minister for Defence Robert Hill admitted, ‘Australia failed to predict the Bali bombings despite substantially boosting its intelligence and anti-terrorist capabilities.’ Days later Maiden wrote:‘The Worldwide Caution Alert posted a day before the Bali blast, and warning of terrorist attacks targeting westerners at clubs and restaurants, is chilling in retrospect.’ The alert was based upon a recent audiotape from al Q’aeda warning of attacks on soft targets. The alert, which directed travellers from the United States to that country’s own recently upgraded bulletin, warned of threats to nightclubs, bars and other places where ex-patriots might gather. The Australian government followed suit and released the alert on the Internet on 11 October 2002. Maiden then raised the question that has so often been asked: ‘Who amongst the victims would have thought to check a US government website, or even take the advice as relevant to Bali, a Hindu stronghold in the archipelago, regarded as a world away from the violence found in other parts of Indonesia?’ The same day, a senior Australian official was quoted in the Daily Telegraph as saying, ‘the government had been deeply concerned for months that something nasty would happen’, yet another senior source slammed Indonesia, accusing it of 89
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ignoring warnings about the terrorist threat.‘Numerous people have spoken to them about taking it seriously.’ The media was questioning the Australian government’s own responsibility. Had the Australian government taken the threats seriously? Each day brought a multitude of accusations that Australia’s intelligence agencies had been warned of an ‘impending’ terrorist attack. The Washington Post reported that ‘US intelligence officials said they intercepted communications in late September signaling a strike on a western tourist site. Bali was mentioned in the US intelligence report, officials said’. The ABC’s Linda Mottram interviewed David Kaplan, head investigative journalist at US News and World Report, who said: . . . what we can confirm to the best of our sources is before the attack in Bali there were conversations among JI operatives, Jemaah Islamiah, the Indonesian group widely suspected of the attack. There were conversations that were picked up by Australian intelligence talking about hitting Australians in the region . . . Australia is the nation that has the listening post, that has the linguistics and the location to do the kind of intelligence gathering in that part of the world that the United States can’t do . . . 90
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I think we saw that in East Timor and it wouldn’t surprise me that we’re seeing it again with the attack in Bali. Now if you’re talking about Indonesia, really you’re talking about Bali.
In Australia on 17 October, News Limited revealed an email written on 27 August by Australia’s Defence Security Authority advisor Keith Wilson to military staff travelling to the region: A number of personnel have advised me of their intentions to travel to Indonesia . . . Bali was specifically raised as a common destination by many. Current intel. suggests that a heightened state of alert exists in western interests, with Australian citizens among the intended targets. August and September are nominated periods for concern. The assessment however is fragmented, uncorroborated and of unknown credibility. What raises the level of concern is the apparent high number of reports.
An article published in South Australia’s Sunday Mail on 20 October 2002 reported that Alexander Downer was downplaying the Defence Department email, telling the journalist that ‘he believed the email from security adviser Keith Wilson was . . . drawing defence personnel’s attention 91
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to the general warnings regarding travel in Indonesia, including Bali’. At the time I was puzzled. Precisely what warnings had been given by the government to anyone? The Minister may have been referring to the Jakarta Embassy bulletin, but that didn’t mention Bali and there had certainly been no Australian-based warnings that mentioned Bali. The Minister swiftly sidestepped the media’s inquisition by changing the subject:‘the Government’s focus will now turn to identifying victims and the return of their remains to Australia.’ From every quarter there was criticism. Complaints of incompetent, incorrect travel advisories. Suggestions that foreign countries—in particular, the United States—had issued better, more appropriate bulletins and travel advice, not only to their nationals but to their allies. Stung by the sheer magnitude of the disaster, stung by the allegations of incompetence, and seeking to sedate a terrified public, on 14 October the Prime Minister confirmed, ‘As a result of this, we will review everything.’ Following the September 11 disaster, the Americans initiated a broad and searching investigation, its findings delivered almost two years later, at a cost running into millions of dollars. United States Congressmen called for a wide ranging cultural and structural change within the intelligence agencies. The attack on American soil had been the greatest intelligence failure since the attack by the Japanese at Pearl 92
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Harbor. President Bush accepted his country’s vulnerability and immediately installed a new office for Homeland Security. In the aftermath of the Bali tragedy, the British followed suit, placing their security agencies under considerable scrutiny. A parliamentary inquiry concluded there were substantial deficiencies in Britain’s intelligence performance, particularly in the adequacy of its travel warnings. By comparison, Howard’s government had little intention of opening itself to review. It was now public knowledge that the terrorist group JI had become heated and had planned attacks against western targets in and around Indonesia. As far back as 9 November 2001, ASIO had alerted the government that Australia, and by implication Australians, were potential targets. What hadn’t been widely known but was now publicly acknowledged for the first time was that tourists visiting Bali were potential terrorist targets. On 16 October John Howard circumspectly told Parliament,‘I have been informed by the relevant intelligence agencies that the only possible relevant reference to Bali in recent intelligence reporting was its inclusion, along with a number of other tourist and cultural locations across Indonesia, for possible terrorist activity against the United States tourists.’ Whether Howard had been properly briefed is a matter of conjecture, but his statement wasn’t the complete truth. Downer was equally evasive. He offhandedly threw Bali in among a number of targets included in intelligence risk 93
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assessments, the implication being that Bali wasn’t specifically singled out. The probability that Australian tourists were unlikely to visit the other sites identified by intelligence sources was ignored. The simple and undeniable fact was that Bali had been named as a potentially dangerous zone, which was quite incompatible with the eleven consecutive travel advisories issued by the Department of Foreign Affairs. In his address to Parliament on 17 October, Alexander Downer continued in his department’s defence: ‘The point here is that this threat was not only non-specific and broadbased across Indonesia but also, importantly, contingent upon the arrest of certain individuals. Of course, those arrests did not occur and have not occurred.’ What Mr Downer chose to publicly ignore at that moment was the fact that the principal ‘certain individual’ to whom he was referring was the cleric Abu Bakar Bashir. What the Minister also omitted was the fact that it had been decided for some time by the Indonesian government that Bashir was to be arrested on charges of treason and attempted murder. Weeks before, the Americans had given the Indonesians details of al Faruq’s confession which had implicated the cleric in the crimes with which he was later charged. The reason for this delay was the Indonesian government’s reluctance to increase the likelihood of civil unrest by Bashir’s followers. On 19 October, Bashir was arrested in his bed at Solo Hospital on charges unrelated to Bali. Josh should have been 94
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on his holiday that day. He was in Bali, no longer on vacation but in a morgue. The question which now begged an answer following the Minister’s statement was obvious: given that Bashir was arrested so soon after the explosions, and that the government was aware of his impending arrest, when had the government proposed ‘advising’ travellers that Bali was potentially unsafe? The combined effect of the various allegations pointed to a disregard for the welfare of travellers. Confronted by a hostile media which referred to damning allegations from intelligence sources outside the government’s sphere, the government switched into damage control. Stealing a scene from Shakespeare and playing the pathetic role of parties wrongly accused, the Prime Minister and Downer cried foul: ‘ . . . and of course, if anyone had known about it in advance, then in our case we would have moved heaven and earth to ensure that Australians were nowhere near Bali and particularly that part of Bali.’ This retort by the Minister for Foreign Affairs to the Parliament on 17 October 2002 was one to be used by the government time and again. Within days, the Prime Minister’s promised response to Bali appeared to have altered. His willingness (if there had ever been any) to allow for a broad examination of the intelligence material evaporated. In comparison to the British and United States inquiries, on 16 October the Prime Minister appointed the Inspector-General of Intelligence, General Bill Blick, to undertake what appeared—and no 95
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doubt was intended—to be the only investigation to be held by the government. It would appear this Howard government dislikes scrutiny. I see this being repeated in the wake of Iraq. Despite no weapons of mass destruction having been found, despite the admissions by United States Secretary of State Colin Powell that in all probability they never existed, Howard has insisted that it is too early to draw a conclusion: ‘The jury is still out.’ What’s to hide? At the time of the Bali bombing, I presumed at the very least, with ninety-one Australians killed and hundreds more injured, the government would call for a royal commission. I agreed with Labor’s spokesman for Foreign Affairs, Kevin Rudd, that such an horrific and successful assault against Australians, and the likelihood of more attacks, demanded an immediate investigation of every aspect of the intelligence cycle, from collection agencies to the analytical and assessment departments. It was essential to examine the dissemination processes, initially by the intelligence sources and subsequently by the government. Such an investigation was warranted not only to identify the information possessed by the intelligence sources but, in view of further potential attacks, what information they didn’t possess and, more importantly, why they didn’t. Warren Reed, a former Australian intelligence officer, published an article in the Australian on 18 Ocober 2002 calling for a royal commission: ‘. . . the US provided vital warning signals that we failed to heed . . . The commissioner 96
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should be an Australian widely respected in the community and not beholden to Canberra . . . A Royal Commission into our intelligence failure is the least we can do to honour the 200-odd Australians and other foreigners who lost their lives in Bali last weekend.’ But on 17 October, addressing Parliament, Alexander Downer gave an insight into the Australian government’s proposed inquiry:‘. . . as the Prime Minister said yesterday— and, I think very sensibly—all the intelligence material is being referred to the Inspector-General of Intelligence and he will obviously examine the material to see whether the intelligence community and my department have responded appropriately.’ One can gauge the proposed depth of the investigation by looking at the resources the government offered. In September 2003, Blick was giving evidence before the Senate reference committee investigating security threats to Australians in Southeast Asia. Senator Kirk questioned the Inspector-General about the operation of the investigation he undertook on the government’s behalf: ‘I am wondering about the process or methodology for this supervision . . . Were staff involved in overseeing the searches?’ Blick replied, ‘Staff and me . . .’ The answer seemed an appropriate response. Logically one might expect a team of investigators headed by the Inspector-General. But the following question and answer was what I had suspected from the start. 97
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‘How many staff were involved in supervising the searches?’ Blick responded: ‘We have a very small office. There was effectively me and one other person involved in it.’ One man with his staff of one, commissioned by the government to review thousands of documents, intelligence data, interdepartmental memos, records and telephone intercepts held in the files of more than six separate intelligence agencies comprising thousands of employees, including ASIO, ONA, ASIS, the Federal Police and DFAT, and presumably covering a time span of many months. One can gauge the breadth of the inquiry by Blick’s evidence before the Senate on 24 September 2003. Its terms of reference were in complete contradiction to what the Prime Minister and Alexander Downer had said in their parliamentary speeches: Mr Blick: I was asked to establish whether there was any information that warned of the attack in Bali. That was the inquiry I conducted . . . What I was not doing, as I said before, was an efficiency audit of the agencies . . . . . . As you will see if you look at paragraph 3 of the report, DFAT travel advisories were not within my terms of reference. Therefore I had not made a study of them, so therefore I do not have a view . . . 98
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Senator Bob Brown: But surely the question is not whether Bali could have been excised from [any] assessment of Indonesia in general but why on earth it was not specifically taken up as a matter of great importance to Australians because of the concentration of Australians there and the concentration of bars and nightclubs which Australians frequented. Mr Blick: That is a good question but it is not one you should be asking me. Senator Brown: But why didn’t you ask the agencies?
On 11 December 2002, during Parliamentary question time, Kevin Rudd, directed the government’s attention back to Bali. The Prime Minister had tabled the Blick report. As far as the government was concerned, it was content to close the books and concentrate on the invasion of Iraq. Addressing his question to Alexander Downer, Kevin Rudd asked, ‘Is the Minister also aware of concerns raised in the media, including me, both last night and this morning concerning the scope of the terms of reference of the Blick inquiry? . . . Minister, will you now commission a properly constituted independent inquiry into the adequacy of your travel advice to the Australian public for the 12 months prior to 12 October?’ Downer replied:‘My answer to the honourable member’s question is that, following an examination of the Blick report on the question of whether the government had any 99
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information relating to an attack in Bali prior to the Bali bombing on 12 October, I think the Blick report is perfectly clear. As the Prime Minister and I in particular have said, both in this House and elsewhere, the government did not have any information that was not reflected in travel advisories and, therefore, the Bali attack was not reflected in the travel advisories . . .’ The Minister’s response was premised on an argument which was patently absurd. The terrorists themselves hadn’t decided on the date. The implication of Downer’s position was that the government’s responsibility was limited to issuing a warning only if the government had received certain knowledge the attack was to occur on the twelfth. That ignored the point that the attack may have occurred on the eleventh, as was later suggested during the trial of one of the accused, or for that matter in the following week. Blick’s inquiry was designed from the outset to be superficial. The Federal government held the privileged position of stating the case, selecting the allegations, defending them and acquitting itself. As the InspectorGeneral of Intelligence and Security duly reported: ‘The inquiry’s conclusion, therefore . . . is that there was no intelligence warning of the attack . . . I do not believe any recommendations are necessary.’ • I was granted three and a half weeks of paid leave to recover and bury my son, relieving me temporarily of the 100
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requirement to sit, listen, investigate and adjudicate on all manner of crimes from serious assaults and burglaries to the less serious traffic offences, from civil actions such as $80 000 claims for injuries sustained in car accidents to deciding the height, colour and texture of adjoining fences in neigbourhood disputes. These small claims were especially trying. There would be times when I considered my future, and times when I thought I would scream: Plaintiff: Magistrate: Plaintiff: Magistrate: Plaintiff: Magistrate: Defendant: Plaintiff: Magistrate: Plaintiff:
The defendant will not return the pigeons I lent him. How many are there? There are now 27, the 13 I lent him and the 14 babies he has bred. Can you identify them? Yes, the first is registered as 96733300, the second as 96— Have you thought about going halves? That is what I suggested to the plaintiff, your honour. But that will be unfair, half of 27 is 13 and who will have the extra bird? I’ve got an idea. It’s almost lunchtime. Let’s have a barbecue. I love quail. That’s not very funny, your honour.
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hurt, loss and grievances to be investigated, and where humanly possible for the truth to be exposed. At the same time, the government was setting in place an inquiry that was never intended to establish the truth and definitely not to uncover any failings in government agencies. • Since Joshua’s death I now pause before entering the driveway. It is 7 pm, almost dusk, and I’ve walked the half-mile to what was, for such a short while, Joshua’s home. A timeless abode, an Australian bungalow built in the mid 1920s. Tormented for decades by the unforgiving elements, the roof ’s cladding is terminally ill, having long ago succumbed to cancerous rust. Tired, leaning, miserably askew, the verandah begs the decaying posts for some elusive support. But the plane trees stand firm. Although stooped by age, they shroud the home, shading the boys who now visit it from the summer sun’s rays. I am overcome with a sense of impropriety, unfairness. Images of what should have been, Josh and his friends, repeatedly appear. For this is the house I had purchased with Joshua only the previous year. Our intention to create his home. His dream, my dream, our dream. Joshua shouldn’t be lying where he does, alone. He should be here, now, working alongside me as he promised he would on his return from his holiday. 102
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I look around. I look for Nick. He’s with his mates, squatting on the couch, dressed simply in shorts. They’re on holidays from study, summer holidays, beers in their hands, chatting, thankfully laughing as twenty-year-olds do. It was always appropriate that I passed the house over to Nicholas. An unexpected, premature gift from his brother. And I pray that in the future, he too will develop an interest in renovation, to work alongside me. It can be his home, his dream, my dream, our dream. Yet for now the house still stands, the roof leaks miserably, and the uneven floors will continue to creak. And Josh lies alone, twenty-two years and no more. • Five days before Joshua’s death was finally confirmed, Eloise called from her friend’s home complaining of cramps in her lower abdomen. Assuming her pain simply mirrored her nightmares, we put her to bed, distressed and disorientated. Virginia lay next to her stroking her head. Elly possessed all the outward appearances of coping with the tragedy. Tears flowed intermittently but her devotion was directed to me. Late nights, lying on the couch, unable to sleep, watching for updates, waiting for news, had extracted their toll. Most nights she knelt beside me gently massaging my back or stroking my head in the vain hope it would induce rest. She seldom asked but always knew where my thoughts were. My selfish mistake was not asking where her thoughts were taking her. Had she penned her poem at 103
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that time, and had I read it, I might have gained some insight into what was happening to her, insight that my lack of communication kept hidden from me. Josh I was always a happy person, until this day came along. I would scream and shout, and party all night long. I would smile in the morning, and still in the afternoon. But now it’s all changed, but I hope to see him soon. My brother had gone away, on a ten day vacation. He had only just left me, and this is the way it will stay. I wonder why he was the one to be taken from the crowd. I want him to come back, he can’t, the evil is done. He was always so kind to me, funny and smart too. Why did this have to happen? This tragedy hurt my family too. I know he wants us to be happy, to remember him so well. We will never forget his smile, and in my mind he will stay.
