Wednesday, 27 March 2013

Agent Orange: The Cleanup Begins










Agent Orange: The Cleanup Begins





by

John Stapleton


Copyright 2013 John Stapleton,

All rights reserved.



A Sense of Place Publishing 2013.






ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-1503-1



No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.





This short book is dedicated to the many victims both living and dead of dioxin, a manufacturing contaminant of Agent Orange which has damaged millions of lives.




Agent Orange: The Cleanup Begins

On the morning of the 9 August 2012, Americans in particular but people around the world were astonished to observe an historic event occurring at busy Da Nang airport in Vietnam.The lingering impacts of the infamous herbicide Agent Orange were finally to be addressed, 37 years after the end of the Vietnam War.

The former American military base at Da Nang was in a sparsely populated rural area outside a village at the time of the Vietnam War, which ended amidst chaotic scenes in 1975.

The aftermath of the war, impacting on millions of people, has continued in places like Da Nang to the present day.

Now in the heart of an urban area, Da Nang is adjacent to the sea and was a rest and recreation stop for American soldiers. It is now popular amongst many tourists.

The generation which grew up with peace demonstrations dividing their country now has the money to pursue their fascination with the first war to be played out on television before an audience of millions.

Many former Vietnam veterans travel to Vietnam to seek out the places where they served. By the end of the war American forces had utilized a total of 2,735 bases, although the remains of these for the most part are no longer to be seen.

In 2011 Vietnam received six million tourists. This was up one million from the previous year, perhaps due to political unrest in S.E. Asia’s tourism capital, ever popular Thailand.

Between 2012 and 2016 some 77,400 cubic metres of soil, 2.7 million cubic feet, are scheduled to be dug up from the Da Nang airport and treated.

The treatment involves heating the contaminated soil to a minimum temperature of 325 degrees centigrade, the temperature at which dioxin breaks down into harmless compounds.

The soil is then repeatedly tested until dioxin levels are negligible and it is then re-interred.


Dioxin is regarded as one of the most toxic, if not the single most toxic, of all the compounds ever synthesized by man.

It is dangerous at even “vanishing levels” - 10 parts per trillion or more. It is tested for in parts per quadrillion, an exercise compared to finding a coffee cup in Canada.

The technical capacity to do this accurately did not exist for some 20 years after the Vietnam War.

Seven parts per trillion, that is seven molecules of dioxin in an Olympic sized swimming pool, are believed to be the threshold level above which the probability of shortened life spans and birth defects increases.

The Vietnamese Red Cross estimates that around three million of their countrymen are suffering from the impacts of Agent Orange, with around 150,000 children born with birth defects.

As well thousands of American veterans and their families have been affected, as well as veterans from other which participated in the Vietnam War, including Australia.

While the science remains disputed, Dioxin is widely believed to have inter-generational effects.

Although dioxin is not water soluble, it can persist in soil for decades and this persistence increases the probability it will at some point move into nearby streambeds and pond bottoms and from there be taken up by fish, ducks, snails and thereby enter the food chain.

Many of those born with birth defects were born well after the close of the Vietnam War. Their parents were not participants in the conflict nor were they in the direct path of the spraying. Instead both mothers and fathers came to have high dioxin levels in their bloodstreams by consuming contaminated foods or by working in areas where there were high residue levels. Or by swimming in lakes and canals where the toxin had settled into silt.

Transporting the soil from Da Nang airport to be buried in another location was dismissed as an unviable option.

Its transportation would have endangered workers and its burial imperiled future generations if it were ever exposed by seismic or mining activity.


As Da Nang is operational gaping holes in the bustling airport would have also invoked additional costs.

Among the 18 commercially available technologies to destroy dioxin a number use heating soil as the means to break down the dioxin molecules. The particular technology the American and Vietnamese governments agreed to use at Da Nang is known as In-pile Thermal Desorption.

In front of a gathering of dignitaries from both America and Vietnam, the amelioration efforts to destroy the dioxin remaining in the Vietnamese environment and to treat those suffering from disabilities began.

The project is being run under the auspices of the Vietnamese Ministry of Defense and the United States Agency for International Development.

The U.S. Vietnam Dialogue Group on Agent Orange/Dioxin is a bi-national advocacy committee of private citizens, scientists and policy-makers working to draw greater attention to the issues and to mobilize resources in both countries. The Group has estimated the cost of cleaning up all the Agent Orange hotspots in Vietnam and providing substantial health/ disability programs at $450 million.

The United States Government had not as of October 2012 agreed to do more on than the environmental remediation than what they plan to do at Da Nang, costing $43 million over the four year operation, and an Environmental Impact Assessment at Bien Hoa north of Ho Chi Minh City. The U.S. has also announced plans for a three year $9 million health and disabilities program mainly directed to Da Nang.

Three studies conducted between 2004 and 2010 have confirmed high levels of contamination of dioxins in soils and sediments at a number of locations on Bien Hoa Airbase, making Bien Hoa Airbase a significant dioxin hotspot.

In 1970 a 7,500 US gallon spill of Agent Orange occurred at the air base.

The clean-up of dioxin at Bien Hoa is estimated to cost $US85 million, almost twice the cost of Da Nang.

Bien Hoa was the largest site in Vietnam in terms of the number of C-123 aircraft sorties and volume of herbicides used.


Dioxin contamination at Bien Hoa Airbase is the result of the storage, loading, spillage, and handling of Agent Orange and other herbicides, especially between 1965 and 1971.

Interim mitigation measures are currently being implemented at Bien Hoa to protect the local population from continued exposure to dioxins from the Airbase. Approximately 43,000 cubic metres of contaminated soils have been excavated and placed in a secure landfill by the Vietnamese Ministry of Defense. This work was completed in 2009.

