Larrikins, Rebels and Journalistic Freedom in Australia

Larrikins, Rebels and Journalistic Freedom in Australia Josie Vine Larrikins, Rebels and Journalistic Freedom in Australia Josie Vine Larrikins, Rebels and Journalistic Freedom in Australia Josie Vine RMIT University Melbourne, VIC, Australia ISBN 978-3-030-61855-1 ISBN 978-3-030-61856-8 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61856-8 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifcally the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microflms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. 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The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland This book is about history. And journalism. Journalism is often said to be the frst draft of history. But sometimes, history is the frst draft of journalism. It’s this history, and the journalism it has drafted, with which this book is concerned. Dedicated to all journalists who have drafted, and have been drafted by, history. And to the most elegant Larrikin of all: Jay Edith. PREFACE In 2002 I was a young sessional teacher, working into one of the highest- profle journalism courses in Australia. I had worked as a journalist on regional radio and newspapers, and was still dabbling but, with a small and rapidly growing cluster of children, I was looking for something with hours that were a bit more family friendly. I was still absolutely committed to journalism and its objectives, so teaching the trade to young up-and- comers seemed to be an ideal alternative. It was the year that Natalie Larkins dominated the news, both in the mainstream and in the journalism-specifc media. Natalie was an ABC journalist, who had been arrested out in the dust-bowl of Woomera, ostensibly for ‘Failing to Leave Commonwealth Land as Directed by a Commonwealth Offcer.’ But really it was for being a pain-in-the-arse when Australian Protective Services (APS) offcers told the swelling media contingent to move 200 meters outside a recently erected steel chain-link fence around the Woomera refugee detention centre, where up to 70 of this world’s most vulnerable people had gone on hunger strike and, as a symbol of voicelessness, had literally sewn their lips together. The whole contingent of local, national, and international journalists camping outside the center wanted to know who had made the order for them to move and why. According to Larkins, when the APS could not provide a clear answer, “all” journalists made a unanimous decision to remain inside the fence. “In the middle of a dust storm, frantic calls were made, but each gov- ernment department and minister responsible denied making the order,” reported Larkins. “Throughout the entire confrontation between the APS vii viii PREFACE and the media, journalists continued to question on whose authority the offcer was asking us to leave. He told us he didn’t know” (Larkins 2002: 8). An ultimatum was made: journalists had until 10 a.m. the following morning to leave the area. In the meantime, however, the APS was gather- ing names and contact details to issue summons. No one explained for what the summons were. Larkins was about to leave the disputed area, when an offcer spoke. She didn’t hear him and asked him to repeat the comment. At that point she was arrested and taken to Woomera police station. She was freed on bail three hours later but was obliged to leave the town immediately. Despite the fact that at least a dozen other journalists refused to move from the camp’s perimeter, Larkins was the sole arrest that day. This narrative of journalism’s defance and rebellion in an effort to gain access to people whose voice was being silenced inspired me—almost—to tears, and I felt pangs of slightly guilty envy that I had missed out on being among those camped in the heat and the swirling dust, waiting to get ‘the story.’ But when I asked my students, 18-year-olds sitting in the comfortable confnes of a university tutorial room, if they too would refuse orders to decamp, I was shocked and a little dismayed. The answer was unanimous: no, they wouldn’t defy an order from authority. I was about to explain that, as journalists, defying authority would be part of their job, when I realized that I couldn’t. How do you explain to well-educated, generally morally upstanding professionals (potential journalists) that, as part of their job, they may be required to openly defy the law. This then took me to a further thought: how do I tell them that to be good journalists, among the best professionals, they’ll have to build affliation with sources that could include criminals, crooked law enforcers, drug addicts, or any number of downtrodden, dubious, and possibly dislikable characters. In a tertiary education environment, it can be a little uncomfortable explaining why it’s so important to read that leaked document, or listen to that anon- ymous source, despite the fact that it could, quite conceivably, land them in dangerous legal waters. How do you say, when everybody else is running away from that car accident/bushfre/tsunami/bomb blast, it is their job to be running toward it. But if journalism education—which has, for a long time, flled the void left by the deconstruction of the cadetship system—cannot teach this quite vital professional sensibility, then where does it come from? Where PREFACE ix did it come from in the past, and where will it come from in the future? It must be cultural! And this is when I started thinking about professional journalism cul- ture, and the power of industry-specifc narratives, and the link between history, tradition, and ideology. And then I undertook a PhD on journalism’s specifc history and traditions. Then I undertook a book. And through this process I discovered the Larrikin, personifed in Australian journalism’s most historically signifcant individuals, perpetuating a professional sensibility across generations. And I fell in love with my Larrikin, his fortitude, purpose, and a wicked delight in sticking a two-fngered salute up at authority—characteristics that have helped maintain journalistic independence in the only Western liberal democracy that does not off- cally recognise the function of a free news media. This is his story (and he is a he, despite the fact that many female journalists have taken on his masculine persona). This book is written in the hope that future budding young journalists will fall in love with the Larrikin’s charm, foibles, and fallibilities too. Melbourne, VIC, Australia Josie Vine REFERENCES Larkins, N. (2002). Report No Evil. The Walkley Magazine, Issue 16, Autumn 2002, 8. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS As a member of RMIT University, I would like to acknowledge the Wurundjeri people of the Kulin Nations as the Traditional Owners of the land on which the university stands, and where this book was written. I respectfully recognise Elders past, present and future. When I frst set out on this journey, I looked at the number of acknowledgments in other, similar, publications, and I was overwhelmed. How on earth could I ever achieve similar numbers of people and organizations to acknowledge? The amount of work ahead of me made me feel like I was drowning. But people were happy to help, people did give their time, and many went way beyond the call of duty to ensure this book reached publication stage. There are so many, and if I have accidentally missed some- one, please accept my apologies and my shout for a coffee/beer/wine once we are out of COVID isolation! First, thank you to the Walkley Foundation, and its CEO, Louisa Graham, who was the lynchpin in putting me in touch with others whose help proved instrumental. Thank you to the Media, Entertainment and Arts Alliance, who allowed me into their Sydney offces to access editions of The Journalist published between 1945 to 1989. A particular shout out to Jennifer O’Brien and Jack Walton, who hurriedly photo- copied editions from the entire 1980s’ decade and couriered them to me in Melbourne when COVID meant the Sydney offce was closed. Similarly, thank you to the Walkley Foundation’s librarian Barbara Blackman, who spent hours on the phone with me, selecting the sections of the 1995, 1996, and 1997 Walkley Year Books that I needed, scanning them, and xi xii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS emailing them to me because at the time, here in Victoria, we were under a fairly strict lockdown.

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