At eleven thirty that night I passed by her room. The silence was broken by the unusual sound of sobbing. Elly appeared to be asleep but her body was writhing. I cuddled in close, whispering to her, reassuring her that Josh would be home soon, but she didn’t hear. I called for Virginia. Elly’s body was on fire. It was after midnight but I telephoned her friend’s father, a doctor, who suggested as a precautionary measure that we take her to hospital. With her temperature close to 41 degrees the 104
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hospital admitted her immediately but the staff were unable to identify the cause of her pain. Suspicion of a rupturing appendix was countered by a provisional diagnosis of glandular fever. Tests proved inconclusive, inhibiting any decision to operate. Eloise was seldom ill and rarely complained, but given her very high temperature I was unprepared for a debate and insisted upon the presence of a specialist. The thought of losing my only daughter when my eldest son was ‘missing’ was dragging me closer to the edge. I hesitantly accepted the advice of the hospital staff, who suggested she be kept under strict observation, and agreed to wait for the morning and the presence of a surgeon, my bed for the night an old recliner. The following morning, the surgeon arrived. His mere presence, combined with his advice that he was an ex-Sturt footballer, was a welcome relief. He determined that the abdominal pain required action and arranged for an appendicectomy. Mid-week as I was leaving home for the hospital, I received a call from the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade. Repeating advice I had previously been given, the woman said,‘The Federal Police have recently supplied a list of items that could aid in their investigations. The first thing they require is that you, or better still your son’s mother, give a sample of blood for DNA testing.’ ‘We gave a sample of DNA to the state police over a week ago. What has happened to that?’ Ignoring my question, 105
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she said,‘I am unaware of that sample but they (the Federal Police) require a blood sample.’ ‘That’s ridiculous. The sample we’ve given should have been in Bali by now and undergoing the screening procedures. Where is it?’ ‘Blood testing is the preferred option,’ she replied,‘and is more reliable, so we are seeking a sample of blood, preferably from your son’s mother.’ ‘I can assure you,’ I said, ‘I have experience with DNA profiling. It doesn’t matter what type of samples are used. We are not giving another sample until you tell me what you have done with the first. I am not putting his mother through any unnecessary torture! All I wish to know is when he is coming back so that I can inform his mother.’ She said, ‘If you are refusing to give the sample I’ll have to report your attitude.’ Holding back tears, I replied, ‘Report me to whom?’ I sat back. I felt like the accused. I pleaded, ‘Just tell me what happened to the buccal sample taken a week ago, why hasn’t it been tested?’ Ignoring my question she said, ‘Have you anything with your son’s fingerprints on it?’ I replied, ‘I doubt it. Most things have been washed or touched by others. I really can’t think of anything offhand.’ She then asked if I would give permission for the police experts to undertake a forensic examination of our home in search of fingerprint evidence. 106
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‘Cut it out,’ I said. ‘There have been over a thousand people moving through our home in the last week, some from across the world. How on earth could the police determine which print belonged to whom? Anyway, can you confirm Josh has any fingers left from which to take a print?’ She didn’t answer but requested I supply either his toothbrush or hairbrush, both of which were still in Bali as might be expected. Prior to concluding our conversation, I asked: ‘Can you inform me as to whether the procedures will delay Josh’s return by a matter of days or is it more likely to be a matter of weeks?’ ‘I can’t be very specific. In all likelihood it could be a matter of days or it could be a matter of weeks.’ I said, ‘That’s my question, not the answer.’ I put the phone down, kicked the nearest stool and sat back and cried. The situation was out of my control. I had never been predisposed to unnecessary quarrelling and now questioned my assertiveness, questioned my sense of guilt. I had supplied his dental records within two days of the blast and yet the police had seemed unaware of this days later. I had supplied a sample of DNA when asked and the police seemed unaware of this a week later. At the time the relevant authorities excused their confusion on the basis of the sheer magnitude of the problem. More recently they have excused their confusion on the basis that such a 107
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catastrophe has never before occurred and therefore they suffered from inexperience. As for those directly involved, I could sympathise with their plight. I have the utmost admiration for the teams of soldiers and aircrew, the doctors and nurses and officers within the Department of Foreign Affairs who in the most difficult of circumstances worked tirelessly and fearlessly to bring home the injured, the dying and, ultimately, the dead. I have little admiration for our leaders, who apparently gave no prior thought to such an event occurring, especially in light of the forthcoming war. The department never responded to my questions but, as it turned out, I was right. There was nothing to fingerprint and nothing left to compare. Ironically, the final decision to release his body was not based on DNA. • In the weeks following Joshua’s memorial, Patrick kept alight an outdoor fire and Josh’s friends called by unannounced for a drink or chat. With each fresh log thrown on the fire, the burning embers erupted, sending thousands of fireflies spiralling upwards to Josh. And we reminisced about the good times and the bad. Two of the boys who had been with Joshua in the club tearfully recalled a moment they had all been in the Balinese hotel pool. With just five hours to live, Josh, standing waist deep in the water, looked over and called to his mates, ‘Guys, life won’t get much better than this.’ 108
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Nearly three weeks had passed. It was Friday afternoon when two police officers arrived as Patrick and I sat by the open fire. The uncomfortable look on the senior officer’s face as he approached, fumbling with an electronic notepad, gave some forecast of their mission. We stood to greet them, waiting for the inevitable, but the more senior officer appeared unable to operate the notepad. I felt so sorry for him. Sensing embarrassment on his behalf I broke the awkward silence by asking him, ‘Are you trying to tell me that my son Joshua is dead?’ He nodded, ‘Yes, his death has been confirmed and his body identified.’ For the second time I was informed that my firstborn child was dead. But on this occasion it was different. It was something I had anticipated. In an awkward way it was something I needed. No longer would I lie awake reliving the explosion, grasping at false hopes. My family ached for some form of closure. Although it was the advice we had come to expect, it nonetheless remained the advice that we dreaded. It was final. I found myself unable to stand. With Virginia at work, Eloise in hospital, Nick at university, and Angela and Peter back at their home, it was Patrick, my eleven-year-old son, who would lend support. The police officers, satisfied that I could be left in Patrick’s care, handed me a note from the Department of Foreign Affairs. It had the phone numbers of officers in Canberra to contact in respect to Joshua’s repatriation. Distressed, yet 109
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oddly at peace, I sat, unable to concentrate—vaguely I recall Patrick dialling Canberra on my behalf. Paddy left me for a few moments to sit alone by the fire, accepting that I was immersed in my own thoughts. Ten minutes later he sensed the time was right and returned, with a beer for me in one hand and a Coke for him. ‘Dad, let’s have a toast to Josh.’ ‘To Josh, a beautiful son, a beautiful brother!’
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9 Dear Prime Minister Dear Prime Minister
‘The use of force alone is but temporary; it may subdue for a moment; but it does not remove the necessity of subduing again; and a nation is not governed which is perpetually to be conquered.’ E DMUND B URKE , 1775, ON
CONCILIATION WITH
A MERICA
loise was in recovery following the removal of her appendix but acute glandular fever arrested any thought of her returning home. With my son now confirmed dead and my daughter in hospital, I yearned for some peace. I wanted to curl up somewhere, alone. But the business of keeping my family together meant that would have to wait. As I sat on her hospital bed, I received a phone call with ‘good news’. Joshua’s body could now be returned to Australia. But such belated news which would be so welcomed by his
E
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mother was immediately neutralised by the caller’s next comment: the government was unable to nominate a time or a date for his arrival as they were experiencing difficulties in ‘booking’ him on a flight from Bali. ‘The government has requested that Qantas bring the bodies to Australia as the Australian air force doesn’t have the same experience.’ Before I could scream she continued,‘Qantas can only accommodate two coffins per flight and so it may take a few days.’ I mused to myself that if the imminent war in Iraq was to move forward then our air force could do with some experience. I returned to Eloise and cuddled her until she fell asleep. • When Joshua was completing university and Nicholas commencing his tertiary studies, the issue of either or both of them entering business came to the fore. Over the course of a beer we frequently discussed the best means of ensuring a profitable enterprise. It was on more than one occasion that I bored them with a one-sided discourse on the need to observe the face, and in particular the eyes, of potential associates. As Shakespeare wrote,‘False face must hide what false heart doth know’. In discussions with colleagues I had argued the dubious merits of determining even the simplest of matters by nonpersonal communication, for apart from the obvious fact that you cannot be sure to whom you are speaking, you can never be sure of any semblance of sincerity. 112
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Following Bali, the leaders of the ‘coalition of the willing’ continued their efforts to persuade their unreceptive electorates that Iraq possessed weapons of mass destruction (WOMD). Their assertions were based on ‘irrefutable evidence’. That stated position was almost as deceitful as the twin assertion that no final decision had been made on the invasion of Iraq. Hans Blix, the UN’s chief weapons inspector, had reported that he could find neither WOMD nor evidence to support Iraq’s assertion that it had destroyed its stockpile. But that, he emphasised, did not imply that Iraq still possessed them. Late one night I watched British Prime Minister Tony Blair on the BBC. Intellectually gifted, a politician with the ability to deflect and deliver, he braved his nemesis—ordinary members of the British public asking ordinary questions, seated but a few feet away. Of the three coalition leaders he was the only leader to do this. It may very well explain why the American Congress later voted him to receive ‘ The Congressional Gold’, whilst Howard’s award was a sizeable T-bone with a one-night stay at Crawford, Bush’s Texan ranch. But even Blair was out of his depth. His answers were almost inaudible, and as he spoke, his face took on a hopeful appearance. His natural smile, betrayed by the surrounding muscles, had been replaced by a forced grin. His shuffling hands, forever seeking something meaningful to do, constantly stretched the material of his shrinking collar. 113
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Blair had been seduced by the arguments for war, in betrayal of his humanitarian spirit, yet wasn’t comfortable with his stated position. He couldn’t convince his audience that Iraq hadn’t complied with UN Resolution 1441. He didn’t convince the audience that the war had less to do with energy resources than it was to do with terrorism. His audience was aware of the US recession. His audience was aware that the price of oil had risen from US$11 a barrel in 1999 to US$20 in 2002 and was likely to increase to US$30 in the coming months. Putting aside his own personal persuasion, he knew only too well that he had no logical argument with which to convince his audience. He couldn’t explain why countries such as Israel, Syria, Russia and France, all of which possessed weapons of mass destruction, were, at that point, considered morally balanced, while Iraq was morally bankrupt. And the Prime Minister was never asked why it was permissible for the United States and England to possess their own arsenal of horrors to the exclusion of others. While he was adopting the moral high ground he was never called to explain if the leaders of the ‘coalition of the willing’ were so fearful of Saddam Hussein having such weapons, why had Britain and America supplied them to his regime in the first instance? In 1994 a US Senate committee heard evidence that between 1985 and 1989 American companies had been exporting deadly biological 114
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material and carcinogens, including anthrax and botulinus toxins, to Iraq. It was during the war between Iraq and Iran that the United States, Great Britain and others had supplied Hussein with every imaginable weapon, including the ability to use chemical warfare on the Iranian military. From time to time the United States realigned their satellites for such purposes. It didn’t matter then that Hussein was murdering his own people. He was, after all, a satanic figure serving the national interests of those western nations. Blair was prepared to openly debate the issues. Bush and Howard were content to create headlines such as ‘ This man is killing his own people, he’s prepared to gas innocent civilians’, then resurrect and rely on old footage of atrocities to make their point. Perhaps the leaders were reluctant to open up the debate because they realised there was no moral high ground. Whether it be in war or in peace, for political or scientific gain, no government has the right to use such revolting measures against anyone, let alone their own people. But Hussein was in good company. Apart from the most obvious—Agent Orange, one of the deadliest known carcinogens used in Vietnam—the United States had encouraged a number of countries to follow suit, such as South Africa against the blacks. And it wasn’t just foreign countries that endured the pain. William Blum’s research exposes that through the 1950s and 1960s the US military had been engaging in the most cynical, 115
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horrific experiments, releasing bio-germs and radioactive material over the unsuspecting populations of various American cities.* They included the San Francisco Bay area in late September 1950, Minneapolis in 1953, Maryland in 1953 and 1969. In 1950, according to Blum, the army used aircraft and homing pigeons to drop turkey feathers dusted with cereal rust spores to contaminate crops. It proved that a cereal rust epidemic could successfully be used in biological warfare. Great Britain and Australia have acted no less inappropriately. Following World War I, Britain had colonised Iraq, after all, and Winston Churchill argued for ‘gassing the uncivilised tribes’ in the face of dissent. Britain and Australia have often combined, too often using unsuspecting Australian soldiers as human guinea pigs, as happened with the atomic testing near Maralinga in the far north of South Australia. There was never an apology, nor compensation for the cancerous deaths among those who were there. In 1987 Bridget Goodwin, a reporter from the ABC’s 7.30 Report, uncovered and traced one of Australia’s dark secrets—so dark, so secret, that the Canberra file, titled ‘Number of servicemen who died as a result of poison gas tests during WWII’, remains classified. Brook Island, off the
*
Rogue State: A guide to the world’s only superpower, 2002, and Killing Hope: US military and CIA intervention since World War II, 2003, both published by Courage Press, Monroe, Maine.
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coast of Queensland, was the setting for British and Australian experiments in chemical warfare in the mid 1940s. Hundreds of unsuspecting young Australian volunteers unwittingly took part in those tests. Thousands of loyal Australians took part in other tests. Despite the deaths, despite the lifelong agony experienced by those men, successive Australian governments have continued to deny the very existence of the experiments. • The government seemed more concerned about—certainly it was more prepared for—the invasion of Iraq than assisting the families, the survivors, the first casualties of our global war on terror. A letter dated 5 November arrived from the Federal government advising that as a result of the anticipated confusion in dealing with a multitude of government departments, a family liaison officer would soon be appointed to each family. In the interim, the government would meet the costs of Joshua’s repatriation together with a $5000 contribution towards the funeral expenses. Joshua had pre-paid his flight home, but I would accept the $5000 and await contact from our liaison officer. Angela had been asking me on a daily basis whether the Federal Police had located Josh’s personal belongings, including $500 cash left in his hotel room and an engraved watch and necklace, gifts from his girlfriend Kristy on his twentieth birthday. I suspected what might have happened, 117
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but I couldn’t tell her that I thought our son’s body had been robbed. I’m sure it was exhaustion that clouded my thoughts and pummelled my emotions, but I had reached the stage when I no longer sought the return of his body. Joshua’s soul had moved on and his remains no longer represented for me the beautiful son I had embraced just three weeks before. Struggling to cope was becoming increasingly difficult. Physically drained, the thought of a second funeral for the same child was a process I doubted I could endure. The following morning I received yet another call, this time inquiring as to whether I would like to meet Josh’s coffin at the airport when it arrived. Having been told of the horrible mix-up experienced by Bob Marshall’s grieving family, who were left standing on the tarmac when the airline confused the flights, I refused. I told the caller that our funeral director would attend on our behalf as I knew his body was to be immediately transported to the Coroner’s office and from there to the funeral parlour. • I had always respected the protocols restricting judicial officers from entering into political debate, thus I refrained from commenting publicly on matters of foreign affairs prior to October, and was initially hesitant post-Bali. But apart from my consternation with the government’s shallow Blick inquiry, what lifted my head from my self-indulgence was the discussion I had with one of Josh’s team-mates, a lifelong 118
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friend who had been with him in the Sari Club. He tearfully told me that he and others were being advised to ‘move on’, ‘get over it’ and ‘put it behind’ them. He said he couldn’t and probably never would. Why, he asked, were others who had never experienced such horror-making demands of him that were impossible to meet? It was the last straw. I was sitting under the shade of our wattle tree drafting a letter to the Prime Minister when a friend—I’ll call him Simon—walked up the drive carrying a six-pack of beer. As he sat down I started to read the letter aloud: ‘Dear Prime Minister, I am writing to you in relation to my late son Joshua, a beautiful young boy aged 22, who along—’ Simon interrupted me: ‘Brian, what is it that you want to achieve?’ ‘Justice!’ I replied. ‘Simply justice. I expect somebody to properly investigate all the circumstances leading up to Joshua’s murder. I want to know why, in a time of war, the government did not act to ensure the security of these people. I want to know precisely what warnings the government did receive to determine for myself if they acted appropriately. And I want the government to properly care for these people, many of whom, through no fault of their own, have been maimed for life.’ ‘Damn the government, stuff Blick’s inquiry!’ I responded to Simon’s comment that the government had called for a report from Bill Blick. I knew it was to be a whitewash. Because of its limited terms of reference, it couldn’t be 119
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anything but, and I also knew the government would use the report as a means of closing off all other investigations. It wouldn’t be the first time the Howard government had deceived the electorate. It happened in the ‘children overboard’ affair and in the subsequent Senate Select Committee into a certain Martime Incident when the responsible government ministers and their advisors refused to appear as witnesses. • Politicians are entitled to change their minds. But when they change their principles, some explanation is necessary, hence my decision to write directly to the Prime Minister, despite the warning of my friend Simon: ‘I don’t know whether I’d be doing that. Think about it,’ he said. ‘Think about your position.’ Looking over at him I said, ‘Just be grateful that you’re not in my position.’ The catalyst for writing was my discussion with Joshua’s friend but the rationale behind much of what I wrote emanated from my concern about the future Australia my children would inherit. An Australia I never imagined. An aggressive little nation, prepared to ignore, defy and discard the United Nations. A prime minister prepared to disregard international laws and cast aside the pleas of the UN Secretary-General and unbelievably mock any country unwilling to join the coalition. I was worried. Those countries to which the Prime Minister referred would not forget and, quite properly, never forgive. What if the United States was 120
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to have a change of administration? Where would that leave Australia? An Australia in which my children were no longer safe. An Australia that had changed so dramatically in such a short space of time. An Australia that believes in ‘mateship’ yet is not prepared to look after its own. With considerable reservation, I sent my open letter to the Prime Minister to the Australian. It was published on 22 November 2002. Dear Prime Minister John Howard, I am writing to you in relation to my late son Joshua, a beautiful young boy aged 22, who along with scores of other beautiful Australians died on the island paradise called Bali five short weeks ago. Joshua has three siblings and, until October 12, they had always looked to me to perform one very basic parental duty—protect them. Until then, I always thought I could, but now I wonder. Prime Minister, I ask you, not just as our nation’s leader but as a father, to answer some of my questions. Why did our children die and why have many others been sickeningly maimed? Was it because we, as a nation, have pursued a role in the US-led war on terror that we cannot possibly fulfil? Since the tragedy of September 11, your words to the world have worried me. All too often, in the eyes of the world media, you have been our nation’s unconditional 121
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supporter of President George W Bush and US policy in the Middle East. Indeed, your Government’s foreign policies indicate a preparedness for war. But are we and can we ever really be prepared? Of course, as a country full of decent compassionate people, we have a duty to stand up for the oppressed, vis-a-vis the Timorese people. But surely we must stand in these uncertain times shoulder to shoulder— not just all the way with the USA—with all countries under the one banner of the UN. But let’s not lead with a proverbial glass jaw. I know that you and Foreign Affairs Minister Alexander Downer refused all offers to visit the makeshift morgue set up in Bali—understandably with good cause. But in a way it is a pity, for the sight may have helped you in determining our future path. To what extent was your Government aware of imminent danger to our citizens prior to October 12? After all, the US was reportedly well aware and it apparently alerted your Government. But your Government did not make my son aware. Why is your Government torturing certain citizens of our country by allowing armed invasions upon their private properties—all in the name of national security? After September 11, the US Government opened itself up to examination. The purpose was to determine who, if any, had made mistakes in the lead-up to that 122
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dreadful day in New York and Washington. What does your Government propose to do in this regard? Does your Government intend to rehabilitate all those young children who are injured and psychologically damaged? I was dismayed when one of my son’s best friends told me the other day that people told him that it was now four weeks and he should be ‘getting over it’. To those people, I pose this question: What part of ‘it’ do you expect these kids to get over by now? They have returned from a war zone where people have attempted to murder them by the foulest of means. They have seen their best friends or relatives blown apart and then incinerated.They have been physically injured themselves. I repeat, what part should they be getting over? As far as I’m aware, neither you nor I nor many people between our age groups have ever been remotely close to war. But it seems to me to be terribly unfair that it is men of our ages that pick the fights and then expect boys of my son’s age to conduct the battle. Time and again countries send into battle children whose sense of adventure overshadows and totally clouds any sense of mortality. I have forgiven those uneducated people who, with fear in their hearts, have murdered my boy for a paltry $10. But I will never forgive educated people who cause the death of another child as a result of belligerent policy. 123
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For the sake of the remainder of my family, for the sake of your children and for the sake of all Australia’s children, please think hard before you take us down a track from which we can never back out. Brian Deegan
• It didn’t take the Prime Minister long to respond. The very same morning my letter was published, the Prime Minister was on radio defending his government. He was questioned about most parts of my letter, but when questioned about Bali and the possibility of holding a judicial inquiry, the Prime Minister responded: I don’t see the need for a royal commission. If I were presented with clear evidence of a blatant intelligence failure, clear evidence that there was advice that represented a specific warning and it wasn’t passed on, well I’d have a different view. But that is not the case and we are having an investigation by the InspectorGeneral of Security, he’s going over all the material and he’s going to report to me about the status of it. I have to say that within 36 hours, largely through the efforts of the RAAF, we’d evacuated 67 injured people . . .