A third serious dioxin hotspot lies at the coastal city of Phu Cat. The Ministry of Defense, UNDP and the Global Environmental Fund have collaborated on moving the 7,500 cubic meters of contaminated soil into a long term passive landfill on the base. The landfill will be monitored and maintained by the Ministry with technical support from the Czech Republic. The Government of Vietnam in August removed Phu Cat from the list of dioxin hotspots.

With the passage of time the former American military base of Bien Hoa is now located in a heavily populated district.

Over 900,000 people reside in the Bien Hoa area. Many of these local people have the potential to be exposed to dioxin residues.

Another $410 million needs to be raised to resolve Vietnam’s Agent Orange issues.

The Dialogue Group estimates that a total of $US107 million will be required for the cleanup of dioxin hotspots, including $US17 million to evaluate and clean up as needed about two dozen smaller known or suspected dioxin hotspots.

A further $US303 million is required for the provision of social and disability services.

But after decades of painfully slow progress developments have sped up significantly.

On June 16, 2010 the Dialogue Group published a ten year Declaration and Plan of Action to address the continuing environmental and human consequences of Agent Orange. In May 2012 the U.S.-Vietnam Dialogue Group on Agent Orange released its Second Year Report simultaneously in Washington and Hanoi.


The introduction noted:

“It should not surprise us that only now, nearly 40 years after the end of hostilities, are we on the cusp of resolving one of the troubling legacies of the war between the US and Vietnam -- the lasting effects of Agent Orange and other dioxin-contaminated defoliants on people, communities and ecosystems in Vietnam. Wars leave raw political and emotional wounds. Enduring concerns are poorly understood, and by definition, former enemies lack the trust and experience of collaboration on which a new strategic partnership can be built. The Vietnam-US relationship illustrates this truth all too clearly. It most likely holds lessons for other wars about the time that must pass before painful legacies can be fully resolved.

“And indeed, for decades little could be done about Agent Orange/dioxin. The science about its biological and ecological impacts was poorly understood. So was the extent of the problem; dioxin’s impact on US military personnel was contentious in the United States. And litigation in US courts on behalf of those in Vietnam who believed themselves to be victims brought fresh legal battles, controversy and wariness.

“But in the last five years, much has changed, in significant measure because of creative and compassionate interventions by public and private agencies. The concerns of US veterans are being addressed far more comprehensively than in past decades – though continued attention is needed.

“Lawsuits have slowed. The geography of the dioxin ‘hot spots’ in Vietnam is clear, along with estimates of clean-up costs. A remarkable start has been made towards cleaning up the first of the three major hot spots at the Da Nang airport. Rough estimates of the number of people with disabilities that may be linked to dioxin are available. Their needs – and those of their caregivers – are better understood. The cost and complexity of clean-up and care can now be estimated based on real lived experience.”

The Vietnamese Government has set the year 2020 as the target for completion of the work on cleaning up Agent Orange under a National Action Plan.

As it is impossible to determine which people are suffering disability as a direct result of Agent Orange or to differentiate them from those disabled through other causes, the money would be spent in a broadcast way by addressing the needs of all people with disabilities living in the vicinity ofidentified hot spots and in areas heavily sprayed during the war.

The Da Nang phase of the cleanup is not expected to be complete until 2016.

Da Nang is the starting point, not the end point.

The hotspot at the Bien Hoa airbase will shortly undergo a detailed evaluation in order to determine the best methods of containing and destroying the dioxin there.

There are some 25 to 27 further locations to be assessed, where dioxin is known or suspected to exist, albeit at significantly lower levels than at Da Nang, Phu Cat or Bien Hoa.

Proponents for resolving the Agent Orange legacy are hopeful USAID will now step in with funding and expertise to help complete the assessment of all suspected hotspots and the clean-up of dioxin in those remaining locations where dioxin exceeds acceptable levels.

Da Nang was one of the three worst spots for dioxin contamination in the whole of Vietnam. It was one of the major sites where American soldiers had decanted, mixed and re-loaded ton after ton of the herbicide transported to Vietnam during the early 1970s.

Agent Orange was then sprayed across the lush valleys, fields and forests of Vietnam.

Vietnamese experts suspect that there are a few areas in Vietnam where the dioxin has pooled in the sediment of upland ponds and reservoirs in heavily sprayed regions. According to the Forestry Inventory and Planning Institute (FIPI) analysis conducted in 2010, Bien Phuoc, Dong Nai, Quang Nam, Thua Thien Hue and TayNinh all have reservoirs in the sprayed regions. Some of the regions sprayed had large areas of rivers and ponds.

The infamous Agent Orange was named after the colour of the striped 55 US gallon barrels in which the herbicide was shipped.

It was the most widely used of the so-called "Rainbow Herbicides" or defoliants sprayed across Vietnam. There were also Agents Pink, Blue, Purple, Green and White.


Agents Pink, Green and Purple were all contaminated with dioxin.

A team of scientists at Columbia University have estimated that at least 366 kilograms of dioxin were sprayed across Vietnam, with some estimates placing it at 600 kilograms.

Nobody at the time realised just how dangerous the herbicide Agent Orange, or more precisely its contaminant dioxin, was. In a rush to meet the demands of the war effort in South East Asia, there was little if any concern by manufacturers or the soldiers doing the spraying of the danger Agent Orange represented. Agent Orange was conducted under a program called Operation Ranch Hand, which in turn was part of the broader spraying program called Operation Trail Dust. The program took place from January 1962 until February 1971.