I had heard this before. From day one Howard and Downer had punctuated each denial of negligence with the phrases ‘no specific intelligence’ or ‘no specific warning’. The 124
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US Administration attempted to rely on exactly the same phrase in the aftermath of September 11. I was calling for a full royal commission, nothing less. I was not suggesting the government had specific knowledge. I had been arguing the government had sufficient generic knowledge to have given an appropriate warning. Howard’s own minister had suggested an intelligence failure. Every tabloid in the country was suggesting an intelligence failure. The survivors, and the families of ninety-one Australians, had the right to know whether a public servant or a minister had been reckless or indifferent. There was an abundance of precedents, a plethora of past inquiries, all of which related to incidents of a lesser magnitude. The Prime Minister resisted the call. Pre-empting Blick’s future findings he assured the listening public he had seen no evidence to support a commission—there wasn’t any evidence, he said. But he hadn’t looked, he couldn’t have looked. More cynically, the Prime Minister would make it certain that no one else did either. The Prime Minister, his advisors and the Cabinet, fourteen of whom were lawyers, would know that to have not acted on ‘general’ or ‘generic knowledge’, regardless of the fact it was non-specific, still remained a reckless decision. Mr Downer himself made that point on 14 October 2002 when he said,‘ . . . when we receive information about possible terrorist attacks, we shouldn’t dismiss them lightly.’ 125
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But hindsight is a wonderful tool if a government seeks to remain blameless. While the Prime Minister’s formal reply to my letter might have been unusually swift, the response was predictable. He expressed, amongst other things, abhorrence at the thought that fellow Australians would treat the young Australians in the manner I described and assured me the government would do all things necessary to alleviate their burden: Dear Mr Deegan I read your letter with deep sympathy. I can only begin to understand the grief you feel and the void in your life as a consequence of the wantonly evil act that claimed the life of your son, Joshua. You asked me: ‘Why did (my) son die?’ I don’t have a perfect answer to that but I will do my best. He died at the hands of a murderous group of Islamic fanatics who despise the liberal democratic, open life of Western nations, such as Australia. He died because there are people in the world who believe that indiscriminate violent murder is a justifiable political instrument. You said that, publicly, we have been too close to the United States since September 11, 2001. Putting aside for a moment that it was right for Australia to join the United States and others in the war against terrorism, 126
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the deaths of citizens of other Western countries, not so publicly identified with the United States, casts serious doubts on that belief. It is clear that 20 German citizens who died in an explosion in a synagogue in Tunisia earlier this year were the victims of an al-Qa’ida attack. Yet German Chancellor Gerhard Schroder has been publicly distant from US policy concerning Iraq. I can assure you that Australian intelligence agencies did not receive a specific warning of the Bali attack. If they had, that information would have been passed on to the public. The United States was not ‘well aware’. Our government was not ‘alerted’. I do not regard the ASIO raids in recent weeks as ‘torturing certain citizens of our country’. The government would be failing in its duty to the Australian community if raids of this kind were not permitted. They were carried out for good reasons. They are necessary for our protection. It is deeply regrettable that one of your son’s best friends has apparently been told that he should now be ‘getting over’ the terrible trauma through which he has passed. That is not the attitude I have. It is not the attitude of the government. I am very conscious that, where appropriate, support services for people affected by this terrible event will need to continue for some time. 127
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I agree fully with you that Australia did the right thing with its intervention on behalf of East Timor. You will be aware that Osama bin Laden has twice identified that very act of Australia’s as a reason for hostility to our country from his terror network. That surely does not mean that we were wrong to intervene in East Timor. I did not, as your letter suggested, refuse to visit the makeshift morgue set up in Bali. I wanted to visit the morgue but was asked not to do so by the police and forensic people because of the extensive media stakeout of the morgue and also because those in charge were carefully monitoring visits by family members and in their view a visit by me would have compromised that process. You are right in saying that boys of your son’s age are always the ones to go to war. It has sadly ever been thus. That is why peaceful resolution of differences should always be sought. Ignoring terrorism, however, will not make it disappear. History is strewn with examples of countries not taking a stand on something in the hope that the problem would go away, only to find that, at an infinitely greater cost, that challenge must ultimately be confronted. Mr Deegan, I feel for you. I am deeply saddened over what happened to your son and so many other young Australians. Your family’s loss must be unbearable. 128
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I respect your views and have tried to answer them honestly and conscientiously. Yours sincerely, John Howard
On first reading, the Prime Minister’s letter presented challenging arguments, but on closer inspection, it was an imperfect answer with only vacuous promises. With few alternatives, it seemed to me the Prime Minister studiously misrepresented the tenor of my letter—he was obliged to, given that his unwavering commitment to a military solution in Iraq had already been cast. The Prime Minister labelled JI as ‘a murderous group of Islamic fanatics’. Fanatical they may be, murderous for certain, cowardly most assuredly, but Islamic? A coincidence of birth. It wasn’t an answer to the question I had posed. I was well aware at the time of the identity of the alleged murderers. Such an elementary answer failed to explain why any person, Muslim or otherwise, could despise our way of life to such an extent they would turn murderous, and it didn’t hint at the number who had shared the same terrorist philosophy. It didn’t explain Menachem Begin, an extremist, a leader of the terrorist group Irgun Zvai Leumi which organised the Akko prison breakout and the 1946 bombing of the central British administrative offices in the King David hotel, killing scores of British and Jews, who was subsequently elevated to the office of Prime Minister of a free Israel and later feted 129
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by 10 Downing Street. It didn’t explain why Nelson Mandela, once branded a terrorist, part of the extremist group African National Congress, and sentenced to thirty years imprisonment by the South African courts, was released and elevated to the presidency of a free South Africa. A living saint in the eyes of billions of oppressed. The Prime Minister’s lame suggestion that German citizens had been attacked by al Q’aeda despite the German Chancellor having distanced his country from any military invasion of Iraq implied that Australia’s open hostility to Iraq was irrelevant. That translucent argument neglected the more realistic conclusion. The deaths of the German citizens occurred when they, as Germanic Jews, visited a synagogue in Tunisia. The Prime Minister’s comment that Osama bin Laden had twice identified Australia’s involvement in East Timor as a cause for retaliation was true, but purposefully he omitted the tangible correlation between bin Laden’s more recent threats following Prime Minister Howard’s overwhelming support for the United States’ invasion of Afghanistan. On 9 November 2001, one month after the Australian government’s commitment on Afghanistan, ASIO had issued an updated threat assessment based upon a statement attributed to bin Laden, broadcast on al Jazeera, the Arab television network, on 3 November 2001. 130
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[Osama bin Laden’s] specific reference to ‘crusader Australian Forces’ thus represents a significant upgrading of Australia’s profile . . . ASIO considers this statement will have force, and significance, for at least the next 18 months . . . [bin Laden’s] al-Qa’ida network does have the capability and means to carry out an act of terrorism in Indonesia. The only question in respect of Australian interests there, is one of intent. In this context, since at least 1998, [bin Laden] has been explicit in stating there is no distinction between military personnel and civilians; both Australian Official representation in Jakarta and other identifiable interests certainly would be seen as extensions of the Australian ‘crusader’ forces.
The Prime Minister’s letter referred to East Timor. It was the second occasion that week he had mentioned my reference to that country, but he ought to have known I was not praising his government for its intervention in that region. I was referring to the fact that we had entered the country under the auspices of the United Nations. Howard was at pains to make the very same point in his speech to Parliament on 21 September 1999 about Australia’s involvement in East Timor: ‘. . . but I do not forget the fact, nor should anyone forget the fact that they operated under the mandate of the Security Council of the United Nations. They were never going to go in without the 131
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authority and sanctions and legal commissions of the United Nations.’ • I had never been fully convinced that Australia had acted in the best interests of East Timor, especially now that it has bartered with one of the world’s most impoverished nation for the rights to their oil and gas. Under our latest agreement, East Timor can only expect 20 per cent of the royalties from the Great Sunrise gas field despite the greater portion of the field being within its territorial waters, a far cry from the 50/50 split Australia negotiated with Indonesia. Tim Colebatch writing in the Age reported part of a leaked transcript from the negotiations held in Dili. The East Timorese Prime Minister Mari Alkatari complained that Australia was merely offering the impoverished nation ‘scrapings off the plate’. Mr Downer replied: ‘We are not going to negotiate the Timor Sea Treaty—understand that . . . There will be no new joint development area for Greater Sunrise . . . We are very tough. We will not care if you give information to the media . . . Let me give you a tutorial in politics—not a chance.’ Stanley Kubrick once said ‘Great nations act like gangsters while small nations act like prostitutes.’ • International law hadn’t changed. The Prime Minister had. Mr Howard, who is himself a lawyer, would be well aware 132
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that to invade any country purely for regime change is contrary to the very basic concept of international conventions. Once the legal boundaries had been crossed, disregarded, there are no legal boundaries. He was setting a dangerous precedent and making a decision that would affect Australia long after his death. My father’s death was attributable to his wartime service, Josh had been killed as a result of war and, unbelievably, the government was promoting more conflict. I had three younger children to protect. No one—no one—could deny my right to have my say. It was only the previous night that Eloise had walked from her bedroom in tears. ‘Daddy, are we going to be bombed?’ ‘Who told you that rubbish?’ I asked. ‘I just saw the news on TV. Western countries can expect to be bombed.’ When I was a child my parents saw no need to lock the doors. We could sleep unaccompanied on the back lawn, the front lawn if we desired. That changed somewhat in the early 1960s. When Josh and Nick were little boys I’d make up stories, not nightmarish ones, but sufficiently subtle, I thought, to make them aware of all elements of the world in which they lived. They had a great childhood. But what now? Never before had fear of burglars been supplanted by the threat of terrorists’ bombs. • 133
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Talking by phone to a journalist I couldn’t help but overhear another speaking loudly as he returned to the office from a briefing:‘Iraq is to be attacked in March.’ Holding the phone I thought he had to be wrong, for this was still early December and the government was assuring us that Australia was not yet committed to such an enterprise. Meanwhile ASIO’s ‘show raids’—how else did the media know about them in advance?—continued in certain Australian communities. And it seemed all too coincidental they took place alongside the government’s $20 million media scare campaign—‘Be alert but don’t be afraid’. That worked in part. It scared the crap out of Eloise and Patrick. The satirist Saki (H H Munro) wrote:‘We all know that Prime Ministers are wedded to the truth, but like other married couples they sometimes live apart.’
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10 Right of inquiry Right of inquiry
‘Politics is the art of preventing people from taking part in affairs which properly concern them.’ PAUL VÁLERY
hen Josh was finally brought home, I buried my child. But despite what others might have thought, his death could never, would never, imply an abdication of my duties to him as a parent. Nor would my obsession with his rights terminate on receipt of the Coroner’s report. He is my son, my firstborn, my beautiful Josh. Lifting him into the rear of the hearse I swore to him that somebody, somewhere, would be giving me an explanation. Bending over to kiss Josh’s newly anointed coffin, I silently promised him I would find the answers, although
W
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I knew all too well how governments with an unencumbered hold on power, sideline the questions and avoid the truth. Howard’s assertion that Blick’s inquiry would suffice was an insult to Josh’s memory, to my family, a slap in the face to everyone directly affected. A slap in the face to all Australians. Shamelessly narrowing the field of inquiry prevented the disclosure of all relevant evidence. Employing one public servant to report on failures by other public servants, without public scrutiny, was analagous to requesting a report on the medical negligence of one doctor by another partner in the same medical practice. The final report would always be odious. ‘Brian, why are the media saying the government was warned? Josh wasn’t,’ Angela said to me one day. Since our separation my first wife and I had retained an unusually tight relationship. We continued in the same vein as any other parents, dividing parental responsibilities. If it came to discipline I guess I was the one, if it was nurturing, she was always there. Sport was a mutual arrangement but if a problem arose, legal or otherwise, Angela and the boys looked to me. Angela deserved answers, I deserved answers and Blick’s report was never going to provide them. I demanded from the government nothing less than what the government demanded from me. I sought justice, nothing more, but most assuredly nothing less. Five weeks had passed since 136
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we had received the government’s 5 November letter advising, among other things, that a family liaison officer was to be assigned to us, but there had been no further contact by any department. Kevin Rudd, the Federal Labor Party’s spokesman on foreign affairs, and Senator Bob Brown, the leader of the Greens, were demanding a full, frank and open inquiry into the intelligence services, the travel advisories and the Department of Foreign Affairs. If I was to gain any support I would need to enlist the help of these politicians. Colin James, an investigative journalist, had arrived in Denpasar the day after the explosion. He had witnessed some horrific sights in his career, but was nevertheless ill prepared for the scenes he found in Bali. On his return to Australia we became friends, connected by the fact that he had taken some control over Joshua’s body. Colin called one Friday morning in December to invite me to a Press Club luncheon where Mr Downer would be arguing the government’s position for invading Iraq. It seemed only reasonable that, given the Minister’s department had prolonged our anguish for so long, and with no further contact as promised, the Minister could now publicly answer to me. I had never attended a Press Club event but noted that many of the guests were obviously not journalists. Colin had a few important questions for the Minister, most of which were on my family’s behalf, but midway through his second question I witnessed the most vile behaviour from a small 137
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section of the audience. In chorus they purposefully turned on Colin, heckling, jeering, sneering and at times laughing. I suppose, in fairness, they wouldn’t have known that he had dropped his pen and notebook and joined the many Australians who, without a thought for their personal safety, had bagged and carried the bodies of the victims from the clubs to the morgue at Sanglah Hospital. He was the man who had helped to identify my son and the other two South Australians. Colin had been prepared to enter the hospital and morgue and he was entitled to know why it had taken so long for the Australian government to send assistance. He cited the case of Jodie Kearns, who was left on the tarmac in Bali in excess of six hours. Jodie survived the bomb, fought the odds and was evacuated. Ten days following the blast, she died in Australia, not because of her initial injuries, but from infection from airborne bacteria entering her body as she waited on the tarmac. Troubled by the actions of a few members of the Minister’s audience, but determined to seek his response, I approached the microphone. I was less concerned about the government’s deceit and more concerned with my family’s affairs. I advised the Minister that despite assurances, a liaison officer had not made contact, that Joshua’s personal belongings were still unaccounted for, and the only support we had been offered thus far were arrangements to cut our lawns and to meet a third of the expected funeral costs. 138
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The Minister extended his sympathies, confirming he too had four children and could only imagine what I was going through. I inquired of the Minister as to when Mr Blick would be presenting his report. He replied that with all the documents to examine it might take some time. The government wished to ensure a thorough investigation. I left the luncheon with an assurance from the Minister that his department would be in immediate contact. • As it happened, a number of lawyers and journalists from across the world had seen my letter in the Australian. It was now December 2002, my second week back at work, when the front office received an urgent message from a man asking for Mr Deegan but who, when asked, refused to be identified. In my chambers, an email of ‘high importance’ awaited me:‘Contact Fabian Dawson . . . he has information of great importance regarding “Bali” . . . [signed] “a friend”.’ This Canadian ‘friend’, who seemed anxious to help me, supplied details of the newspaper at which Dawson was employed. After several fumbled attempts to contact the newspaper’s switchboard I was advised by a recorded message that the office was closed but I could, by selecting various options, speak to individual reporters. Confused by the accent and automated dialling instructions, I was unable to recall which button to push. Dialling again I managed to channel my way through to the newsroom only to be told that Dawson had 139
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left for the evening. I was switched through to his answering machine and recorded my personal contact numbers. Dawson called later that night but there was little need for introduction on my part as he had read my letter to the Prime Minister. Referring to the email, I got straight to the point:‘I have been informed that you might have information that would be of interest to me relating to Bali.’ He replied, ‘Yes and no. I have seen a report that you would find very interesting. I ran an article with certain parts of it in our newspaper.’ I asked, ‘What sort of report are you talking about?’ He said,‘It’s a report compiled by the intelligence services in the United States.’ I asked, ‘Are there specific targets for Bali?’ ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think from memory two targets—one was the Sahid Resort, which was about 500 metres from the Sari Club, the other was the Hard Rock Hotel.’ Dawson said he didn’t possess the document. A ‘contact’ of his had it but the document had been encrypted and it might be difficult to supply me with an actual copy. But he would speak to his contact. We ended the conversation on the basis that Dawson would seek an answer to my request and in the interim he would email me a copy of his own story on the document. I was speechless. I sat staring at the wall for possibly an hour, collecting my thoughts, considering what steps I should 140
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take next. If Dawson’s information was true, someone had taken an unjustifiable risk with the life of my son. Dawson also made reference to targets in Australia. This seemed to be authenticated by media reports that had cited an Australian government spokesperson who confirmed that specific sites in Australia were possible targets: ‘On 11 October 2002, the Attorney-General issued a public statement advising of the threat to energy production facilities in Australia.’ I grabbed a beer and sat back, reflecting on images of the Prime Minister and the Minister for Foreign Affairs addressing Parliament, confirming that the intelligence agencies had no specific intelligence that could have prevented the bombing in Bali. I had previously been concerned about three things: my children’s future, the welfare of the survivors and what I had believed to be a fatal miscalculation by government agencies. Dawson’s information indicated something far more serious. Days later I received Dawson’s email: I have seen the target list for Indonesia. There are six targets. Two of them are in Bali. They are the Sahid Resort which is about 500 metres from the Sari Club and the Hard Rock Hotel. The information is based on hard-data intercepts. 141
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The list does not include US installations in foreign countries but looks at symbolic targets and ranks them.
Well before my contact with Dawson I felt uneasy about the circumstances surrounding the attack in October. I’ve worked in the field of criminal law for most of my adult life. I’ve witnessed people from all walks of life stand under oath, stony faced, and pour out the most outrageous lies. I’ve heard explanations which, when first considered, sounded improbable, impossible, yet upon closer examination became plausible. Conversely, I’ve heard, seen and witnessed plausible accounts totally disintegrate under forensic inquiry. The numbers were there in the case of the Bali bombing, but they weren’t adding up. It had become common knowledge that Australia’s intelligence agencies were well aware of JI’s activities and it was inconceivable, given the multitude of threats levelled against America’s vast interests in the region, that the CIA would not have been as active in Bali as it was in much of Indonesia. Australia’s intervention in East Timor carried the inevitable consequence of acquiring enemies throughout the Indonesian archipelago, but a necessary offshoot was increased intelligence, especially given America’s logistical support. Senator Robert Hill had confirmed the same. Dawson’s information opened a whole new dimension. A horrid dimension. Each day I turned over and over every conceivable possibility. 142
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It was an irrational belief to which I no longer subscribe, but for a short while I even wondered if Bashir was right when he suggested the CIA was involved. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time it had been embroiled in such activity. From 1945 to the present, from Algeria to Peru, the CIA and its predecessor have been involved in destabilising governments, initiating takeovers in every continent. The fact that the American consulate in Denpasar was ‘bombed’ but not harmed aroused suspicion. JI is a formidable group, well trained, well indoctrinated. Members of the group were sought by various Asian countries for attacks on embassies. With all their preparation, how could they have been so sloppy and missed the American consulate? For a public opposed to war, history suggests that it takes but one catastrophic, unexpected, vile incident to reverse public opinion.The sinking of the SS Lusitania in May 1915 and the deaths of 123 Americans on board drew outrage and signalled embryonic changes in reluctant Americans opposed to World War I. The day of infamy in Pearl Harbor in December 1941 again turned the isolationists about face. September 11 gave Bush the imprimatur to declare unrestricted global war. For an American administration intent on war, the timing of the Bali bombings was perfect, with the Australian population vacillating over Iraq. Despite the attack occurring in Indonesia, within days the United States Secretary of State Colin Powell referred to Bali as Australia’s September 11 143
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‘when you think of the scale of the populations and when you think of the impact that it had within the country’. Powell wasted little time in calling on a divided Australia to join in their global fight against terrorism in Iraq. It was equally convenient in terms of the United States’ relationship with Indonesia. For months the Bush administration, concerned about al Q’aeda’s ever-increasing presence in Southeast Asia, had been placing enormous pressure on the Indonesians. The President had called Megawati Sukarnoputri in June, following Omar al-Faruq’s arrest, urging action against the terrorists’ threats. But Megawati remained unconvinced. In September Bush called her again, demanding she tackle the terrorist threat. Watching The Quiet American, a stomach-wrenching film by Phil Noyce, did little to allay my suspicions. The underlying theme was nothing new to me. Its release postponed in the United States as a consequence of September 11, the film is based on what is now quite commonly accepted as truth: the CIA’s ugly involvement in the early stages of America’s entry into the Vietnam conflict. It sheds no new light on an organisation that many mistrust and fear, but it is an important tutorial for those of my children’s age for whom the lessons of Vietnam and, in particular, Australia’s unwarranted participation in its politics, has all but been consigned to history. • 144
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Whether Simon was playing the devil’s advocate, I couldn’t be sure, but he called and repeated a comment that I had heard too often by now: ‘It’s not the government’s fault. It’s terrorists that killed Josh and [the government] have said they couldn’t have known it was going to happen.’ I wasn’t suggesting the Australian government had anything to do with Joshua’s murder. What I was saying—all I was saying—was that I wanted to know if the government had realised that Bali had become an unsafe tourist destination, and then not acted upon it. The reports in the media, the suggestions, the accusations, were damning. The government was ignoring them, riding the storm, hoping they would go away—but I couldn’t. Moreover, why should I? ‘Simon, Josh hadn’t been gone thirty hours on his first trip away from the family before he was murdered by terrorists of whom he had never heard. I had barely heard of them. Yet apparently, not only had the government been aware of the group, but had suspected, believed, known of the organisation, and knew the group was hostile to westerners. More importantly the government had known Bali was a potential target. All I want is a proper investigation.’ It didn’t matter who killed Josh or for what reason. I wanted to know what the government knew at the time. Was this the second time that Australia had failed to heed US warnings? In the lead-up to Australia’s involvement in East Timor, Australia ignored the American intelligence that predicted a mass slaughter of Timorese prior to the elections. 145
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The Americans suggested a pre-vote deployment of United Nations observers to East Timor. Canberra disagreed, confirming its intelligence indicated everything was running smoothly. It wasn’t. Thousands of Timorese were massacred, creating animosity between Canberra and Washington. Some believe it led to the supposed suicide of an Australian intelligence officer in Washington. ‘If this was a bridge collapse or a white-water disaster, the government would be setting up a full-scale inquiry,’ I told Simon. ‘Simply because in this instance they own the bloody circus, it’s no different to anyone else in the community. The government’s not immune from mistakes and it’s not immune from repercussions. I want someone outside of the government to tell me, Joshua’s dad, that it didn’t take an unjustifiable risk with my son’s life. ‘Bali is one of Indonesia’s significant areas of growth. Do not tell me the government hadn’t considered the impact of warning tourists off Bali. Tourism accounts for 50 per cent of Bali’s income and a significant amount of Indonesia’s GNP. Look at what happened in 1998 at the time of the Indonesian elections. Look what’s happening now. The bottom has fallen out of Bali.’ I was referring to the economic impact the downturn in tourism had on the Balinese economy. The BBC had reported on 14 October 2002 that Indonesia’s currency and stock market had tumbled sharply as investors worried about the economic effects of the bomb blast on Bali. The Jakarta Stock 146
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Exchange index had closed at a four-year low of 337.4 points, down 10.4 per cent, while the rupiah, the local currency, fell 3.5 per cent in a day. Any damage to Bali’s tourist industry would have a disproportionate effect on the Indonesian economy. The Prime Minister recognised the damage Timor had caused to our relationship with Indonesia when in Paris in 2000 he said, ‘You can’t do what we did in East Timor and expect in the blink of an eyelid things would be the same.’ But that was two years earlier, and the government had been working to rebuild relations. ‘Josh may have been in the wrong spot at the wrong time, but I want to know why he was allowed to be there. If you invite someone to do something, you at least have some duty to care for them. ‘The bottom line is—as far as I’m concerned, let the truth fall where it may. If the media reports are a beat-up, so be it, but if the government was warned, it’s not good for them. If they knew Bali was a dangerous place and October a dangerous time, then they have to face up to it. ‘You’ve no doubt read that despite the tragedy in Bali, Megawati has called on the Australian government to delist Bali from the travel warnings. What do you think her government would have thought about Australians being warned before the bombing? Having seized East Timor the government couldn’t justify causing further harm to our bilateral relations. That’s one very good reason. And what I’m concerned about is that if that is the reason and the 147
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government had been warned, they took an unjustifiable risk with people’s lives.’ • Dawson had not only supplied details of the potential targets in Bali but in establishing his bona fides he enclosed excerpts from the articles he had published in Canada relating to potential Canadian targets, all apparently gleaned from the same intelligence report. Later, as we spoke on the telephone, he told me that following publication of his articles, the newspaper that employed him received denials from General Powell on behalf of the United States. This communication was then followed by a strange silence—proof, Dawson suggested, that the United States would not deny what he was saying because they could not deny it. He told me that he had recently seen the document but when I asked to see it, he maintained his previous position, that he would talk with his contact to determine if it could be released. I reaffirmed my willingness to fly to Canada, if I could have a copy. I asked Dawson,‘If I do see the document, am I in danger?’ There was a long pause before he replied, ‘No, I don’t think so.’ I said, ‘Are you in danger if I see this document?’ He replied, ‘Probably, but that is something I am used to. It goes with the job.’ Dawson rang a few days later advising that he was still having difficulty obtaining his contact’s consent but suggested 148
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I get in touch with the state liaison officer at the US embassy in Canberra. The following morning I hesitantly called the United States embassy, nervous and uncertain, but once the receptionist transferred my call it was too late to change my mind. I paused before saying, ‘I have been informed that the United States embassy has a particular document I am interested in. It was prepared by various agencies in the United States and it relates to issues surrounding the bombing in Bali. Its full title is the “Combined Analysis of Potential Foreign Strike Zones and Locations”, and I think it was compiled sometime in September 2002. Have you heard of it?’ His answer was as much a surprise as anything. He told me that he had heard of the document and that I was not the first to ask for it, but only because a journalist had recently requested the same document. We left it on the basis that he would check the archives once again and call me back. Three days passed. By Friday I had reached the conclusion that if the document did exist the staff at the embassy either didn’t have it or would deny it. At about 11 am the embassy called, and the advice from the liaison officer was that he had again searched the archives without success. I said, ‘Do you deny the document’s existence?’ His answer was that if it did exist he would not be privy to it because of its secretive nature, and in any event he doubted that it would ever be released. 149
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I called Dawson the following Sunday to let him know the outcome of my dealings with the US embassy. When I asked him whether his contact had agreed to release the document, he confirmed I could see it but his contact was nervous and flatly refused to release it or allow it to be copied. I would need to fly to Canada and then only to view it. After considering my position I called him the following day and said, ‘The whole concept is flawed. The document is apparently still top secret, with a security embargo—I am not prepared to fly to Canada to see it as I could be committing a criminal offence.’ Dawson was puzzled, so I continued:‘What you are forgetting is that if it is still classified as a top secret document by the United States government, I would not be permitted to have it. I have no intention of arriving in Canada only to be arrested by the CIA or FBI and taken to Guantanamo Bay.’ I had always been aware of the dangers of closing one’s mind, discounting all bar the evidence most useful to proving a case, but despite the denials by the government, the everincreasing objective reports couldn’t be cast aside. On balance I felt that Dawson was telling the truth, which made a full inquiry all the more imperative. The fact that senior ministers used what appeared to have been a pre-determined response to the media invited scrutiny, not because of any dissimilarity but because of the replication. The constant use of the phrase ‘nothing specific which could have avoided the disaster’ demanded further examination. What was of equal interest 150
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to me was the information the government had that was ‘non-specific’. Apart from the fact that Dawson was suggesting Australia had quite specific intelligence, pinpointing individual nightclubs and bars in the vicinity of the Sari Club, the American warning on 26 September came in tandem with the visit to Indonesia that month by Matt Daley, the US Deputy Secretary of State:‘Americans and Westerners should avoid large gatherings and locations known to cater primarily to a western clientele such as certain bars, restaurants and tourist areas.’ Daley met with President Sukarnoputri and warned that JI was preparing an imminent terrorist attack against western interests. At the same time the United States upgraded its terror warnings to stage ‘orange’. But when questioned by the media on Daley’s visit, Mr Downer replied that the report restated what the government had already acknowledged (although it had failed to pass the information on)—that it had received ‘generic warnings’ about rising activity in the region. • The response I received from Senator Bob Brown, leader of the Greens, to my letter to the Prime Minister was comforting and rewarding. Meeting the Senator for breakfast affirmed my assessment. His position on the government’s obfuscation mirrored my own and he was prepared to push for an in-depth inquiry into possible failings by the 151
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intelligence agencies. The Senator’s only reservation was that other political parties had at that stage shown lukewarm interest, probably because of the imminent war. My first contact with Senator Natasha Stott-Despoja was equally encouraging. Without hesitation she arranged for me to meet with Senator Andrew Bartlett, the federal leader of the Democrats. The two senators required little persuasion that a thorough investigation was warranted, if not essential. My disclosure that I could no longer produce the document from Canada had no adverse effect on my argument. With two of the three minority parties now accepting my concerns and agreeing to vote to establish an inquiry, it was left to me to convince the Labor Party that the government’s refusal to establish an inquiry was plainly wrong. Flying to Sydney to address a collegiate of ‘Doctors Opposed to War’ provided a perfect opportunity to meet Kevin Rudd. I took the ferry to Manly where I met him in a café on the water’s edge. Over an espresso I explained my position. There was little need for persuasion on my part. Rudd had already subscribed to the view that an independent inquiry was essential and agreed that Australia’s defence had been seriously challenged. With Rudd’s assurance that the Labor senators would vote in favour of an inquiry, I flew back to Adelaide. • Three weeks passed following my attendance at Mr Downer’s Press Club luncheon and still we had had no contact from 152
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his department when the Coroner’s office called Virginia at work to advise of the arrival of a parcel from the Australian Federal Police. Shielding me as always, she accepted the box at her office and examined the contents prior to bringing it home. When I entered our front door I saw the troubled look in her eyes. We walked into the games room where she placed the box down on the pool table, telling me that she would leave me to have time alone. As Virginia was closing the door, she looked back towards me and said, ‘His watch is not there but there are other things of his. Take care, some of them are still damp.’ There was nothing extraordinary about the box—it was typical of those one might purchase through Australia Post. There was no accompanying letter or explanation, no letter of condolence and no warning. I knew there might be items destined for his mother’s memorabilia chest, but I couldn’t bring myself to open the box before me. I placed it on the table and walked away, staring back at it for minutes at a time before I moved back and gingerly lifted the lid. I was struck by a damp, pungent odour. At the top was an itemised list of the contents. His mortuary number was #120. His wallet, blackened by the fire, dampened by water, was eerily empty. A small plastic bag contained keycards, buckled by the heat, in a money bag; damp foreign currency was in another. Three unusable condoms, their protective 153
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seals melted, had been included. I looked for his watch, his twentieth birthday present, a special gift from a special girl. It was missing. The chain he always wore was also missing, as was the five hundred dollars he had withdrawn the afternoon he arrived in Bali. Near the bottom of the box was a beaded necklace, obviously purchased in Bali, probably for less than a dollar but it was the only item of any apparent value. It had been removed from Joshua’s body at the Bali morgue along with the other items. I placed it over my head and continued rummaging, but there was little of value. Passing a mirror I caught a glimpse of charcoal smeared across my forehead and nose. Puzzled, I looked again. It suddenly dawned—I had smeared my face with Joshua’s ashes. I cried.
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11 There are no books There are no books
‘We do not expect people to be deeply moved by what is not unusual.’ G EORGE E LIOT
cannot decide whether ‘I drank there a lot’ or ‘drank a lot there’, but I enjoyed meeting the boys for a drink at the hotel at the end of their shift. Whilst studying, Joshua worked, as I had, in a hotel to support himself. When Nick started at university Josh helped him secure a job in the same bar. In her eulogy, Hayley, Joshua’s old school chum, reminisced about one night she worked in the hotel with Josh. When busy, Josh often appeared deaf. The kitchen had called through to his bar advising a meal was ready for the staff to collect. Josh, with one hand holding the phone and another
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pouring a beer, unbelievably mistook ‘the mixed grill is ready’ for ‘is Mr Squirrel ready?’ He assumed a taxi was waiting. Josh evidently walked the length and breadth of the hotel calling aloud, ‘Taxi for Mr Squirrel.’ Returning from his unsuccessful mission, he was greeted by the mascara-lined faces of the women from the kitchen. That was my Josh. But I now only reluctantly enter the front bar unless Nick is working. A statue on the top shelf, presented to the social club for its achievements in ‘A’ class indoor cricket, once held pride of place. Joshua’s name is inscribed on it. But it is the recently acquired trophy standing alongside that causes my anguish. The ‘Joshua Deegan Memorial Golfing Day’ cup, almost half a metre in height, is too large to ignore. When referring to Josh, Allan, a regular at the pub, would always say to me ‘He’s the man’—he still does. • In late December 2002 Virginia was again contacted by the Coroner’s office. A second parcel had arrived and the department sought her guidance. She couldn’t decide, it wasn’t her call. Tissue taken from Joshua for the purpose of DNA tests had been returned from Bali, two months after its removal. Advising the department to store it, she would seek confirmation from me. When told, I became distressed, not because it had been taken from Josh, as I knew DNA testing had been proposed, but I had assumed it had been returned with his body. 156
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Josh had left Australia intact, on one occasion and with one bag. Within a day he had been murdered, and now my son was being returned in a piecemeal fashion, his bag, his body, pieces of his body, some possessions, pieces of possessions, days, weeks, months apart. When could I expect it to stop? It didn’t stop. I am still receiving Josh’s possessions more than twelve months after Bali. I have been told the authorities may still have more. • There have been books and pamphlets written for those who are faced with trauma. Counsellors abound to assist the grieving. There are etiquette manuals written for all phases of life, but there is no book of rules for a father who has had to bury his son.
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12 Political lang uage Political language ‘Political language . . . is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind.’ G EORGE O RWELL
naturally assumed that Bali would stall the government’s plans for assailing Iraq. Australia, Australians, it was self-evident, were no longer immune—had we ever been?— from terrorist reprisals. Bali was a wake-up call, a timely reminder of probable repercussions. The Daily Telegraph reported Alexander Downer’s comment: ‘it was possible Australians were specifically targeted, but more likely the attacks were a broad attack on westerners’. Either way, Downer’s admission inferred the motive for the bombing was connected to US foreign policies.
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Afghanistan, I thought, had been raided to extricate Osama bin Laden, yet as of October 2002 the military exercise produced limited success. In reality the only real outcome was yet again another regime change and more instability in a crisis-torn country. The allies had replaced the Taliban, once supported by billion dollar loans from the United States, for an interim government headed by Hamid Karzai. Karzai was favoured by the CIA. He’d previously worked for it. But his deputies, upon whom he relies for support, are the dreaded war lords, responsible for the incessant torture and rape of thousands of Afghans. Following September 11, Americans were shocked, horrified, mystified, when for the second time in living history, an enemy brought war to their soil. From the time of the 1890 massacre at ‘Wounded Knee’ in Dakota, the United States military had actively engaged in over 130 skirmishes, predominantly outside their borders, and the CIA, with its covert operations, many more. But complacency had allowed Americans in general to believe that the United States, with its superior forces, its ultra weaponry, and the tentacles of its spy agencies reaching into every corner of the globe, possessed immunity. The foiled bombing of the World Trade Center in 1993 failed to warn the average American of the terrorists’ capabilities. Observing the Australian government’s reaction, it was quite apparent that while Bali was considered a tragedy, it was nonetheless a momentary distraction from the government’s resolve to join the United States in war in the Middle 159
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East. Whatever the Americans had promised, it seemed the government was eager to collect. The government faced twin challenges: to maintain the impetus and keep the country moving forward on Iraq, yet explain to the electorate what had happened in Bali. It was self-evident that the government had committed Australia to war but there was absolutely no evidence that Iraq had been involved in the September 11 attacks or Bali. The only possible reason for an invasion, which the UN was unlikely to endorse, were spurious claims that Iraq possessed weapons of mass destruction, claims now confidently assumed to be fabricated. A far more likely agenda for any attack on Iraq was outlined by Ewen MacAskill who, reporting for the Guardian in January 2003, wrote:‘While the US and Britain deny oil is a factor in the looming war, some British ministers say privately that oil is more important in the calculations than weapons of mass destruction . . . They have pointed to the instability of current oil sources and the need for secure alternatives. Iraq has the second biggest known oil reserves in the world . . .’ I read with incredulity as the Prime Minister, wearing a sprig of wattle, spoke on the one hand of ‘tracking down and capturing these murderous bastards’, offering a $2 million reward, while ensuring our troops were being prepared to be catapulted into further war. Not in Indonesia, where Josh had been murdered. Not in Afghanistan, where Osama bin Laden still lingered. But in Iraq. 160
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Addressing relatives of the Bali victims, the Prime Minister swore,‘I can, on behalf of all the people of Australia, say to you that we will do everything in our power to bring to justice those who are responsible for this foul deed.’ Slightly bizarre, especially in times of war, but politically astute. The rhetoric combined to deflect, deny and disguise the fact that Josh and the 90 other unfortunate Australians killed in Bali had been the the country’s first casualties of war and to convey the government’s subliminal message, that Bali was an isolated incident, more a simple case of mass murder rather than a reprisal, disconnected from the world’s turmoil in which Australia had become miserably entwined. It wouldn’t be long, however, before the Prime Minister twisted the death of my son and others for the government’s own cynical purpose. While visiting New Zealand in March, Bali, he said, was yet another reason for stopping Hussein: ‘And I will, amongst other things, be asking the Australian people to bear those circumstances in mind if we become involved in military contact with Iraq.’ Despite the strenuous public opposition of politicians, church groups, seasoned political advisors and the majority of ordinary people from every quarter of the globe, it seemed that young Australians, my three surviving children, were about to be put further at unnecessary risk. • 161
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Marching towards Adelaide’s Parliament House I cursed the weather. I cursed Josh for allowing it to rain on ‘my parade’. It was mid-January 2003 when the organisers of the ‘No-war’ movement asked me to be one of the guest speakers to address the protest march scheduled for 16 February, a day of worldwide demonstrations against the imminent invasion of Iraq by the United States. I had never been politically minded. I had never before participated in a protest rally, let alone addressed those present, but as a result of my open letter to the Prime Minister I was now asked to speak to an expected crowd of ten thousand. In the weeks leading up to the march I had mixed feelings, at times anxious and uncomfortable. Often I received oblique advice not to participate, as in some quarters it was deemed inappropriate for a member of the judiciary to engage in political debate. The Federal government wasn’t acting responsibly, or within the terms of its mandate. The government would suggest that having been elected it had a right to make decisions in the best interests of Australia, free of unnecessary interference, but no one had voted for the government to unilaterally declare war. It wasn’t what my dad had fought for, and Australia now wasn’t the country into which my children had been born. My view was that if the situation didn’t demand a full-scale military solution—and this one didn’t—then each civilian killed (whether intentionally or otherwise) in the course of hostilities was a murder victim, 162
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and any commander who ordered the strike was culpable. I retain that view. There had been little public discussion on the East Timor issue and less relating to Afghanistan. Conversely, when the government’s sights refocused on Iraq there was considerable discussion—all of which was ignored. The Prime Minister wasn’t listening. I had lost one child to western belligerence. I wasn’t prepared to lose another. Rightly or wrongly, I decided to speak. Anti-war protesters appeared from every direction, sporting hats, coats and umbrellas as they descended on Victoria Square. While driving Virginia, Eloise and Patrick to rendezvous with Nick, I suggested that, because of the rain, many of the estimated ten thousand marchers would probably stay away. I had little doubt the weather would make a difference to the numbers of protesters. I had significant doubts as to whether the protest would make a difference to the government’s direction. Interviewed on radio, senior Federal ministers shared this view. With the start of the march now imminent, I searched for Angela. She had talked about participating earlier that week but her father’s health had deteriorated and I thought it likely she would stay by his bedside, but ten minutes before the march commenced I saw her. She was standing to my right with Peter and most of her family. Angela apologised for her father’s absence, he was too ill, but very disappointed that he couldn’t attend. He, like my father, had served in 163
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Australia’s defence forces in World War II. He detested war and its effect on young men and he was alarmed at the offensive direction the Australian government was taking. As we walked the streets of Adelaide I was reluctant to join in the cries, the chants, the songs and prayers, though I couldn’t help but smile as we passed two elderly women, one smaller than Patrick, observing how little they resembled the image of a ‘lefty’, ‘feral’ or radical. Eloise and Patrick took turns holding aloft a poster of their older brothers. It was an enlargement of a photograph from the sleeve of Nick’s CD in honour of his brother. They realised it was their chance to actively participate in something they knew was special to me. The glow on my children’s faces reinforced my decision to march. The first street intersection brought a sense of deja vu. I caught a glimpse of a teenage boy, about fifteen. He was standing, watching, contemplating, on the same corner that I stood in 1970, during the Vietnam War moratoriums. I paused for a moment, wondering what he might be thinking. As rain continued to fall, I pushed my speech safely into my jacket, cursing the weather. Patrick looked skyward smiling, taunting me, suggesting that few would stay on to hear me speak. In desperation I pleaded with Josh to help. He did. Apart from the humidity, the balance of the afternoon remained relatively clear. As I moved to the microphone, I received a phone call from friends who had come in support. They were still at 164
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the commencement point, two kilometres away, unable to move forward because of the crowd. In Adelaide, more than 100 000 men, women and children marched that day, part of the estimated one million Australia wide. I felt inspired as I began to speak: . . . In the desert war we saw images of many innocent Iraqi civilians indiscriminately butchered by misguided bombs under the auspices of liberating Kuwait. Having bombed them we deserted them and for the next decade demanded of them the impossible, that they overthrow their despotic leader. We have blockaded them, denying them the very basic humanitarian needs. But unbelievably, our government sells wheat to them, fattening them up for the kill. Should the survivors of this impending apocalyptic venture feel grateful? Or will they ask, as I do, wasn’t there a better way? As we speak Osama bin Laden gloats upon his actions and sneers at the world. He is succeeding in doing what he set out to do and what we are trying to prevent. He is rallying extremist groups. He is fermenting outrage amongst hitherto peaceful people of the Islamic faith. How? He sits back and points the finger at foolish western nations who maintain that force is more favourable than negotiation. This country’s leaders are inadvertently doing his evil work . . . 165
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In more recent times, North Korea is rattling its sabre but still the focus of military might rests upon the destruction of Iraq. Unsubstantiated rumours abound, generated by the leaders of the United States and our government, that Iraq has sponsored and nurtured the al Q’aeda fundamentalists. There is no proof and indeed history would indicate something different, but I believe that if push comes to a shove, and that is exactly what our leaders are doing, then it is only a matter of time before such adversaries will combine to fight their common enemy. The Iraqi government—but not the people—is an evil entity headed by an evil murderer and nothing less. He—but not the people—should be brought to account. He but not the people should be removed. How paradoxical it seems that the United States is contemplating forgiving Saddam Hussein if he voluntarily relinquishes power. With our leaders’ recent rhetoric, is that too the policy of our government, or do they not know until determined abroad? But in any event what threats has that government made against the United States such that our government feels compelled to blindly follow the United States supposedly under the auspices of the ANZUS pact? The United States demands that the Iraqi government surrender all their arms and in particular those of mass destruction and those that are capable of chemical 166
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warfare, most of which, it should be remembered, were supplied by the British and United States governments. More importantly, this demand is made whilst the United States still retains for itself the right to maintain its own arsenal of similar or worse weapons, and even more belligerently threatens to use the same as it has in the past. On that score, it is the only country to have done so . . .