In total, some 20 million US gallons of defoliant were sprayed from some 20,000 sorties.

The motto of “Ranch Handers” was: “Only you can prevent a forest”. This was a play on the anti-bushfire slogans plastered across the US Forestry’s Smokey Bear posters of the time.

Some 95 per cent of the herbicides were sprayed from the giant US cargo planes known as C-123s. Their call sign was “Hades” from the Greek word for hell or the underworld, the abode of the dead. The U.S. Chemical Corps and other allied forces sprayed the remaining five per cent of the herbicides from helicopters, trucks and by hand, mainly to clear brush around the perimeter of military bases.

The painful story of neglect and obfuscation surrounding the impacts of the herbicide Agent Orange begins in 1961.

In the long lead up to the War, the first test spraying of Agent Orange occurred on August 10 of that year, well before the Vietnam War’s official beginning with the deployment of combat troops in 1965.

In Vietnam August 10 has now been declared Agent Orange Day.

In the years following 1962 more than 43 million liters of Agent Orange was sprayed at up to 50 times the manufacturer’s recommended levels across 24 percent of southern Vietnam. Some five million acres of upland and mangrove forests and about 500,000 acres of crops were destroyed.


Of these areas, 34 percent were sprayed more than once; some of the upland-forests were sprayed more than four times. The aim was to deny the enemy both cover and food sources.

One studied found that 3,138 villages were in the path of the spray.

Parts of Laos and Cambodia near the Vietnam border were also sprayed.

The Americans ceased spraying Agent Orange in October, 1971, following concern over its side effects on the environment and studies demonstrating its carcinogenic effects. But the South Vietnamese military continued spraying various herbicides until 1972.

All the remaining barrels of the herbicide were shipped out of the country and destroyed. The production of Agent Orange was ended in the 1970s and remaining stockpiles incinerated. It is no longer produced.




































Picture courtesy of The US Air Force.


Dioxin, a manufacturing defect from the production of Agent Orange, can still be accidentally produced to this day, most notably in the careless incineration of hospital waste.

The inappropriate combustion of plastic syringes for example produces the chemical.

Agent Orange was produced in numerous factories by several different manufacturers, including multi-billion dollar giants Monsanto and the Dow Chemical Company.

Other American manufacturers were: Hercules Incorporated, Thompson-Hayward Chemical Company, Diamond Alkali/Shamrock Company, the US Rubber Company, Thompson Chemicals Corporation, Agrisect Company and Hoffman-Taft Incorporated.

Only a minor temperature variation at above 200 degrees Celsius in the manufacturing or “cooking” of Agent Orange produced the contaminant dioxin.

There was comparatively little time between the development of Agent Orange and its deployment in the Vietnam War – and therefore little time for the peculiar health impacts of its then unknown byproduct dioxin to be fully understood.

In 1943 plant biologist Arthur Galston began studying the compound Triiodobenzoic acid as a plant growth hormone, in an attempt to adapt soybeans to a short growing season.

Galston found that excessive usage of the compound caused defoliation.

His colleague Ian Sussex later developed the family of herbicides used in Operation Ranch Hand.

Galston was concerned about the compounds side effects on humans and the environment.

Agent Orange was an approximate 50/50 mix of two herbicides: 2,4-dichlorophenoxyacetic acid (2,4-D) and2,4,5-trichlorophenoxyacetic acid (2,4,5-T).

While Agent Orange degraded within days or weeks of being sprayed, the problems were with its contaminant.


Dioxin carries the chemical name “2,3,7,8-tetrachloro-dibenzo-para-dioxin”, often abbreviated to TCDD.

TCDD is regarded as the most toxic of 419 similar toxic compounds.

In 1969 the American and Vietnamese publics first became aware that many of the adverse health impacts being experienced by veterans were correlated with exposure to Agent Orange.

Dioxin has now been officially classified as a known carcinogen by the American National Toxicology Program. It is associated with soft-tissue sarcoma,non-Hodgkin's lymphoma,Hodgkin's lymphoma and chronic lymphocytic leukemia.

In the years prior to 2012’s historic events investigators were horrified to discover that dioxin levels remained exceedingly high at Da Nang airport, some 350 times internationally accepted safety standards. The highest concentrations were on the site of the tarmac where the chemical had been decantedand reloaded onto spray planes after importation from America.

It could also be easily traced moving from the site.

Over the more than three decades since the war’s end rain and runoff had been steadily washing the chemical from the airport tarmac down into a popular picnic and fishing spot known as Sen Lake.

As it does not exist in nature, nobody knows exactly how long it takes for dioxin to break down to safe levels.

Estimates put it at 200 years plus.

While it does not dissolve in water, the dioxin settled into the mud at the bottom of the lake, where bottom feeding fish then consumed it.

Anyone who consumed fish caught in the lake was potentially ingesting dioxin.

Anyone wading with their feet on the bottom of the lake or swimming in the shallows, as many children did, was stirring up dioxin.

Over the years, adults and children had enjoyed swimming in the communal lake. Studies of blood dioxin levels of people near Sen Lake found dioxin at elevated levels in people earning their living from fishing in


Sen lake and people employed to clean weeds out of drainage ditches leading to it. That was until 2008, when a mass education program warned the populace of the dangers of a place they had once regarded as nothing but a pleasant location to relax and play.

The campaign involved house to house visits by public health volunteers who left behind posters which displayed safe and unsafe foods.

Fish from Sen Lake were not safe.

Fishing and swimming in the lake was banned.

The worst spots on Da Nang Airport were temporarily concreted over in 2007 to prevent any further movement of dioxin. “We locked it down with a six inch concrete cap to stop it being exposed to the elements,” Bailey recalls.

“By 2008 we had ended the public health threat to people in Da Nang.”

The current acceleration of efforts to resolve the Agent Orange/dioxin legacy in Vietnam is the result of many years of private efforts to address the problem. The leading private funding organisation to take on the task had been America’s Ford Foundation.

Carriage of the Agent Orange legacy is now being handled by the Aspen Institute, which is partly funded by the Ford Foundation. There has been a migration of some personnel to the Aspen Institute to carry on the project.

The Dialogue Group’s Second Year Report in the leadup to events at Da Nang in 2012 also noted that the involvement of government at the highest levels:

“Progress would not have been possible without the bold leadership of leaders in both societies. Former Presidents Nguyen Minh Triet and George W. Bush, Secretary of State Hilary Clinton, and legislators from both countries have articulated a commitment to addressing the human costs of the dioxin legacy in partnership. Other leaders in both countries have expressed their wish to move beyond lingering war-related sensitivities. All are focused on the potential for deepening economic and strategic connections between our two countries.”

The Institute's President Walter Isaacson - better known as the biographer of visionary Chairman of Apple computers Steve Jobs - said the August


launch of Agent Orange amelioration at Da Nang Airport marked the culmination of efforts from multiple agencies in both America and Vietnam.

He described that Thursday morning ceremony as marking “the coming together of our two countries to achieve a practical solution to dioxin contamination. As important, the U.S. government is also devoting more resources to meeting the needs of people with disabilities in Vietnam, regardless of cause. This is a humanitarian issue we can do something about, and the Aspen Institute is proud of its role in helping to advance enduring responses to the Agent Orange legacy."

The historic events of August, 2012, owe much to the efforts of one man, Dr Charles Bailey.

His arrival in Hanoi as head of the Ford Foundations regional operations in 1997 marked the beginning of the shift from hand wringing, obfuscation, ignorance and fear towards action and the decisive results which began to become reality in 2012.

Bailey had spent the previous seven years in Nairobi as regional head for the Ford Foundation.

He says the offer to go to Hanoi came “out of the clear blue sky” but he embraced the opportunity to settle in such a fascinating part of the world. His two daughters grew up there.

In person Bailey provokes that old saying: “Never a finer gentleman could one wish to meet”.

Erudite, compassionate, intelligent and particularly well-connected after decades in the senior ranks of the Ford Foundation, Dr Bailey’s shock at the ignorance and lack of action over Agent Orange had repercussions in policy wonk circles back in Washington.

It took eight years of consistent campaigning before policy makers in Washington began to move on the story in 2006.

“I stumbled into the Agent Orange story,” Bailey recalls. “I had no inkling of this problem. I did not realize it was continuing and persistent, affecting the health of large numbers of Vietnamese.

“But I became puzzled as to why no one would talk about it.


“Agent Orange was a sensitive subject about which little was known. It was large, mysterious and scary. I was surprised and shocked I wasn’t getting any answers and discovered how deeply conflicted the subject was.

“I felt I had a responsibility to see what we could do about this.”

For Bailey, back in the late 1990s, the first step was to get a better understanding of how Vietnamese were coping; the second step was to try to quantify the problem.

Many Vietnam veterans and many people running disability institutions and orphanages had little doubt there was a legacy from Agent Orange.

Veterans have long complained of ill health; and veteran organisations of their members dying early and painful deaths.

Not all of these deaths were as a result of the post-traumatic stress that many veterans experienced or the difficulties they faced for decades after the war had ended.

The exploratory moves in the late 1990s were coming almost a quarter of a century after the end of the Vietnam War and 20 years after the American public first became aware there was a lingering problem with Agent Orange.

In 1978 a young American veteran Paul Rheutershan declared on the high rating Today Show: "I died in Vietnam, but I didn’t even know it."

Rheutershan formed a group called Agent Orange Victims International.

After protracted proceedings, in 1984 lawyers for Vietnam veterans made an out-of -court settlement with amongst others the industrial giants Dow Chemical and Monsanto, for $US180 million. More than $13 million was awarded to lawyers, with two law firms awarded $1.8 and $1.3 million respectively. Private groups that had funded attorneys were compensated while one lawyer said to be a passive investor was awarded $1700.

Veterans suffering major disability were awarded on average $12,000 spread across 10 years and lost a host of potential government benefits as a result. Wives and children were not included.

A widow who could prove – always a difficult exercise – that their husbands had died of Agent Orange would receive $3,700 in compensation.


The American veterans felt utterly betrayed.

In Waiting for an Army to Die, first published in 1989 with a second edition and a new introduction issued in 2011, academic Fred A. Wilcox recorded their anger over the failure of the American government to take their health complaints seriously.

Veterans were dismissive of claims by the US Defense Department that soldiers had not been sent into areas which had been sprayed for six weeks.

Wilcox records their response thus: “Six weeks?” scoffed Vietnam veterans. “Are you kidding me? More like six hours. Six minutes. What were we going to do, sit back and wait for the enemy to book? Drank water and ate food sprayed with Agent Orange. Slept on ground soaked with that shit.Got sprayed directly.Soaking wet. The government is lying. They can lie all they want but we know better. They weren’t there. We were. They’re not fooling anyone but themselves.”

Wilcox conducted numerous interviews with working class people who had made themselves experts on the impact of Agent Orange, their homes filled with filled with toxicology reports on animals and humans. They were angry with a government they had served and no longer trusted. “Their kitchen and dining room tables were stacked with materials that, normally, only those with PhDs in science or medical degrees, might read,” he recalls.