It was always unlikely that such a speech would change the government’s direction, and it didn’t. But paradoxically, the international media reports of the protests across Australia impacted upon the Iraqi government, which made the concession of renewing its contract to purchase Australian wheat. Such a response was premised by the observation that not all Australians were hostile by nature. The point was also made in more recent times at the trial of a conspirator to the murder of my son. Sawad, alias Sardjiyo, said at his trial in August: ‘I want to thank the Australian people who supported our cause when they demonstrated against the policies of George Bush. Say thank you to all of them.’ He continued: ‘For all human beings to stop now in this world, destroy all of the destructive weapons . . . if there were no weapons then peace can be created . . . Terrorism was a reciprocal action.’ My only regret now is that I didn’t march earlier.
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13 Remedying a w rong
‘A man who is good enough to shed his blood for the country, is good enough to be given a square deal afterwards.’ T HEOD ORE R O OSEVELT
f the question of militarism was not open to debate, I assumed that the government would surely accept at least some responsibility for the Australians killed in Bali. Apart from the fact that they had been harmed because of terrorist reprisals and intelligence failures, the government needed to act because these mostly young Australians were the nation’s future. I was haunted by visions of young survivors, some of whom had appeared on a 60 Minutes program: Nicole, a sweet young girl from Melbourne who’d lost an arm; Ben, a young man from Queensland who had lost his legs; other
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Australian survivors with burns, scarred for life, like soldiers returning from war. Those unsuspecting Australians hadn’t done anything wrong. They hadn’t considered themselves part of Australia’s military but had unwittingly been conjoined, knitted, interwoven into international politics by our government’s new war on terrorism. State compensation is neither a recent nor an extraordinary concept. It predates the birth of Christ. From 2250 BC the ancient Babylonian Code of Hammurabi required the local governors to restore stolen property to a victim, to pay from the treasury a sum of silver to the heirs of a murder victim. The concept spread throughout the Middle East with the early Arabic and Hebrew societies recognising victims’ rights. In modern times, states generally prohibit their citizens from bearing arms in their own defence, and from this was born the philosophy that states would assume responsibility for victims of crime, ‘to recompense the victims the state had failed to protect’. Two principles underpin the practice: the first is that victims should not take the law into their own hands, which is a crime against the social order of the state, and the second that victims should not have any financial interest in the trial. Australian courts are full of ordinary people, small businesses, large corporations and government departments seeking the courts’ help to remedy their grievances. Whether for breach of contract or defamation, negligence, or assault, plaintiffs seek restorative justice, a return to their position 169
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before they were wronged. In some instances that is impractical or even—in the event of physical injury, say— impossible. In such cases the courts are called upon to award damages measured by the pain and loss suffered, past earnings, future earnings or loss of bodily function. Compensation schemes exist in every American state, within most European states and throughout Asia. Israel’s legislation covers the death or injury of Israeli citizens as a result of terrorism globally. Additionally, it covers visitors to that country. The United States followed suit in the aftermath of September 11. Great Britain has made compensation available to those who witnessed on television the loss of their loved ones in New York. From the mid 1960s, government compensation has been enshrined in the laws of each Australian state and territory, as well as federally. In 1985 the United Nations, recognising an increase in global violence and terrorism, passed a resolution signed by more than one hundred and fifty countries, encouraging each of the member states to set up a general scheme to compensate its citizens in the event of terrorism or torture. Australia is a signatory to that resolution, although thus far the government has failed to implement the scheme. I felt compelled to try to achieve some measure of restorative justice for the Australian victims and their families. To this end, I had my second contact with Alexander Downer on 21 February 2003 in a meeting arranged weeks beforehand. 170
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The previous day I had had plenty of time to reflect. It would have been Joshua’s twenty-third birthday. As I turned from Mt Barker Road on the way to his office in Stirling I recognised the mansion, which had probably been built in the late nineteenth century. At the entrance stood the Minister’s assistant, who, having caught sight of my vehicle entering the parking bay, retreated behind the large front door, advancing again with polite greetings. I was ushered through the reception area and into a small waiting room, where I was seated opposite two suited men. Several minutes passed before I realised they were Federal Police officers. I was almost certain they weren’t present on my account. Outnumbered by the Minister, his personal assistant and Ian Kemish, the First Assistant Secretary of the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT), we sat down. Kemish had flown from Canberra to attend the meeting. The conversation turned to the reason for my attendance: the question of compensating the victims from Bali. As a solicitor I had acted on behalf of many victims of crime, most of whom had been eligible for a claim on the state’s Criminal Injuries Compensation fund. I saw no difference now. Many Australians had been execrably injured, scarred for life, partially or totally incapacitated. Some of Joshua’s friends were in that category. 171
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The Minister appeared unable to grasp the concept, holding the view that such a claim lacked foundation, the very suggestion implying liability on the government’s behalf. The Americans, I said, were prepared to compensate the physically injured, no matter their domicile, referring the Minister to the fund that had been set up in the aftermath of September 11. But his response was,‘That was in America, Bali is not in Australia.’ He’d not considered that part of Australia was in Bali at that time. My suggestion that assisting the victims might reflect well at election time fell on deaf ears. Referring to the 1999 deaths of thirteen young Australians in the canyoning disaster at Interlaken, Switzerland, the Minister asked,‘Where would it stop?’ ‘When your government stops placing Australian kids in harm’s way.’ He ignored my reply. I sat for a moment. Couldn’t the Minister and his advisors recognise that this was an entirely separate issue? Those Australians had died on holiday as a result of an unintentional white-water accident, albeit the result of negligence. They were not murdered for political gain. The survivors, and the families of those who died, would be entitled to sue the operators of the business. Similarly, the survivors and the Australian families of the four Australian athletes who died in the 1997 Maccabiah bridge disaster in Israel would be able to sue. They were not in a war zone. They weren’t 172
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murdered. And why did it matter that Bali was not in Australia? Al Q’aeda had warned that civilians were to be regarded as an extension of the Australian crusading forces. These were victims of war no less than the soldiers who returned from the Kokoda Trail, or from South Vietnam. Did it matter then that New Guinea and Saigon were not in Australia? I argued that my son and scores of others had died, and hundreds were injured, only because they were Australians, but the Minister rejected the point, requesting I read the translations of the terrorists’ confessions. He said he wasn’t so certain that Australians had been targeted and a perusal of these transcripts might convince me of this. Looking towards his staff the Minister directed that I receive copies. He warned they might take two or three weeks to arrive. The odd looks on the faces of the three men following confirmation that I was considering legal action, quite independent of the question of compensation, were confusing. The Minister, seemingly puzzled by my disclosure, suggested the need to prove negligence on the government’s part. But surely I wasn’t the only person in the room who had considered the possibility that someone had, in twisted legal terminology borrowed from the Prime Minister, been ‘recklessly negligent’. Kemish suggested I shouldn’t rely on arguing that the Australian government had issued fewer warnings than the American government. I think he was referring to 173
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a comment made in my open letter to the Prime Minister, although I wasn’t. Reflecting on the meeting days later, I realised that the furtive glances had not been a result of bewilderment. I ought to have recognised that at the time. Was it guilt? Was it fear of the legal ramifications that follow negligencerecklessness? Downer and Howard are arrogant men but they’re not buffoons. Downer’s very mention of the Swiss incident confirmed he would have known of the civil liability attached to negligence, the criminal ramifications attached to recklessness. The government’s advisors would have apprised all concerned that our common law, our criminal codes, deem that those who act with reckless disregard for the welfare of others do so at their own peril. Australian law is little different from that of other countries. Attending upon the Minister with the goal of convincing the Federal government to act in an appropriate manner and with compassion was probably a little ambitious. I left the meeting silently promising Josh that I would help his mates. And if proof of negligence was what the government demanded, then so be it. But I also promised myself that if I found more than negligence, then I would not hesitate to prosecute. Journalists from Channel 10 and the Advertiser were waiting as I left the Minister’s office. They had known the purpose of my visit and duly reported my failure. 174
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The following Monday morning, Michael O’Connell called from the State Attorney-General’s office with welcome news. He had read media reports of my meeting with Mr Downer. An ex-police prosecutor and now an advisor to the state government on matters of policy relating to Criminal Injuries Compensation, O’Connell informed me that he had perused the South Australian legislation and determined that it was sufficiently broad in application to cover episodes of violence outside the state’s borders. The victims of the Bali bombings were eligible to receive assistance, provided they were domiciled in South Australia. It was welcome news for the South Australian victims, but none of the people who had appeared on 60 Minutes would be entitled to compensation—they lived outside South Australia. On Friday 28 February I was in the dentist’s chair when I received a phone call from an unexpected source, Ian Kemish. Ian advised me to contact the Federal AttorneyGeneral’s office on Monday morning. It had news I might wish to hear. Holding the drill in one hand and a pen in the other, my dentist recorded the telephone number. Later that night I received a second call, this one to advise me that in accordance with Hindu tradition, the Balinese would be performing a religious ceremony the following morning, cremating the unidentified body parts of victims collected from the bombing sites. I accepted the caller’s assurance when he said, ‘. . . but I don’t “think” that it will 175
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concern your family’. I wished he could have been more positive. On Monday morning I rang the Commonwealth Attorney-General’s Department according to Kemish’s instructions and was told the Federal government was now investigating the proposal for an Australian-wide compensation scheme. • ‘Are you all right, your Honour?’ my orderly inquired.‘You’re not looking well.’ I wasn’t. Three weeks had elapsed since my meeting in Mr Downer’s office. I was back at work, moving forward, waiting to receive the promised copies of the terrorists’ confessions. It was a Wednesday, which meant it was general appearances day. Eighty or more defendants, most of whom would be about Josh’s age, were lining up outside the courthouse. For many, it was their first appearance in a criminal court, for some it was just another day in their lives. It wasn’t the size of the list—for years I had presided over much larger. It wasn’t that the first two boys who pleaded guilty were the same age as Josh, nor the fact that they too had suffered a recent death in their family. It was the box that was sitting on my desk hidden from the court, ten feet away from where I was seated, in my chambers. I had arrived at the courthouse at about nine that morning. Court wasn’t due to commence until 9.30 am. Kirsty, my 22-year-old clerk, wasn’t due to arrive for fifteen 176
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minutes, having driven to the Christies Beach court to collect a parcel that had arrived from Canberra. Five minutes later I could hear Kirsty moving about in her room, so I began to robe. Since 12 October Kirsty had attempted to make each day bearable. She knew that I was eternally miserable but she also knew that I had my duties to perform. But from the moment she walked into my chambers I could see something was wrong. She had tears in her eyes and kept looking down at the parcel she held in her hands.‘Brian, this arrived for you.’ ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’ve been expecting it. Put it on my desk. It’s the translated confessions.’ ‘I don’t think it’s the parcel you’re thinking of.’ She handed the box over to me. The size was about right but the weight and the rattle weren’t. It was a funeral urn holding soil and ashes taken from the site of the blast. I suppose that in fairness to the Department of Foreign Affairs, they were fairly busy, what with the war in Iraq due to commence within a fortnight, but as I burst into tears I thought that someone from the government might have made such a moment less trivial. It’s very hard to be compassionate to a 22-year-old defendant facing the court on his second drug-induced burglary when the symbolic ashes of your own 22-year-old son, who’d never done wrong, rest on your desk in the next room.