At first, Wilcox says, he could not understand why the American government was so dismissive of the veterans concerns.

He wrote: “In every home, café, bar, hearing room, where I met veterans, I asked them the same question: ‘Why do you think the government is treating you this way? The answer never varied. ‘Because,’ they replied, ‘the government is just waiting for us all to die.’”

Hence the title of his book: “Waiting for an Army to Die”.

In his 2011 introduction to the book’s second edition Wilcox maintains his outraged tone, concluding harshly that “the Vietnam veterans were a throwaway army; the Vietnam people were a throwaway people”.

One of the many problems flowing into the slow redress of the issue was that nobody knew quite what the problem was.


While American veterans campaigned with slogans such as “Sprayed and Betrayed”, the orphanages of Vietnam filled with grotesquely disabled inmates. High miscarriage and stillbirth rates in the Vietnamese population were also attributed to Agent Orange.

Bilateral relations between the United States and Vietnam were slow to improve following the Vietnam War and contributed to the slow response to the Agent Orange issue. Finally in 1994 the U.S. lifted its trade embargo on Vietnam, normalizing relations in 1995. The two countries exchanged ambassadors in 1997 and signed a Bilateral Trade Agreement in 2001.

With full diplomatic relations not being restored until 1995 and ungrounded fears over multi-billion dollar compensation payouts, successive American governments had blithely refused to buy into the argument, dismissed the issue as one of the mythologies of the Vietnam War.

Bailey says many policy makers now agree that Agent Orange is a humanitarian issue. Others see an Agent Orange initiative as important for geo-political reasons,” Bailey says.

America has long gone out of its way to befriend Thailand as a bulwark against the rising power of China.

The arc of the developing economic powers of Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos and Burma now all fall within these considerations. With Vietnam’s economy growing at more than five per cent a year it cannot be ignored.

The Ford Foundation made their first grant on Agent Orange in 2000 to the Vietnamese Red Cross.

The foundation was well situated to negotiate its way through the thicket of conflicting interests because it was perceived as a neutral funding body rather than a U.S. government agency.

“My program at Ford ultimately put $17 million into this,” Bailey recalls.

“Both sides were skeptical. Our role was that of a neutral party working with both sides - the government of Vietnam and the government of the US. We brought people together who might not otherwise talk, we funded confidence building projects for which at the time there was no other donor, and we sought to mainstream this issue in the US.”


After the Foundation’s first grant to the Red Cross, the second step was a kind of scoping exercise, an effort to determine the extent of the problem.

The involvement of the Canadian government also provided a fortunate break in this regard.

The question of exactly why the Canadian governmentwas so willing to help at this juncture in the history of the aftermath of Agent Orange still raises curious eyebrows.

Since the 1980s Vancouver based environmental assessment company Hatfield has worked with regulatory and medical authorities in Vietnam to monitor trace residues of dioxin in fish, wildlife, human tissue and sediments not only in Vietnam, but also in Laos, Thailand and Cambodia.

From 1994 to 2009 Hatfield conducted an investigation of residual dioxin and other contamination around key former military sites while developing mitigation measures to help prevent the local population from future exposure.

Hatfield’s work was been funded by multiple donors, including the Canadian International Development Agency, Ford Foundation, United Nations Industrial Development Organization, Environment Canada, Health Canada, the Canadian Space Agency and numerous Vietnamese government agencies.

The Canadian government funded the original work of the Vietnamese Ministry of Health 10-80 Committee with technical assistance from Hatfield to investigate the dioxin status of the A Luoi valley in central Vietnam between 1994 and 1999. This was an area where Agent Orange was known to have been sprayed more than once and at concentrations 50 or more times the manufacturer’s recommendations.

The Canadian consortium conducted detailed studies in the ALuoi valley in central Vietnam.

As a result, the puzzle of Agent Orange only intensified.

The 10-80/Hatfield team found dioxin but at levels too low to require remediation under Canadian standards. The only place in the ALuoi valley where dioxin exceeded this standard was at the former U.S. military base at A So in the southern end of the valley.


This ultimately led to the hotspot hypothesis – that far from being widespread in the environment as had been feared, dioxin levels were only concentrated at former American military bases.

Following on from the work in the ALoui Valley Dr Bailey proposed to the 10-80 Committee that they extend the study methodology to cover all former U.S. military bases throughout central and southern Vietnam.

This study took place 2002-2005 and was funded by a Ford grant of $289,000.

At the beginning of 2006 the Vietnamese Ministry of Health’s 10-80 Committee and Hatfield produced their final report into dioxin hotspots in south Vietnam.

Using information originating from web-based research, the Vietnamese Ministry of Defense, anecdotal US and Vietnam veteran’s accounts and previous 10-80 Division/Hatfield dioxin sampling programs and reports, 18 sites in southern Vietnam with the highest potential for dioxin contamination, and the highest potential risk to the health of local people. The 18 sites served as the target locations for a field reconnaissance program completed in February/March 2004.

Following field reconnaissance activities, and using data obtained during the survey, seven bases were selected for further investigation: Da Nang, Pleiku airfield, Phu Cat airfield, NhaTrang airfield, Bien Hoa airfield, Can Tho airfield, and Tan Son Nhut airfield.

Soil/sediment samples were collected from each of the seven bases in March 2005. Sampling sites were selected downstream of suspected former Ranch Hand operations. Samples were shipped to Canada for laboratory analyses.

Da Nang, Phu Cat and Bien Hoa airfields were identified as significant hot spots on the basis of dioxin levels found in soils/sediments. The remaining airfields sampled were not considered significant hot spots.

Bien Hoa had the highest level of dioxin toxicity.

“Ultimately they narrowed the problem down to a handful of former American military bases,” Bailey recalls. “The process dispelled the fog of war.”


Agent Orange itself breaks down within a matter of days or weeks.

“If Agent Orange was just a herbicide, it would have destroyed the vegetation but there wouldn’t have been the direct and lingering impacts on US and Vietnamese soldiers,” Bailey says. “The problem lies in the manufacturing defect dioxin. It wasn’t invented, it wasn’t wanted, it was an accidental contaminant.

“Those affected, often living around former American military bases, have shorter life spans it appears a greater chance of their children having birth defects.”

Only 28 of the 2,735 former American military bases showed significant levels of dioxin.

All of them were sites where the chemical had been stored and mixed before being loaded onto cargo planes for aerial spraying.

Contributing to the push for action was photographer Philip Jones Griffiths’ 2003 book Agent Orange: Collateral Damage.

Griffiths, who passed away in 2008, had worked with the world’s leading photographic agency Magnum since 1966. He was president of the agency for a record five years.

In an article to mark the launch of the book, now on the website Digital Journalist, Griffiths records:

“When I was covering the war in Vietnam there were reports from Hanoi in 1967 claiming that millions of people had been victims of chemical warfare. Officials in Saigon dismissed these as crude propaganda and for us journalists in the South there was little opportunity to verify claims made by the North.

“In the summer of 1969 four Saigon newspapers ran stories with pictures of deformed babies born to women who had been sprayed with Agent Orange.

“The South Vietnamese government argued that the deformities were caused by venereal diseases and President Thieu closed down the papers for ‘interfering with the war effort.’ After such moves, tracking down any victims proved difficult.”


Griffiths goes on to record that by 1970 he was hearing stories and rumors that babies were being born without eyes and with such gross deformities they were being killed before the mother could see them.

Griffiths records that he visited as many places as he could to witness the phenomenon himself, but was denied access.

“By 1971, the word was out that the U.S. spraying had been officially stopped because of its harmful side effects,” he wrote. “There was a flurry of news stories, but no pictures. I left Vietnam in the summer of 1971 without ever seeing a victim.

“After the war was over I got back to Vietnam and saw my first affected child. The initial situation was a mother with two blind daughters, born with no retinas. Later I saw children with empty eye sockets and still others with no trace of eyes at all.

“Spending time with the affected children is never easy – 20-year-olds living in 10-year-old bodies. Some howling like animals, some giggling hysterically while others search with catatonic stares for meaning in the heavens. For the parents, their lives are never the same again. Giving birth becomes a game of roulette.”

Griffiths remembers meeting a Vietnamese mother who said: "I was so terrified by what I had seen happening around me, that the moment my child was born the first thing I asked was whether she had both arms and legs".

The photographer says he spent 22 years engrossed in his efforts to produce “Agent Orange: Collateral Damage” because he had been witnessing a staggering human tragedy unfold.

“In many ways the sad and terrible Vietnam War has become a war without end,” he wrote. “The parents of the afflicted are an inspirational group showering love and care on their children. Most are desperately poor and any compensation offered by America would make a huge difference to their lives.

“The US did not drop Agent Orange to produce deformed babies - it was simply meant to kill vegetation. The dioxin was an accidental by-product. This gives America a perfect excuse to be magnanimous towards the victims.”


It would be almost a decade on before such magnanimity became official government policy.

Griffiths says another reason for his obsession was because of the need to know more about dioxin. “Each and every person on the planet now has this deadly chemical in their bodies, mostly from industrial pollution and the embrace of plastics by society. Even the US Environmental Protection Agency declares that a quarter of all cancers in America are caused by dioxin.”

He says because North Vietnam was not sprayed while South Vietnam was, these genetically similar groupings provide the perfect control group for scientists to determine the truth of claims being made about the toxin.

Griffiths also records that in the political climate of the day getting a book

Agent Orange: Collateral Damage into print had not been easy.

The book is not light entertainment. But “to turn away and not see the photographs is to compound the crime".

In 2004 the US Environmental Protection Agency began technical discussions with its Vietnamese counterpart and provided laboratory equipment. Along with the US State Department the EPA spent $2 million on laboratory equipment and on technical assistance focusing on the Da Nang airport.

Three studies funded by the Ford Foundation and conducted by the Vietnam Ministry of Health’s 10-80 Committee in conjunction with Hatfield in 2003-2005, 2006 and 2009 collected a total of 410 samples—198 soils/ sediments, 41 fish and vegetation and 171 human blood and breast milk. The first two studies confirmed that the northern areas of Da Nang Airport were significant dioxin hotspots.

The real break in the policy logjam came in 2006 with a number of convergent factors.

The Vietnamese Foreign Minister officially invited the Ford Foundation to become more actively involved in finding a resolution to the Agent Orange issue.

Vietnam was entering the World Trade Organisation yet there was no information on one of the issues of major concern to exporters and


importers, the lingering impact or otherwise of Agent Orange and the potential contamination of food products.

As well President George Bush arrived in the country for an APEC meeting.

“The Agent Orange deadlock lasted from 1975 to 2006,” records Bailey. “It took a long time before the two governments could come to some kind of common understanding.”

During his November 2006 APEC visit Bush signed a Communiqué with Vietnamese President Nguyen Minh Triet. It was the first official acknowledgement by the American government of the issue. Bush committed the US to help Vietnam clean up dioxin contaminated soil at former US military airports.

Prior to Bush’s visit, the influential newspaper The Washington Post ran several stories on Agent Orange.

“For the first time it came to everyone’s attention,” Bailey recalls.