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14 Fol low ing Josh to Bali Following Josh to Bali ‘There’s no such thing as someone else’s child.’ H ILLARY C LINTON
ll my life I had resisted travelling overseas. As Josh was packing I suggested to him that he was more courageous than me. But Amrozi’s trial was due to commence in May 2003, and I was invited to witness the process. I knew there was nothing I could do to allay Joshua’s suffering. He had died, I hoped instantly. But over the period his body remained in Bali there had been things I could have done for his dignity. The thought of my eldest child lying alone, his body not buried, left to the elements, had crushed me. Virgina understood, as did my family, that despite their misgivings, at some point I had go to Bali. Now was an appropriate time. •
A
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Friday: Relaxation pills prescribed for my trip were quaffed with the aid of a beer. There were more in my pocket in case of emergency. By 4 pm I could feel the effect, but it wasn’t sufficient to get me on board the aircraft. Three Sambuccas later, I was starting to tell unfunny stories. Waiting the half-hour until departure allowed me time to purchase gifts for the children. A didgeridoo for Patrick: I thought it was a good idea at the time. Virginia didn’t, but Patrick laughed anyway. With gratitude to an employee of Qantas I slept all the way to Darwin. A keen Sturt supporter, he had seen I was travelling and taken it upon himself to upgrade my ticket. It was 1 am when I arrived in Denpasar. Before going through customs I spotted Lou, our family liaison officer from Centrelink, who had been seconded to Bali to assist the Australian families at the trial. Alongside her stood Australia’s Consul-General to Bali, a man of immense proportions, over two metres in height, shaved head, piercing blue eyes. His immediate smile was welcome. Customs was bypassed. Sleep was always going to be broken in this environment but my peace was snapped early by a horde of reporters who, having awaited the arrival of Australians, were now seeking an interview. Four days was all I had allowed, which meant time was critical. Part of my stay had been set aside to visit, if possible, ex-pat Australians residing in Bali who had, along with Australian tourists, media representatives and many others placed their own well-being to one side and unselfishly 179
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helped on the night of the bombings and for days afterwards. Those forgotten heroes deserved better than they have received to date. They deserved medals, but initially they deserved my gratitude. Prior to travelling to Bali, my family had decided that in Joshua’s memory we would make a donation to a Balinese child who may have been seriously affected in some way by the massacre. But I was alerted to the fact that money donated had not always found the intended recipient and I wanted assurance that any gift would find its mark. Three days before I left Australia, Penny Debelle, a journalist from the Age, introduced me to the plight of Sara and Safdar. She had just that moment received an email about the two children who had lost their mother in the tragedy. Twenty-four hours before my departure I was more fully apprised of the family’s situation. The children’s father, Ebrahim, a man interned in a refugee camp hundreds of kilometres north of Adelaide, a man of whom I had previously been unaware, had been awakened on Sunday 13 October 2002 to be told his wife had been horrifically injured in the Sari Club. She was near death. Thousands of kilometres further north, Sara and Safdar, then aged seven and three, were also told about their mother’s fate. Unlike my three children, they had no father nearby to turn to, be held by, be comforted by. 180
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Lawyers and friends acting for the man urged our government to help. Compassion was sought, though not immediately given. By the time it came, it was too late—his wife had died. He had no children nearby to turn to, be comforted by. Our paths would soon cross. • Saturday: Seeking out the children in Denpasar was important, but not imperative, for at that stage Josh was my highest priority, but the trial was not due to recommence until Monday. I had planned to visit the site of the Sari Club on the Sunday, leaving Saturday afternoon to meet the children. Wayne, a colleague of Penny, had been told about my interest and arrival. Stationed in Bali and connected to the children’s carer, he telephoned to suggest we meet at his hotel and from there drive to their home. I shall never forget my first taxi-ride in a foreign country. Scooters by the thousands dodging and weaving through the traffic, little separating them from us apart from the car horn. Women sitting side-saddle for modesty’s sake, balancing infants no older than three, kept me spellbound with their dexterity. Traffic lights were of little consequence to the swarms who seemingly adhered to one basic rule: survival. Wayne and two of his colleagues were standing in the hotel foyer. We had a brief talk over a beer, and bargained a price for the short taxi-ride to meet the children. Our driver appeared lost once we were underway, but with the aid of my companions speaking in some form of ‘Austra-nesian’, we 181
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eventually found our direction. What ought to have taken ten minutes took twenty before we stopped adjacent to a small, well-kept villa. We passed through the traditional entrance gate into the front garden to be greeted by a beautiful young woman extending her hand. She was no older than Joshua. This was Ashriana, or Shri, the children’s foster parent. Cheekily peering from behind Shri’s legs was a little girl with the brightest of eyes, the most gorgeous of smiles. She could have been two but I was told she was three. I bent down to shake hands but instead of her hand I received both her outstretched arms. I thought she intended to hug me but she immediately took hold of my shoulders and placed the gentlest of kisses, first on one cheek and then the other. If that had been all, it would have been a beautiful moment, but rubbing her nose against mine in her family tradition won me for all eternity. That was my introduction to Sara. Not able to spy the little boy I asked his whereabouts. Harry (Safdar), now appeared at the front door, but he was confused, shy, traumatised. Recently rescued by Shri, he and Sara had been sheltering with distant relatives in a red-light district. Hesitantly he extended his right arm to shake hands. Before leaving Australia I had assumed these children would not be able to speak English. Wondering how I would communicate I thought of a universal means—a ball, an Aussie rules football left over from my coaching days at Highgate Primary School. I also threw in an old footy jumper. 182
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Despite the humidity, Harry pulled the football jumper over his shirt and within moments he was kicking the football, exhibiting all the potential of a half-back. Moments later he was sitting astride my knees giggling with his sister, playing each of us off against the other. I had bridged the gap. In Adelaide it occurred to me that in lieu of donating money it might be more appropriate if I could facilitate a short holiday for the children in Australia. What better way of extracting some good from the evil that had enveloped our families? If I could reunite the family for a moment it would be the ultimate gift from my son. Talking with Shri, it was obvious she was in desperate need of a short respite. At twenty-two years of age, recently married, she is extraordinary. But she appeared near exhaustion. She is the ‘Charitable Organisation’ of whom the Minister for Immigration spoke when referring to the children’s welfare. Shri had been working three jobs to care for Sara, Safdar, her own newborn and seven desperate women, left widowed and uncared for after the Bali bombings. But it was uninformed judgement on my part that launched me into dispute with the Australian government. Prior to my arrival I was unaware of the politics that had surrounded the family and I was ill equipped mentally for the ensuing tournament of wills. However, now that I’d met the children I had fallen under their spell. • 183
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Sunday: The Consul-General was throwing a tea party, a reception to honour the Australian visitors. While there I approached our host, and confirmed my desire to sponsor the children on a trip to Australia. • Monday: I completed the sponsorship forms but the response I received when lodging them at the consulate was a portent of things to come. The children had been the subject of a previous application, which failed. It was likely that my application would suffer a similar fate. From media sources in Adelaide I was alerted to the unhelpful comments in opposition to my application. The Minister for Immigration, Philip Ruddock, had been interviewed on the ABC’s 7.30 Report by Kerry O’Brien. He voiced his disapproval of my intentions. It was his opinion that it would be in the children’s best interests if they were reunited with their father in Iran, the country from which he fled. Even if that had been possible, it would take months and the little ones were desperate. Safdar, I was told, was exhibiting all the signs of a traumatised child. My own observations confirmed as much. How could it be, I thought, that a magistrate, a member of the Youth Court, a father of four and a football coach, was unlikely to be permitted to invite two little children home to Australia on an all-expenses paid, two-week holiday to visit their father, whom they had not seen or touched for two years? In my opinion the actions 184
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of the Minister were deplorable. The consular officer in Jakarta was required to make a decision based on the simple facts of the family’s case, free of any political influence. Unable to understand the government’s position, either from a legal basis or on humanitarian grounds, I became embroiled in a very public war of words. It was never my intention to alter the government’s position on refugees— although now that I am more informed, I wish I could. My ambition was modest. I wished only to give the father the chance to do what I could no longer do with Josh. To hold each of his children. • Tuesday: I knew I was in for a struggle. Despite advice that time was of the essence, the mangement at Baxter Detention Centre in South Australia refused to fax through Ebrahim’s application to the Australian embassy in Jakarta without first ensuring his bank account contained sufficient funds to cover the costs. Despite the fact that the costs were appproximately one dollar and he had more than sufficient funds to cover this, his pleas fell on deaf ears. Ebrahim was informed that his ledger would need auditing to ensure he had the money. This procedure required at least twenty-four hours or more. With the realisation that the application would now delay my return to Australia, I called Virginia. Disappointed by the prospect of my extended stay, Virginia nonetheless accepted my reasons. She knew why I had gone and realised 185
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what I now hoped to achieve. Patrick, by then, had cleaned the spare bedroom, anticipating the children’s arrival. At least the wait allowed me time to entertain the children—on Wednesday morning they became my guests at the hotel. • Thursday: In the afternoon my companions and I travelled forty kilometres to obtain some respite from the aggravations. It was Steve’s suggestion to take in one of the greatest pleasures of the body and soul, a soothing and gentle massage. He assured me the hands of another might remove some of the strain which he said had become all too apparent. I was eternally grateful as the previous five days had been so frenetic. We arrived at Ubud, a village often frequented by travellers to Bali. The locals exist on tourism and subsistence farming. The streets were empty except for the shopkeepers, who continually swept the pavement in anticipation of the arrival of the ‘Australians’. We were constantly asked when more Aussies would be coming back and each time we could only reinforce their fading optimism by replying ‘soon’. Lunching at the Hotel Tjampuhan was like dining with the gods. The magnificence of this hotel and the manner in which it was thoughtfully constructed to harmonise with its surrounds would put many a western developer to shame. With our table positioned adjacent to the open balcony we could witness the birds move gracefully amongst the trees. As I was undressing for my massage, Amrozi was facing his accusers for the third time in two weeks. This man and 186
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his brothers Imron and Mukhlas were but three of over thirty awaiting trial. As the fragrant oils were being driven deep beneath the pores of my skin, I pondered on those who were attending court that day. Our Australian contingent would, no doubt, be present, represented by Collette and Renae, girls who had lost their mother; Brock and Ryan, young men who had lost their elder brother; and, on this occasion, Joan, who had lost her beautiful twin daughters. • Earlier in the week I had attended the trial, not to keep pace with the proceedings—in those circumstances it was too onerous, what with the complexities of Indonesia’s legal system coupled with the language barrier—but to face one of the men implicated in my son’s murder, a man portrayed in the media as having no remorse and seemingly little insight. Having undergone two separate electronic scans and two body searches prior to our admission, we were seated in a very large auditorium—it seemed like a converted sporting stadium—wedged between representatives of the world media. I had been informed the proceedings would be short and I was grateful as the building was quickly becoming unbearably hot through lack of air-conditioning. I became aware that every few seconds a burly military officer walked the aisle next to me, armed and very obviously dangerous. I never knew if his presence was for our benefit or that of the accused. It was an hour before Amrozi bin Nurhasyim entered the court, frogmarched in by four guards. Despite media 187
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depictions of Amrozi’s hitherto grinning face in the months leading up to the trial, I prayed that I would not witness his mirth, not just for myself, but for the others attending court. I had assumed I would keep my composure but I could not deny I harboured doubts. Mercifully, he didn’t grin. Here now, not twenty metres from where I sat, was the man who considered my son’s life to be worth no more than a few dollars. I retched when I first saw the headlines suggesting these kids were killed for a paltry $10 a head. His mother and I had given so much time and effort and love since his birth. His life was a priceless gift to us. It was not a commodity, but had I known the nature of such remuneration I would have offered—as would every other parent or child— my entire life’s worth as a form of barter. We stood as the five judges entered the court. Their black robes adorned with red edging gave them a foreboding appearance. It signified a capital offence was being tried. But the hearing lasted little more than an hour, sufficient for the prosecution to cast aspersions on the defence case. I can only imagine the emotions experienced by my fellow attendees that day, seated so close to the accused. For me there were none—just emptiness. Amrozi was irrelevant. But having seen the accused in the flesh, having represented my son and family before the court, I had no need to return to his trial or the trials of any of the remaining accused. 188
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Following the hearing I met with other families and friends of victims. We sat and chatted in a small café not far from the site of the bombings. The road outside leading to the nightclubs is no wider than a laneway one might expect to find at the rear of an inner suburban home, but the volume of local traffic exceeds that on many arterial roads in an average-sized Australian city. The noise and exhaust fumes from the cars and scooters would make it uncomfortable for some people, but not so the kids of my son’s age, especially at night. Talking with my fellow Australians was a special experience. They and all those I have met who have been directly affected by the events of 12 October share so much in common. They were warm, friendly and caring, and yet so lonely. • The previous afternoon, Wednesday, was to have been the final leg of my personal journey. Arriving at the Australian consulate I was embraced by Joan. We would be travelling to the hospital to visit the area where our children were held for weeks pending repatriation. I have always tried to keep in mind that despite my own loss there are always circumstances of greater horror. Joan’s was such a case. Yet her warmth, her composure, her outward strength of character in such terrible circumstances encouraged me. I am so grateful to have met her. 189
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Taken in separate cars we met again at the hospital only to part company not only from each other but also our companions in order to visit the morgue. This was a time meant only for us and our children. I had no need for directions. Despite never having been to the hospital, I could feel Joshua’s energy, his presence. I knew where his body had lain. I sat and talked and cried with my Josh until it was time to leave. On the journey back to my hotel I pondered whether Joan, Collette, Renae, Brock and Ryan had been told, like so many others I have met, that it was now time to ‘move on’ or ‘get over it’. • While her gentle hands caressed the ever-present ache in the muscles supporting my neck, I could hear the familiar sounds of water bubbling as the River Ayung cascaded over rocks, like a soothing orchestral backing to the Balinese music playing softly from speakers above me. Glancing across my right shoulder I took in the lush greenery and jungle foliage. Closing my eyes I sent a prayer to Josh, hoping that, after all he has been through, he too is now sharing such a moment. Francis Bacon wrote that a parent’s grief is a lonely one— he was right. Drifting off I saw images of all my children and reminded myself that Josh’s three younger siblings should not be caused the anguish a parent suffers. For them the road of life remains 190
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long and challenging and I sensed that I must turn my thoughts to them equally. • Sunday: It was now day eight and it was unlikely that any decision would be made about Sara and Safdar’s visit to Australia whilst I remained in Bali. Somewhat reluctantly, I decided to return to Australia. My last day was busy, packing to leave for home, finalising accounts and the like, but more importantly I had been invited to attend a Balinese barbecue. My hosts were the waiters from our hotel. They were supplying the suckling pig and I the beer. At last count nearly every waiter/barperson in the international hotel would be in attendance at ‘Mr Brian’s Partee’. I suppose the other guests simply had to serve themselves for an hour or two. I was so pleased to have made the trip. It was my first and last outside Australia but I had been able to reclaim for myself something I lost, and along the way I had given something back—I have converted two little children and a few Balinese men to Aussie Rules football. Words alone are challenged to adequately describe the sensation of returning home. In Bali I yearned intensely for my family, never having been separated for such an extended period. Safely home, I could once again hold, speak and laugh with my children. But that very thought dragged upon me, reminding me of the two little ones left behind. 191
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Several days after my arrival home, I received notification that my application to sponsor Sara and Safdar had been refused. It was apparent that unless the Australian spirit of fair mindedness came to the fore, I would never see these two beautiful kids again.
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15 Sara and Safdar Sara and Safdar
‘If you want to succeed in politics, you must keep your conscience well under control.’ D AVID L LOYD G EORGE
t Mary Peak stands prominent amongst the sprawling Flinders Ranges, a timeless vision of God’s creation, the consummate backdrop for travellers heading north, through the South Australian city of Port Augusta. Three kilometres southwest of that city stands one of our unholy creations: a six-metre high wall of corrugated iron, skirted by two runs of razor wire atop chain-meshed fencing running in perfect parallel. The ‘gulag’ of Baxter encloses some three hundred terrified detainees, men of my age and education, women of Virginia’s age and education, and children not dissimilar to Nicholas, Patrick and Eloise. But
S
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as hard you look, you will never find a blue-eyed, blondhaired child amongst the inmates. For the thousands of Europeans and Americans who are illegally in this country, having overstayed their visas, gaol is not their fate. It was June 2003, my first meeting with Ebrahim. I had taken the liberty of holding his little girl, hence I thought it appropriate to introduce myself to her father. After filing through the electronically operated gates, it was a requirement that we empty our pockets of anything that could be regarded as a potential weapon. Keys and cigarette lighters had to be surrendered, as did cameras and video-recorders. I argued about the latter—I had film of Ebrahim’s children which I was hopeful he could watch—but my pleas fell on deaf ears.‘Why?’ I asked Desley Billich, the solicitor accompanying me. ‘Why can I not show him the film?’ ‘You will see,’ was her reply. ‘The government is fearful the general public might see how we treat these people, therefore cameras are strictly forbidden.’ From the office it was a 40-metre walk to the first of three security doors sealing the corridors, followed by a wait of more than twenty minutes for the authorities to bring Ebrahim to the visitor’s area. I took the time to wander the iron clad quadrangle. Forty metres by forty metres of freedom, plus amenities for the children—a central slippery-dip. Park benches bolted at intervals along the perimeter walls allowed for the inmates and guests to sit and talk, but private conversations required the availability of one of the corner 194
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seats. Men queued at the wall plate, waiting their turn to use the automated cigarette lighter. The atmosphere in the visitors room was positive but hardly cheerful. Local residents and Catholic nuns, spurred on by their sense of humanity, had given their day to share hope and encouragement with the young men, teaching them basic literary skills. Standing to one side I observed the women’s hands, reaching, touching, holding, stroking the hands, backs and heads of frightened young men. I had seen those images before, mothers in hospital comforting their children. Wives and girlfriends visiting their partners in gaol, comforting the lonely. But these prisoners were neither officially sick nor serving time. Whether driven away by the pathetic surrounds or by the claustrophobic conditions, I walked outside to get some air, some sanity, some normality. The thing that struck me most about the mountain ranges was that I could no longer see them. The absence of any view was a deliberate feature of the design, resulting in uninterrupted, disorientating, allencasing six-metre high walls, appropriately coloured light brown in sympathy with the landscape. Standing outside, I now wanted to return indoors. Kate Reynolds, a member of the South Australian Parliament, suddenly called me over. I guessed Ebrahim had arrived. I had driven four hours for this moment, and suddenly I realised that I had no idea what he looked like. 195
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As I returned to the room I turned to my left and saw a man no taller than me standing alone. I presumed it was him, he knew it was me. I motioned towards him, but he turned, spontaneously wailing, sobbing, beating his head against the fibro wall. My feet seemed pinned to the floor. I was reliving a scene from my past. As a lawyer in my late twenties, I had visited a client awaiting trial. He too had acted in a similar manner but that was in Yatala Labour Prison and my client had been charged with rape and later acquitted. What crime had this man committed? It was precisely this moment that I had sought to avoid. I had met his children and fallen in love, but as a judicial officer I had sought to avoid becoming enmeshed in the politics surrounding foreign nationals detained under immigration laws. We talked of our children, our wives and our lives. I knew then I had done the right thing. He loved his family as I did mine. When I left Ebrahim, he didn’t beg, or even ask, but I promised that I would do what I could to facilitate a two-week visit by his son and daughter. • 10 June 2003: It was 5 pm in Canberra when I was told the Minister had almost finished his conference and would be ready to see me. Canberra at that time of the year is unbearably cold. So cold, in fact, one could feel sympathy for the politicians. Philip Ruddock, then Minister for Immigration and Aboriginal Affairs, had agreed to meet with 196
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me in relation to Sara and Safdar—in particular, my application to support a short trip to visit their father in Baxter. I had no documents to produce, save one. As I was leaving for the airport that morning, Patrick called from the balcony, ‘You can do it!’ It had been one of Josh’s favourite expressions, and Patrick had adopted it. ‘Wait up,’ he called. ‘I brought my project home from school. It might help. Read Articles 9 and 10.’ Running out the front door he thrust into my hands a booklet he had been studying for one of his Year 7 subjects. ‘Now go get ’em, Dad!’ While on the plane I had time to read the booklet: ‘The United Nations General Assembly—1989 Convention on the Rights of the Child’. Article 9 states that ‘Parties shall ensure that a child shall not be separated from his or her parents against their will . . .’ Article 10:‘In accordance with the obligation of States Parties under article 9, par. 1 applications by a child or his or her parents to enter or leave a State Party for the purpose of family reunification shall be dealt with by the State Parties in a positive, humane and expeditious manner . . .’ Paddy rang me that afternoon, inquiring as to my success. It was too early, only 4 pm, but I was congratulating him on his efforts when he interrupted: ‘Will you be seeing the Prime Minister as well?’ ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. Why?’ I asked. ‘Dad, haven’t you read all the book? Have a look at Article 38. If you see him, give him your copy.’ 197
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Article 38: ‘. . . States Parties undertake to respect and to ensure respect for rules of international humanitarian law applicable to them in armed conflicts which are relevant to the child . . . In accordance with their obligations under international law to protect the civilian population in armed conflicts, States Parties shall take all feasible measures to ensure protection and care of children who are affected by armed conflict.’ • By meeting with the Minister I was engaging in a practice that I demanded of litigants in my court: to talk, listen and try to comprehend their adversary’s point of view. The afternoon of Friday 14 November had been set aside for a Federal Court hearing of submissions from Michael Abbott QC on the appeal which I had instigated on my return from Bali. Given that I was now involved in a Federal Court review of the Minister’s department’s handling of Sara and Safdar’s application for a visa, it seemed appropriate I should abide by my own rules. I hadn’t travelled to Canberra with the aim of shifting the government’s position on refugees. I had gone to shift what I considered an un-Christian, un-Australian position on two little children who had lost their Balinese mother because of anti-western sentiment. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Their father was almost certain to be deported to Iran and in the current political climate that would in turn effectively make the little ones orphans. 198
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Once in Iran it was highly likely Ebrahim would be imprisoned. It was unlikely the children would be allowed to enter the country and, unless Ebrahim escaped, Sara and Safdar would not see their father again. But even in the unlikely event that the Iranians would allow them in, Iran was being painted by Bush as part of the axis of evil. The thought of these children becoming future ‘collateral damage’ was more than I was prepared to allow. Patrick and Elly were depending on me. Josh, who had been guiding me, was by my side. I wasn’t prepared to come away with nothing, to leave Canberra having totally failed in my quest. I knew the Minister was a Christian. It gave me hope. Apart from the fact that we were both lawyers, both fathers, it added a new dimension. An hour and a half into our discussions, the Minister, probably desperate to get rid of me, threw his hands in the air and agreed his department would inquire of the Iranian government whether the children could be given a permanent visa. He would also facilitate the children coming to Australia to join with their father and thereafter travel with him to Iran. I flew out of Canberra believing that Joshua’s death had not been totally in vain. It wasn’t the preferred option but the best I could achieve. I have never received written notification from Ruddock or his department, but Ebrahim eventually would. • 199
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Sunday 12 October 2003: The first anniversary of the Bali bombings. A memorial plaque was to be unveiled in the Botanical Gardens. The South Australian government had thoughtfully included Ebrahim, who attended surrounded by three guards. Dressed in a black suit and holding to his chest his treasured photograph of himself together with his wife Endang and the two little ones, he was a pitiful sight. His drawn face and his blackened eyes seemed appropriate in the circumstances—they mirrored mine. When we spoke, Ebrahim told me he had not slept in seventy-two hours, waiting to be whisked away in the dead of night. Three days earlier, he had received the Minister’s advice: there would be no intervention on his behalf. He was now fourth in line to be forcibly deported. Perfect timing, Australia! The government, I guessed, was now undermining what I had believed a very winnable case. If Ebrahim was no longer in Australia, the Federal Court hearing was superfluous. Dismayed and offended that a decision had been made without the courtesy of a response, I faxed a letter to the new Minister, Amanda Vanstone, on 15 October, seeking clarification in writing of the status of the government’s inquiries. It would be four months before I received a response. Together we waited for the arrival of the distinguished guests, Ebrahim holding his photograph to his chest. The Premier arrived followed by Her Excellency, the Governor. Majorie Jackson-Nelson is an Olympian in every sense. 200
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A perfect choice for the vice-regal position, her compassion is unlimited. As she caught sight of Ebrahim, she immediately embraced him. Quietly, unashamedly, humanely, she placed a small welcoming kiss on his cheek. As we paid tribute in Adelaide, the Prime Minister was in Bali to unveil the gigantic memorial to honour our dead. Later he attended an exhibition Aussie rules football match. So too did Shri, along with Sara and Safdar. Jason McCartney, an AFL footballer seriously injured in the bombing, had invited Shri to be presented with a cheque, a donation by the Australian contingent to assist with her work in caring for the children and the seven Balinese widows she had taken into her home. ‘Go home and turn on your email!’ I was shopping when Kate Reynolds called to tell me of the photograph she had received. ‘You’re not going to believe what has just come through. It’s a photo of the Prime Minister in Bali holding hands with Sara and Safdar.’ Despite accusations of my complicity, I can’t take credit for ‘setting up the Prime Minister’. I am not even certain it was a set-up. I had no idea that he would be attending a football match. I didn’t know of the match and I hadn’t spoken to anyone in Bali in months. What I do know is that no one forced the children upon him. But I will confess to releasing the image to sections of the media. Strike one for Josh! 201
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Within days the Prime Minister was advising Parliament that he was referring the children’s case to Senator Vanstone, for review. With the days passing and still no word, Michelle Grattan, senior columnist writing for the Sunday Age, called to say she would be writing a piece on the government’s position. That weekend she wrote a powerful story about the children’s plight. Strike two. Nearly a fortnight passed and there was still no decision. I couldn’t sleep. Lying awake each night I begged Josh for help, guidance, intervention. On Friday morning Michelle Grattan called again. She had decided to write a follow-up piece. But she needed some help, she said, from a respected high-profile Australian. That evening I had the most comforting conversation with a man whom I regard as Australia’s foremost living legend: the former Governor-General, Sir William Deane. Sir William, who had also held the position of Chief Justice of the High Court of Australia, not only offered his unconditional support, but would do so in writing. He said he could not speak out publicly on the issue, but because he believed in my cause, he and his wife wished to donate $100 each in support of the children. Importantly, Sir William acceded to my subsequent request to allow Michelle Grattan to comment on both the letter and gifts in her story. During that week I telephoned Minister Vanstone’s office on numerous occasions. I was following up on my letter and was seeking a meeting, but I had no success. On Friday I 202
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received a return call from the Minister’s appointment secretary, who said, ‘Mr Deegan, I am sorry but there is no possible way I can give you an appointment. The Minister is particularly busy.’ On the Monday morning and following Michelle Grattan’s second story, I was walking into Court when the phone rang. It was the Minister’s appointment secretary: ‘When do you think you would be available for a meeting?’ Strike three. Although the Age’s primary distribution is limited to Victoria, there is little doubt the article and its disclosures had filtered upwards to Canberra. • Thursday 8 November 2003: I stood facing Ebrahim in the hotel foyer. For a few moments neither of us moved, until he cupped his hands over his face. A second more and we were in a mutual embrace, but there were no more tears. We were exhausted, emotionally drained. Eight hours earlier he had been released and escorted from Baxter Detention Centre. Ebrahim was now free. Standing back, he reached for the jacket pocket over his heart. Producing a plastic wallet he proudly opened it, displaying his permanent Australian visa. He then looked directly at me and said,‘Mr Brian, you are my older brother and I promise to you that I shall be a good man in this country.’ To the unwitting observer his smile was a clear indication of joy, but those present at this meeting knew of the anguish 203
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and unresolved grief hidden deep in his soul. It had been thirty-one months since his arrival by boat in Australia. Forced by circumstances to abandon his loved ones, Ebrahim had fled Indonesia, avoiding certain deportation to Iran. Arrested and detained in Australian camps, he had not seen his children since. Sara was just a year old when he last held her in his arms, Safdar five. In two more weeks these children would be reunited with their father. Ebrahim’s gaze swept over my family. Focusing on Patrick, who was now extending his hand, he embraced my little boy. He hadn’t held a child since 15 April 2001. For Ebrahim this was a special day, his first in a new world, a free world, a country where he and his children will be safe. With the sun’s failing rays warming our backs, I sat next to Ebrahim at the sidewalk café. Picking at the Lebanese fare, I watched as he spoke with Eloise and Patrick. I watched as he shared with them the platter of food. I watched as he chatted with Virginia, Deslie and Kate. I watched as he smiled and laughed. I wanted to join in, I tried to join in, but couldn’t. I was consumed by anger, confusion, frustration. Here, seated alongside me, was a man who had been held without trial for thirty-one months. Here was a man who had lost his wife but was refused permission to be at her side as she lay dying. Here was a man who the government had not allowed to attend his wife’s funeral. Yesterday this man was a criminal, 204
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an ‘illegal immigrant’, restrained by sharp razor wire. Today, with a stroke of the pen, he became a free man. Groups of three, families of four, early visitors to the city night-life, completely oblivious to our guest, strolled casually past our table. • Five months later I received a reply. February 3rd 2004 Dear Mr Deegan, Thank you for your letter of 15th October 2003 concerning Sara and Safda Sammaki, children of Ebrahim Sammaki. I regret the delay in replying. As you would be aware, I announced on 6 November my decision to grant a permanent resident visa to Mr Sammaki on humanitarian grounds. You will also be aware from recent media reports that Mr Sammaki’s children have now arrived in Australia. Thank you for writing to me on this issue. Yours sincerely Amanda Vanstone.