Prior to Bush’s visit, the newspaper’s Anthony Faiola reported a little prematurely that America was about to address the dismal legacy of Agent Orange.

It would be almost six years before the first soil was excavated.

The story was accompanied by a graphic picture by photographer Travis Fox.























Pham Van Xong holds his son, Truc, 9, in An Trach, Vietnam. Local medical officials say Truc is a victim of the herbicide Agent Orange, sprayed by US forces during the war. Courtesy of the Washington Post.

Reporting from Da Nang Faola wrote: “For a stark reminder of the Vietnam War, people living near the airport in this central industrial city can still stroll along the old stone walls that once surrounded a US military base. But Luu Thi Nguyen, a 31-year-old homemaker, needs only to look into the face of her young daughter.

“Van, 5, spends her days at home, playing by herself on the concrete floor because local school officials say her appearance frightens other children. She has an oversize head and a severely deformed mouth, and her upper body is covered in a rash so severe her skin appears to have been boiled. According to Vietnamese medical authorities, she is part of a new generation of Agent Orange victims, forever scarred by the U.S.-made herbicide containing dioxin, one of the world's most toxic pollutants.”

Faola reported that United States and Vietnam officials were moving to address the environmental damage at Da Nang.

For decades, the United States and Vietnam have wrangled over the question of responsibility for the U.S. military's deployment of Agent Orange. But officials say they are now moving to jointly address at least one important aspect of the spraying's aftermath -- environmental damage at Vietnamese "hot spots" such as Nguyen's city, Da Nang -- that are still contaminated with dioxin 31 years after the fall of Saigon.


Although neither Nguyen nor her husband was exposed to the Agent Orange sprayed by U.S. forces from 1962 to 1971, Vietnam officials believed the couple genetically passed on dioxin's side effects after eating fish from contaminated canals.

"I am not interested in blaming anyone at this point," the young girl’s mother Nguyen said. "But the contamination should not keep doing this to our children. It must be cleaned up."

Estimates vary wildly on the number of people impacted.

In 2006 The Washington Post reported that officials believed there were more than four million suspected dioxin victims in Vietnam, the while the US maintained there were no conclusive scientific links between Agent Orange and the severe health problems and birth defects that the Vietnamese attribute to dioxin.

The most common estimates in 2012, including from the Red Cross and the Vietnamese Government, were that about three million people were living with the consequences of dioxin poisoning, and about one million directly suffering some sort of disability.

The 2006 Post story finished with the flourish: “After doctors told them their daughter, Van, was a dioxin victim, the Nguyens cemented over the small garden in their front yard and stopped eating fish from nearby canals. Even now, however, many of their neighbors remain unaware of the danger.”

Also in 2006 the Vietnam Public Health Association surveyed the food handling and eating habits of people living near the Bien Hoa Airport in southern Vietnam, one of the three most contaminated dioxin “hotspots” in the country and located in a densely populated urban area.

From the data collected from their surveys, the Vietnam Public Health Association prepared targeted messages and materials to increase people’s attention to food safety.

Bailey says that exposure to dioxin is linked with chronic ill health and with increased numbers of children born with severe multiple disabilities. “There is accumulating scientific evidence of a link between dioxin exposure and ill health and disabilities, as shown in the biennial review of the scientific


literature on this subject by the National Academy of Science Institute of Medicine.”

Bailey says the majority of those affected, estimated by the Vietnamese Government of Vietnam, to be three million people, appear to be descendants of those originally exposed in the 1960s.

“One should never underestimate the destructive power of physical and mental disability, both for the individual and for his or her family,” he says.

“This is especially true for women and children, who are the most vulnerable. Dioxin-associated disability places a heavy and often life-long financial, physical, social and spiritual burden on families.

“The fear of disability often prevents the formation of new families – stigma and discrimination can prevent a person considered an Agent Orange victim from finding a marriage partner.

“For expectant mothers, the fear of giving birth to a child with disabilities haunts them.”

Again in 2006, the Ford Foundation’s involvement in the Agent Orange issue was given official imprimatur when the Vietnamese Ministry of Foreign Affairs invited the Ford Foundation to get more involved in searching for a resolution.

As a result an eminent person’s group which became known as the US Vietnam Dialogue Group on Agent Orange/Dioxin was formed to find a way forward.

This was a bi-national and non-partisan committee of prominent private citizens, scientists and policy makers working to clarify the issue and to mobilize resources. It was a rare example of successful private and government co-operation. “The Dialogue Group is useful to all stakeholders for two reasons: First, the members have conversations among themselves uninhibited by official positions. These conversations result in periodic reports to the public, beginning with the Dialogue Group’s five priorities in February 2007, which led to, the Declaration and Plan of Action in June 2010. The most recent report is the May 2012 Second Year Report of the Dialogue Group. Second, from its first meeting the Dialogue Group adopted a forward looking approach to solving the Agent Orange legacy through a


series of humanitarian response undertaken cooperatively between Vietnam and the U.S.”

The Dialogue Group is convened by former Ford Foundation President Susan Berresford.

President and Chief Executive of the Aspen Institute Walter Isaacson, and Vice-chair of the Vietnam National Assembly’s Foreign Affairs Committee Ambassador Ha Huy Thong are the two co-chairs.

Other US members are Christine Whitman, President of the Whitman Strategy Group, William Mayer, President of Park Avenue Equity Partners, Mary Dulan-Hografe, disability advocate and Dr Vaughan Turekian, Chief International Officer for the Advancement of Science.