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16 Anatomy of hate Anatomy of hate
‘War is something terrible, I don’t understand why adults do things like that.’ A LI A BBAS , M ARC H 2003
is cries, his moans, his intermittent screams led his rescuers to him. As he lay among the pile of tortured bodies, Ali watched in terror as the fire engulfed him. He screamed for his dad, his mum, his brothers and sister. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, suffocating under the weight of his dad’s lifeless form. Ali was badly burned and both of his arms had been torn from his body. Ali Abbas is a thirteen-year-old Iraqi child. He and his family are the first of many thousands of civilian casualties in the war of the ‘coalition of the willing’, the war in Iraq to which the Howard government had been predisposed since
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early 2002. Plucked from the fire, Ali survived the US missile attack that obliterated his home and killed sixteen members of his family, including his mother, father and brother. According to a report in the Advertiser, Ali has since had a series of skin graft operations at the al-Babtain Centre in Kuwait and is recovering well. His cousin, Karvil Abrahim, twenty-six, arrived at the hospital to hand over three photographs—Ali’s father, mother and younger brother Abbas—together with family mementos retrieved from the ruins of Ali’s home. The coronial report confirmed that Joshua was murdered. Fox News would report that Ali and his family were ‘collateral damage’. There are no WOMD—there never were any. An unrepentant Prime Minister Howard has said that he would do it all again.
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17 I am confused I am confused
‘There is a holy mistaken zeal in politics as well as in religion.’ P UBLIC A DV ERTISER , 19 M ARC H 1770
lthough the Department of Foreign Affairs never came good on its promise to send me a copy of the bombers’ translated confessions, I managed to obtain my own. Imam Samdura had the following to say at various points in the investigation and trial:
A
. . . after formulating the plan for the Bali bombing, I held the first meeting in Solo, in the vicinity of Pabelan, in September of 2002. It was my idea, and those present were myself, Amrozi and Idris. In the meeting we talked about issues relating to the awareness of our obligations as Moslems, toward our fellow Moslems who are being 208
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oppressed and slaughtered by the American Terrorists and their allies England, France, Australia . . . There were [a number of ] reasons . . . To oppose the barbarity of the US army of the cross and its allies . . . England, Australia . . . Because Australia had taken part in efforts to separate East Timor from Indonesia . . . I initiated the idea [for the Bali bombings] myself and the reasons I chose Bali are as follows . . . Bali is the meeting place of international terrorists like the US, Great Britain, France, Germany, Belgium, Australia . . . It was my obligation as a Moslem to take revenge for the pain of 200 000 weak men, weak women and babies who died without sin when thousands of tonnes of bombs were dropped in Afghanistan in September 2001.
• Following his arrest on 5 November 2002 and subsequent trial, Amrozi, having been ‘legally and convincingly proven guilty of having, together with others, planned an act of terrorism and also of being in illegal possession of explosives . . .’ was sentenced to death on 7 August 2003. Convicted of murdering my son and hundreds more, he awaits his fate—defrocked, uncrowned, isolated, segregated— in a fetid cell on death row. The demonic grin that once served its master well is, thankfully, gone; fear and his conscience are his constant companions. The vision of my son’s murderer seated uncomfortably on the harsh concrete floor in a room bare of the conveniences he had once taken 209
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for granted evokes little sympathy, but the prospect of him picking grains from the rice bowl served for his last meal is something I wish no part of. I do not wish for his death, for I oppose the death penalty under any circumstance, but I cannot pray for his life. Imam Samudra, arrested as he was attempting to flee to Malaysia in November 2002, was returned to Bali where he stood trial. Found guilty, he was sentenced to death on 10 September 2003. Mukhlas was found guilty of the ‘crime against humanity’ on 2 October 2003. Judge Cokorda Raka Suamba read the court’s judgement to the packed courthouse: sentenced to death. At his trial, Ali Imron recanted on the methods employed by the group, expressed remorse for the murders and proffered evidence against his brothers. Sentenced to life imprisonment on 17 September 2003, he has subsequently appealed for presidential clemency. Idris and the remaining prisoners are currently awaiting trial for their part in the conspiracy. In the days leading up to the court’s judgement on Amrozi I was contacted by many within the Australian media: did I have an opinion? I did. I had a very strong opinion but was uncertain whether I should disclose it. The exposure of human frailties and modern science was sufficiently compelling for me to oppose capital punishment well before my son’s death. To now adopt a different philosophy would be opportunistic and a betrayal of a code of behaviour I have 210
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instilled in my children. But it was Josh who died, and I was now being asked to speak for him. I had to be sure. For a day and a half I sat by his grave silently asking for guidance. With an iced coffee for him and one for me, we talked for hours. Each time I went to leave I felt beckoned back. It was beautiful, spiritual, comforting, but an experience only one who has lost a loved one would understand. I was reminded of the words spoken at Josh’s funeral by his friend, James. They were simple but sweet. Josh was about seventeen or eighteen when his mother Angela, who was in the kitchen, screamed. Josh was preparing for training. Alarmed, he ran to his mother’s aid to be told she had just spied a mouse. She begged him to kill it. He refused and captured it in a small sealed container. He promised to dispose of it on his way to football. He was in her car. He forgot. Days later, Angela found the dead mouse in the passenger’s footwell. She screamed. Josh, who was first to the car, was devasted. He had taken the life of one of nature’s creations. I knew my children well and felt confident I could speak on Joshua’s behalf. I opposed carrying out the penalty on Amrozi and his co-conspirators, because I have younger children. The death of such murderers, at the hands of the state and at the behest of the ‘infidel’, might elevate these criminals to an undeserved status that would only serve to encourage others, thus exposing my family to further danger. 211
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Death awakens all manner of emotions and murder excites more. Avengement and purgation have, to varying degrees, formed part of the judicial process since the garden of Eden. Similarly, capital punishment in its many and flexible forms has existed in the eyes of some philosophers not only as a means of atonement, but as a justifiable deterrent to potential criminals. In this regard it has been an abject failure, as clearly shown by statistics measuring the commensurate rise of murders and executions in countries employing the death penalty. When President Bush was the governor of Texas, he signed more death warrants than in most other US states, yet the incidence of murder in Texas remains the highest in the US. The argument in favour of capital punishment remains difficult to reconcile with the universal revulsion felt about moments in history when society thought nothing of hanging a child or burning a woman as a witch. We read with disgust, or perhaps out of guilt, of the stoning of adulterers, the removal of the thief ’s hand or the decapitation of the blasphemer’s head, yet we find it palatable to break a man’s neck, to inject poison into his veins or to electrify his body. I disagree with the Prime Minister. I believe the suggestion that Amrozi and his cohorts should be put to the firing squad is unconscionable and barbaric. What they did to my child and to the hundreds of others in Bali defies description. Quite understandably, it draws hatred and 212
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encourages revenge, but it bestows no rights to repeat such a vile act. So many to whom I speak believe the Indonesians have captured most of those responsible, and they want them dead. I don’t. I want to know if Amrozi’s role in this butchery was no more than that of a pawn. I retain the belief that most of those who have been arrested are at the lower echelon and I reserve my rancour for those yet to be detained. Those who are executed can no longer assist in the apprehension and detention of those responsible for the planning, those who harbour and incite hatred, and those who have the means to enlist others to do their evil bidding. Forensically I oppose the death sentence on the basis that to extinguish the life of the foot soldier will shade the culpability of the general. It is my belief that these village idiots did not act alone. The investigations in Indonesia were progressed well— almost too well. Perfect identikits, imperfect conspirators and frank confessions. President Sukarnoputri decreed that she wanted the case cleared up by the end of November—it was. Within a month most of the conspirators had been arrested and within days had given full and frank confessions, including evidence against others. I’ve heard it said the Indonesian military can obtain confessions from an Egyptian mummy, and this was the speediest investigation I’d ever witnessed. 213
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Hamish McDonald, writing for the Age on 18 October 2002, asked: ‘Should the Indonesian military be on the list of suspects? . . . There is a long history of political manipulators within the Indonesian armed forces, or TNI, playing with the fire of Islamic extremism and staging incidents of terrorism, as well as the institution itself carrying out state terror as in Aceh, Ambon and East Timor—directly or through militia proxies.’ He cited Deakin University’s Greg Barton, who published his article days earlier in the same newspaper, referring to bombings in 2000 which included a car-bomb outside the residence of the Philippines ambassador, and a huge car-bomb blast in the underground car park of the Jakarta Stock Exchange, for which two members of the army special forces, or Kopassus, received gaol terms. Accountability, McDonald said, was not a feature of Indonesia’s political/legal system. Atrocities committed in East Timor had gone unpunished. Few who committed crimes had been brought to justice. The heaviest penalty for those convicted, fewer than a handful, was the four-year prison sentence imposed on parliamentary speaker and Golkar party chief Akbar Tanjung. But even he remains at his post while his case is under appeal. McDonald’s article, written just days following the bombing, carried at least one prediction that has come to pass: 214
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The Bali bombing may well have been solely the work of Islamic extremists, rather than an effort by the ‘status quo’ to undermine Megawati or bring American support back to the TNI. But the immediate result will be that Islamic militants in Indonesia experience a crackdown on their activities, and Western governments are back in Jakarta talking about greater co-operation with Indonesian defence and security agencies.
Australia’s Minister for Defence has remarked most favourably on the new alliance with these forces and their cooperation with Australia’s fight against terrorism. Photo identikit images of several suspects were released to the media in the first half of November. This investigatory tool has proved very useful, in particular when the police have few other clues, but its application relies heavily on the memory of the witness. One by one the alleged offenders were publicly portrayed in the media by use of this imaging procedure, closely followed by photographs of the accused after arrest. When the re-created images appeared alongside photographs it was apparent that the witnesses had excellent power of recall in circumstances when time, usually an enemy of witnesses’ memory, had played a part. At a symposium on 28 February 2002 I questioned the Federal Police about the absolute likeness, not just of one but of a number of the suspects. The scenerio was foreign to my own experiences. I was told that new imaging 215
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equipment from Victoria had been transported to Bali, but that was little different to using better camera equipment. I was also told that weeks following the purchase of a motorcycle, a witness could recall, quite accurately, the facial features of the purchaser, who in turn was part of the conspiracy. At the time I assessed the reply in relation to my experience in Australia. Motorcycles constitute a small proportion of the transport system here, and it seemed quite plausible that a salesman might make but a few sales per week. But when I travelled to Bali, this explanation imploded. In contrast to Australia there are literally millions of motorcycles, most of which appear to be new. I’ve recently been advised by a well-informed source that the original identikits had been ready for distribution by the military before 12 October. There may be a reasonable explanation: some of these terrorists were previously known, not just to the Indonesian military, but to western intelligence. Politically, I am confused. These men who proclaim Allah has guided them did not single out my son from the crowd but viewed those at the Sari Club and Paddy’s Bar as representatives of a collective of terror whose leaders had directed bombs to be dropped, inadvertently killing equally innocent people. Surely I am not the only person to view this as an inevitable link in an unbroken chain in Australia’s foreign affairs?
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18 Unf i ni shed bu siness Unfinished business
‘Do you pray for the Senators, Dr Hale?’ ‘No, I look at the Senators and pray for the country.’ E DWARD E VERETT H ALE
was lucky and I knew it—I’d come from the ‘land down under’. I had sufficient money and all the worldly goods I desired, but October in Bali added a new dimension, magnifying a belief I had always held. Nothing in the world compares to the bond between a parent and child. Returning from Bali meant returning home to my family, returning to work, but also returning to unfinished business. The week after I arrived back in Adelaide I was still on leave, which left me a few days to make contact with Canberra. The question of compensation for those injured in Bali was high on my agenda, and the Senate inquiry into intelligence
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held prior to Bali would soon start. Since February 2003, when the government first told me it was examining the possibility of compensation, I had maintained fortnightly telephone contact with the Attorney-General’s office. With each call I became increasingly satisfied that the department would in course be setting up a federal scheme. The day following my return home I rang Canberra. No final decision had yet been made but the AttorneyGeneral’s Department had everything in place. It had calculated the potential number of eligible victims and families and the amount to be paid. Obviously, those who had been badly burnt or suffered loss of limbs would be compensated for such loss and pain. It would probably only be 10 per cent of the sum they might be entitled to under a common-law action, but it was nevertheless a safetynet. It would mean they could pay their hire-purchases and their rent while they were unable to work. I suggested to the project officer in charge that in order to speed things up, it might be appropriate if I met with the Minister for Justice. Accordingly, on 3 June I flew to Melbourne at the government’s expense for a forty-minute conference with Senator Chris Ellison. He is a compassionate man, honest and reasonable. As a father he could empathise. As a lawyer he could understand. He realised that compensation isn’t about receiving some kind of bonus. He accepted that for many of those affected, it would do little more than pay for bills already incurred. Forty minutes 218
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extended into two hours. The meeting closed on the basis that he would report to Cabinet on the matters I had raised. Following the announcement of the Federal budget four weeks later, I became disheartened. No allowance had been made to assist the survivors, although more monies had been directed to the Defence budget. I called the Attorney-General’s Department and spoke with the project officer, who was puzzled by the absence of any reference to compensation in the budget, but was nonetheless confident it would still go through. I called him each week thereafter, and he remained confident. In mid-August I was informed that the Prime Minister and his Cabinet were meeting to discuss a number of issues, including compensation. Later that week when I called the Attorney-General’s Department to confirm this, I was told it was were no longer dealing with matters pertaining to Bali and I should refer all inquiries to the Prime Minister’s Department. That was an ominous sign. That department’s response was: ‘Mr Deegan, we will be looking after the victims, but at this stage there will be no monetary compensation. We will be extending their medical requirements and meeting the costs of counselling. Where necessary we shall be paying for all taxi services to ferry them to their doctors or hospital.’ You bastards, was my first thought. I paused for a moment to collect myself. I had been led on a wild goose chase. I had put forward the proposition, but it was the government, 219
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Downer’s own department, who had first contacted me. It was the government that had given me false hope. For six months I had gone quiet at its suggestion. Although entitled, I didn’t want compensation. I was on a good income. I wasn’t injured, nor did I have to give up work. I finally replied: ‘But that is no more, save the taxi, than could be expected under Medicare. Don’t you realise that many of these people are out of work? That some may not find work again? That for many their lives have been ruined? No matter your views, the government is their government and is responsible for them. The government signed the UN resolution well back in 1985, covering precisely this sort of episode. If now isn’t the time to instigate a compensation scheme, when is?’ ‘I understand your point of view but the government is not prepared at this stage to make any award of compensation.’ I had been fooled and I had been had. It’s often said a week in politics is a long time. Six months is an eternity. The war in Iraq had been fought and for many Bali was now just history. Compassion and understanding for those who survived had dissipated. It shouldn’t have surprised me. Two weeks later I received a fax, dated 10 September, from the Prime Minister’s department seeking clarification on my proposed scheme. That evening I called Canberra. Towards the end of the conversation I gingerly asked whether the fax was an indication that the government was considering a reversal of its decision. ‘No, the government has made its 220
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decision but I would like to understand more about the scheme. Keep pushing, you never know what may happen in the future.’ We debated the issues for twenty minutes or more. I asked the officer if she knew anyone who had been injured in a car accident and had sued for their injuries. ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘but in any event, how would $50 000 help these kids? After all, the government will be meeting the ongoing costs of replacing their prostheses for the rest of their lives.’ For another perspective, $650 000 was allocated by the Federal government to provide security for Prince Harry’s holiday down-under in 2003. Around $400 million was wasted on purchasing torpedoes for the navy’s new submarines. The torpedoes are useless—they do not fit. Approximately $40 000 was spent by the Prime Minister on a one-night stay in Paris. As for Ben, Nicolle and those who were burnt? A free taxi-ride to the hospital. • In late February 2003 the Senate was to vote on the Bill prepared by Labor to establish a full Senate inquiry into the Bali bombings. Kevin Rudd had sent me a copy of Labor’s proposed Bill, and Senator Bob Brown from the Greens had sent his. I favoured Labor’s proposal as it was slightly wider in ambit. But as the days passed, the issue of Iraq consumed Parliament’s time. Fearful that the Bali inquiry would become overshadowed, I called Dr Carmen Lawrence 221
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seeking her help. Within days she returned my call advising me that the Bill had definitely not been forgotten, neither had the lives of those killed in Bali. With the minority parties now forming the majority in the Senate, there was every indication the Bill would be passed. For me, the inquiry could not be perfect, far from it—the government could still ignore its findings. It was unlikely, as had happened in previous Senate inquiries, that any government minister would be called. Unlike in formal judicial proceedings, witnesses would not be tested under oath and, apart from the questions put by the senators, there would be little cross-examination because of the limited time. But it was a start. It would be open, unbiased and bipartisan. For Josh and those who perished with him, for the survivors and for the families of all the victims, it now appeared that there would be some semblance of justice. No one could deny that Bali is the greatest peacetime disaster in Australia’s history. Royal commissions have been established for lesser events, yet for some reason the Prime Minister opposed a Senate Inquiry, as did the Minister for Foreign Affairs, who publicly labelled it a ‘political stunt’. Privately, I had labelled the Bill the ‘Joshua Bill’, to honour my son, but he was a small part of the rationale that was driving me. Inflamed by the Alexander Downer’s public comment, I penned an open letter which was published in the Advertiser the following day: 222
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Dear Mr Downer, On 6 March two separate news bulletins were forwarded to me by members of the Associated Press. The first related to the proposed establishment of a full Senate inquiry into Australia’s security organisations and their knowledge—or lack thereof—pertaining to risks that we as Australians were exposed to prior to 12 October 2002. The second related to your reported response to the same. I believe you were quoted as saying that in your opinion it was a ‘political stunt’. I take umbrage with that comment. You have been aware for months that I have been agitating for a full inquiry. I am unaware if you have taken the time to speak privately to any other individual (apart from myself ) whose life was changed irreversibly by the Bali Massacre. If you had, you would realise that most if not all are dissatisfied with your Government’s response to suggestions of incompetence or mismanagement. If you suggest (and I think you do) that Mr Blick’s five-page report represents your Government’s complete analysis of events leading up to the greatest peacetime murder of unarmed civilians in Australia’s history then I am astounded. Its shallowness insults the dead, is an 223
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indignity to the survivors and more importantly neglects your Government’s duty to protect its constituents. The irrefutable fact remains that 88 [sic] good Australians died from the most horrific injuries. Hundreds more have suffered immeasurably. This apparently occurred under the watchful eyes of a number of intelligence agencies (including Australia’s). I note the initial British report signalled significant faults in their own system. Whilst I concede hindsight is a wonderful tool, our taxpayers should expect more. Your department is not paid to rely on hindsight but to have foresight and respond to it. I have hindsight. I can say that looking back my son was ill-advised in travelling to Bali. In light of what is now history, your arrogant assertions that all was well in the intelligence departments must surely be premised on the supposition that Australian intelligence sources were unaware of the existence of these terrorists groups or at least the extent of the problem. If they were not aware then why not? If they were aware of either the existence or the extent—or worse, both—then why did they not let on? Are we to believe that all the information presently at our disposal has been gained post-Bali? 224
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Are you saying that in the aftermath not one recommendation for a change in processing information has been made in any department involving intelligence gathering or dissemination of the same? If not then would you accept that we as a nation are justified in feeling decidedly uncomfortable as a repeat of Bali is almost inevitable? Brian K Deegan
I received no reply. The Bill was debated and passed on 24 March. The voting went, as I expected, along party lines, 33/30. Every Liberal Party senator voted against it. Benjamin Disraeli said:‘Damn your principles, stick to your party.’ • The Senate was to hear oral evidence in mid-June 2003, but earlier that month it received written submissions from interested groups. ASIO, ONA and the Australian Federal Police were but some who filed reports. On Monday morning I was opening the door to enter court when the phone rang. The caller was from the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade: ‘Hi, Brian, I’m just ringing from Bali to check and see how you are travelling. Brett, the Australian Consul, sends you his best wishes. Brian, you may hear later today media reports blowing out stories concerning the submissions put before the Senate 225
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from ASIO and ONA. Brian, I can assure you, I have read the documents and there is no substance to the allegations.’ Michael Costello’s credentials are immaculate. He is a former senior officer in what is now Downer’s Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade. He was the former deputy director of current intelligence in ONA. He had read the submissions and this is what he said to the Senate inquiry: . . . the reports that ONA and ASIO have submitted to the Senate Committee of inquiry into the Bali bombings are damning. Of course neither report suggests that the government had specific detailed knowledge of the Bali bombing in advance. But this is not the issue. A travel advisory warning Australian travellers of personal danger is not the responsibility of ASIO or ONA but of the minister for foreign affairs. A travel advisory is not designed to convey information about specific intelligence of a specific attack planned to happen at a specific place at a specific time, but is instead a broad judgement of the security environment in the country concerned.
ASIO’s submission noted that on 5 October 2002 it had advised the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade that anticipated threat levels in Indonesia remained high. On 8 October, it advised that ‘given the ideology and its history of terrorist activity in the region, the possibility that Australian interests may be directly or indirectly affected 226
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by a regional campaign of violence by JI could not be discounted’. Against the backdrop of consistent warnings, government travel advisories had confirmed on at least eleven separate, consecutive occasions in the preceding two years that despite the turmoil within Indonesia, despite ASIO’s warnings, Bali was the safe destination. As late as October Minister Downer had signed off on the travel advice, noting Bali was safe, despite ONA’s advice, despite advice received from the Americans, the FBI, the CIA. Bill Blick had returned two reports to the government as a result of his inquiry, one I would see, the other I wouldn’t. During the Senate inquiry, Senator Brown asked him:‘Point 25 of your report says that one intelligence report obtained from foreign liaison sources mentioned various places including Bali as possible loci of terrorist activity, should specific circumstances eventuate . . . What was that foreign liaison source?’ Mr Blick:‘I deliberately did not disclose that in the public version of my report; it is in the classified part of the report. I think it would be inappropriate for me to go further in relation to that, in the absence of one of the intelligence and security agencies being prepared to go public about it.’ Mr Downer confirmed in Parliament, in the media and to me that the government had disclosed all relevant information. ‘There was nothing more to be said.’ But he never mentioned the fact of, nor the reason for, a meeting 227
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between himself and ONA officers in his office on 18 and 19 June 2002. According to ONA, the intelligence agency requested a meeting with him to discuss matters of national interest. It was about the same time Omar al-Faruq had been detained and Bush had called Megawati Sukarnoputri. During ONA’s evidence to the Senate inquiry, senior Indonesia analyst David Farmer stated that at a USsponsored seminar in April 2002, representatives of various intelligence agencies not only identified individual locations but went on to identify likely targets within those locations. Notes from the meeting presented before the Senate inquiry stated: . . . on the nature of the domestic, regional and international radical Islamic movements and its conclusions on their interconnections and the potential for terrorist activity . . . Mr Downer asked about possible targets. Bali, Riau and Singapore were assessed to be attractive targets for Jemaah Islamiah. This judgement was the result of analysis of terrorists’ probable capabilities and likely intentions. International hotels, nightclubs and airlines/airports were assessed as being high on terrorists’ target lists.
Another piece of the puzzle that came to light during the Senate inquiry was that Qantas, the Australian airline that carried my son and his friends, had apparently sought its own advice on security in Bali, requesting ASIO to 228
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differentiate between security threats against the airline in Denpasar as opposed to Jakarta. ASIO confirmed that its policy throughout the period in question was not to differentiate between the levels of security threat against Australian interests in one part of Indonesia and any another part of Indonesia. It also indicated that it was impossible to separate out threats to Qantas interests from threats to other Australian interests in Indonesia. ASIO would not accept the proposition that Bali could be categorised as being safer from terrorist threat than other parts of Indonesia. As Dennis Richardson, head of ASIO, explained to the Senate inquiry on 23 September 2003: As I said, from a threat assessment perspective we did not believe there was a basis for any part of Indonesia to be less or more [under threat], and indeed we were only asked specifically about Bali on one occasion in the lead up to Bali. We were asked quite specifically by Qantas whether there was a basis for treating Bali separately to the rest of Indonesia—and having a lower threat level—and the answer to that was no . . . . . . We made the broad judgement in respect to Indonesia. We felt confident in making that judgement on the basis of the material we had available. We had no material over and above that which would have enabled us sensibly to distinguish Bali from the rest of Indonesia. 229
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Qantas advertised travel packages to a destination that was, by implication, safe. The government advised that Bali was safe. I wonder now how in all conscience they could have taken my son’s money before depositing him in an unsafe resort? At the time of writing Qantas has been called but not yet appeared before the Senate inquiry. It denies it put pressure on the Federal government to weaken travel warnings for Australians travelling to Bali. In due course I shall be asking the airline myself and questioning it on its level of legal expertise covering ‘duty of care’. If Qantas, and presumably other international airlines, were prepared to charge my son and other tourists for taking them to an unsafe destination, why wouldn’t Qantas alert its paying customers to the hidden dangers which lay in their path? After all, it seems Qantas possessed knowledge to which its clients had no access. Perhaps the answer lies in a January–February 2002 Business Review Weekly article which reported that Qantas was planning another ‘Asian campaign’. Qantas had not been immune from the same economic pressures felt by every other airline. Its passenger numbers had declined by 11 per cent. The Asian economic crisis of the late 1990s and the September 11 terrorist attacks had taken their toll. Ansett had been liquidated, Air New Zealand rescued by the government and the Belgian airline Sabena placed into bankruptcy in November 2001. US carriers were losing $20 million per day. 230
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Similarly, statements given to the Senate inquiry suggested that, if indeed the government had supplied all the relevant information to travel agents, it was not likely that such information would have been passed on to travellers. September 11 had well and truly knocked around many in the travel industry. In terms of economic survival, there was little to be gained from warning customers away. The document that Canadian journalist Fabian Dawson contacted me about was deemed a forgery by Mr Blick and the US State Department. But neither Blick, nor ASIO, nor ONA will produce the ‘originals’ of their own analyses. It would be interesting to determine how much Australia’s intelligence perspective mirrored Dawson’s in the same way that David Farmer’s evidence had. The Senate inquiry hasn’t completed taking its evidence or returned its findings at the time of writing, but what I know now that I hadn’t known before was that despite the official government advice to tourists that Bali was a safe destination, it wasn’t. I also know a number of other things: • Qantas and the military knew it wasn’t safe. • ASIO and ONA did not accept that Bali was safe. • The decision to change the public warnings rested with the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade. • Mr Downer was warned, not just that Bali was a potential target, but that tourist hotels and nightclubs were potential targets. 231
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• America had given the Indonesians evidence upon which to arrest Bashir. • Australia had been warned that, upon Bashir’s arrest, Bali wouldn’t be safe. • Australian intelligence agencies had known of Imam Samudra, one of the conspirators. I wonder just how much the Americans knew of him. • The Americans upgraded their own warnings—not because it was the month of Ramadan, but because of their intelligence on the terrorists. I believe the Americans knew it wasn’t safe and that the FBI had warned Australia not only of specific targets within Australia, namely our nuclear facilities, but of targets offshore as well. All that and a bag of potato chips from four half-days of evidence. I can only speculate on what I would learn from an independent judicial inquiry. Was Bali an intelligence failure or a failure by the government to heed the intelligence? Was the intentional decision not to upgrade the travel warnings based on lack of specific intelligence or a calculated gamble so as to preserve already damaged relations with Indonesia? In April 2004 Minister Downer admitted on Lateline that the government had known at the time of Australia’s intervention in East Timor that Australians were potential targets in Indonesia. Government ministers are rarely coerced into giving evidence to inquiries. They can also prevent 232
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witnesses from appearing, as the Minister for Defence has done with Lieutenant-Colonel Lance Collins, the Army intelligence analyst who has called for a royal commission into Australia’s intelligence failures. Government inquiries often disregard the truth. Senate inquiries are often disregarded by the government. Royal commissions, on the other hand, if conducted by an experienced senior judge who is disconnected from government interference or bias, usually reach the core. And their findings are not easily distorted.
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Epi lo g ue Epilogue
It’s 7.10 am. It is 20 February 2004, Josh’s birthday. He would have been twenty-four. I am entering Centennial Park. I know the path well. And as I sit to spend time with Josh on his special day, I hope he is proud. As I reflect on how this day may have been spent had fate dealt a different hand, I also reflect on where the journey of the last fifteen months has taken me since I wrote to the Prime Minister seeking answers to questions he would have preferred were not asked. I did not know at the time, perhaps due to naivety on my part, how my life would no longer be my own and how a simple search for truth would result in so many paths to follow. I have met amazing people and have had the opportunity to experience aspects of our community I would otherwise 234
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not have seen. Just as I have been disappointed in those who espouse to protect our country, I have similarly been energised by those who have supported what I believe is the true Australian way. A way it would appear has been lost by many. Have I achieved all that I hoped? Obviously, no. Do I have closure (that word is so popular with those who are looking for me to move on)? Unfortunately, no. But I have managed to move along the road. I look back and see that I have played my part in bringing attention to the role this government and its alliances have played on the world stage—and the consequences this brings. I can see two children who now have hope of a good life with their father after losing their mother. I wait with anticipation for the findings of the Senate inquiry that aims to find the truth—the answers I want— but remain resolute I will pursue the issue to the next level, a royal commission, if it doesn’t. I remain ever hopeful that compassion for those who have suffered will outweigh the meanness of our Federal government, and that the government will recognise its obligations to compensate those who are truly victims of war. I look forward to again enjoying time with my three beautiful children who just want their father back. To Mr Howard and Mr Downer I would say: Do you accept that those killed in Bali, those who survived, and their families deserve a full and open inquiry? To what extent was 235
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your government aware of imminent danger to our citizens prior to 12 October? After all, the US was reportedly well aware and it apparently alerted your government. But your government did not make my son aware. And will you now properly care for those Australians who were injured in the retributive attack? Do not assume for one moment I shall walk away. I gave my solemn undertaking to each of my four children at their birth. If any person deliberately or recklessly harmed them, I would move forward. I will never cut and run. • To my darling Josh, my beautiful boy, it seems like only yesterday when I last saw your smile. We never really got the chance to say goodbye, only ‘farewell, I’ll see you next week’. From the moment of your birth when I first held you in my arms, your mother and I agreed that you were a very special child. We agreed that one day you would make a difference. Darling Josh, so much has occurred since you left for Bali. Despite your short life, you have had an impact not only on those you knew, but on others you never met. Sara and Safdar are now safe, living in Melbourne in their father’s care. Your mum still cries at the mention of your name, but she will survive; as you are well aware, she has the internal strength of three. Nicholas is now in his final year of university—it’s amazing how time flies. Ten more months and he’ll be a physiotherapist, but I think his future direction is with his 236
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music. His first CD is ready for launching and a song has already been played on national radio. His single, written for you, went to no. 1. It raised over $5000 for the Red Cross Bali appeal. I have told him of that last night when we stood together watching his band. I told him of your words to me, that he was going somewhere and you wanted to be with him. He knows that you are. Eloise misses you terribly. She constantly boasts of her heroic eldest brother. I’ve overheard her say to her girlfriends more than once, ‘If you think he is “hot”, you should see my brother Josh.’ Patrick keeps your outdoor fire lit. He sits, chats and laughs with his friends as you once did. Your footy jumper is constantly safe by his bed, just next to your last photo with the Sturt team. At school football he wears your old number 52 with pride. It’s definitely helped. He wrote a French essay last week. Included he wrote ‘J’ai deux frères et une soeur’ (I have two brothers and one sister). Your friends are faring well. Just the other day I had a drink with Adam, Kristy and Matt who, like Patrick, wears your old number for luck. They think of you every day, as do Scott, James, Blake and Lee. But nothing seems the same anymore. Everyone still expects ‘Deegs’ to show, although we know that you never will. So constantly they beat a path to your grave. Your mates from Sturt were definitely a good choice to be with on a holiday. Just as I knew they would protect you 237
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in Bali, so now have they protected me. Julian, to whom I’ve become particularly close and love as a son, phones every other day. He’s the man I knew you would once become. He and Squizzy don’t realise just how many times they have rescued me with their timely calls. I remember how often you wanted to throw a party, to invite the Sturt boys around. I guess time ran out, but you’d be pleased to know I did it for you. I confess I felt awkward, they were your friends, not mine. But it was appropriate. Virginia, Peter and Kirstie still find it difficult to accept you are gone. As for me, just like your mother I shed a tear at the mention of your name. Images of you smiling follow me always. I look at trees in the parks, on the fairway, and I see your eyes through the foliage. I look at crowds and I see your smiling face shining through. And I constantly hear those words you often used. So simple yet so wise: ‘You can do it, Dad.’ Your cousin Stephen thoughtfully included me in his tennis team. I partnered Nick as you would have done while Steve guided Patrick. With his golden hair and his strong physique, for one brief beautiful moment it was as though I had my three sons once again by my side. Josh, I rarely now handle your swag of gold medallions. I just can’t. I’ve placed them on the shelf alongside your Pop’s war medals. 238
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Darling boy, I have accepted that you have moved on, floated away. I know you are at peace, but I would give anything just to have five minutes with you, to hug, to hold you, to stroke your golden hair. And just to say one final goodbye. All my eternal love Dad
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Acronyms Acronyms
AFP ANZUS ASIO ASIS BIN CIA DFAT FBI JI
Australian Federal Police Australia New Zealand United States security treaty Australian Security Intelligence Organization Australian Secret Intelligence Service Indonesian state intelligence agency Central Intelligence Agency (US) Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade Federal Bureau of Investigation (US) Jemaah Islamiah (Southeast Asian Islamic terrorist network) ONA Office of National Assessments RAH Royal Adelaide Hospital TNI Tentara Nasional Indonesia (Indonesian army) WOMD weapons of mass destruction
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