On the Vietnamese side are Professor Vo Quy from the Vietnam National University, Dr Nguyen Thi Ngoc Phuong from the Medical University of Ho Chi Minh City, Do Huoang Long, director of the People to People Relations Department and Lieutenant General Phung Khac Dang, Vice President of the Vietnam Veterans Association and member of the Vietnam National Assembly.

The Dialogue Group set the goal of resolving the Agent Orange/Dioxin legacy within the larger frame of improving the bilateral relationship between America and Vietnam.

The Group identified five priorities:

1.   Expanded services to people with disabilities

2.   Public education in the US

3.   Dioxin remediation at Da Nang airport

4.   Landscape restoration across Vietnam’s affected regions

5.   Establishment of a high resolution Dioxin Laboratory

Following on from President Bush’s 2006 visit in May 2007 the US Congress appropriated an initial three million dollars for cleanup and health programs.

Another three million dollars was appropriated in March 2009.

The funds were tiny in contrast to the estimates of need. And the US government’s funds were slow to disburse. Vietnamese agencies had many relevant programs and competent staff who knew their subject well. But


Instead of funding these agencies though, the US government disbursed its funds only through US organizations.

Following the Ford Foundation funded studies around Da Nang airport interim mitigation measures were implemented, also in 2007.

These included halting all fishing and agricultural activities on Sen Lake, capping of soils at the Former Mixing and Loading Area; and construction of structures to filter water runoff and contain transported sediments. Finally a permanent fence was constructed between the highly contaminated Sen Lake and nearby residential areas. In 2009, in an address to the American Public Health Association, Dr Bailey ramped up the rhetoric in an attempt to force a clear resolution.

His speech, titled “The Agent Orange Legacy”, noted that “Agent Orange was brought to Vietnam by the US military during the war to destroy enemy food crops and places of concealment.

“Daily spraying over the course of a decade destroyed forests over an area about the size of Massachusetts,” he told the audience. “There are still large areas in the mountains where no useful trees or crops will grow. “Agent Orange is a growing domestic issue in Vietnam,” Bailey declared. “The Vietnamese people have increased pressure on the government to clean up dioxin where it is still in the soil and especially to provide better healthcare and support for people exposed to Agent Orange.

“The major pieces of any solution need a further and deeper commitment from the US government with funds and technical assistance. The US government needs to be more ambitious in its pursuit of a solution.”

Bailey also reported that an environmental and human population study at Da Nang Airport conducted in that same year provided a more complete picture of dioxin contaminated areas, exposure pathways and affected populations.

The study showed that there were significant quantities of dioxin in soil samples analyzed from the former mixing, loading and storage areas at the north end of Da Nang Airport. The levels of concentration exceeded all international standards and guidelines.

Tilapia, the most common fish harvested from ponds at the Da Nang Airport showed dioxin concentrations well above international standards.


There were also elevated concentrations of dioxin found in the blood samples from people living north, east and west of the airport.

Fishermen and those working around Sen Lake, as well as workers at the airport, also showed elevated concentrations of dioxin in their blood.

Among the Sen Lake Workers, those earning a living from fishing for Tilapia had the highest median concentrations.

The highest concentrations were found in a 42-year-old male who harvested fish and plants from Sen Lake.

Bailey concluded his speech on the Agent Orange legacy by saying the challenge was to focus funds and expertise to ensure that people with disabilities could live with self-confidence, self-respect and be provided opportunities to maximize their capabilities.

Bailey called for a multi-year legislated commitment to reducing and removing the Agent Orange legacy of the Vietnam War.

Alongside the environmental cleanup this would require a significant increase in US funding for healthcare and other social services for people with disabilities.

In September 2011 Rotary International provided a grant of $20,000 to complete the funding of the $70,000 Dong Son piped water project. Dong Son is the site of the A Shau airbase, a former U.S. military installation which in 1999 the 10-80 Committee of the Ministry of Health and Hatfield Consultants identified as contaminated with dioxin.

In October 2011 Rotary hosted a major conference on Agent Orange and Addressing the Legacy of the War in Vietnam at the University of California/ Berkeley. The 160 participants cover all aspects of the Agent Orange legacy, with emphasis on “Ten Things You Can Do to Make Agent Orange History”.

Just before Christmas of 2011 President Barak Obama signed the

Consolidated Appropriations Act, 2012, which allocated $20 million for Agent Orange in Vietnam.

Of this total, $15 million was intended to complete the funding of the full remediation of the Da Nang airport dioxin hotspot, and to start on remediation at Bien Hoa and possibly other hotspots.


The balance of $5 million is for health/disabilities programs in areas of Vietnam that were targeted with Agent Orange or remain contaminated with dioxin.

In the lead-up to that historic day in August, 2012, the US – Vietnam Dialogue Group issued a number of key recommendations and declared: “The next five years will determine if all parties are on a trajectory that can reach that objective.

“2012 is a key pivot year.

“The last five years of progress in finding and pursuing real solutions have brought us to this auspicious time.

“The US Agency for International Development (USAID) has set in motion the destruction of the dioxin contaminating the soil at Da Nang airport, after joint scientific and technical review by both governments.

“USAID has dramatically increased its commitment to addressing the needs of people with disabilities, without regard to the causes of those disabilities.

“Most significantly, the US Congress has directed USAID to consult with the State Department, the Government of Vietnam and other interested parties to develop a comprehensive multi-year plan to address the Agent Orange/Dioxin issue. The Dialogue Group believes that the comprehensive plan should cover all aspects of the Agent Orange legacy and be scaled to five years – long enough to show results and contribute to the ambitious goals that the Government of Vietnam has set for itself – and yet short enough to be realistic.”

The Dialogue Group listed three major objectives:

1)   To clean up dioxin at all remaining contaminated sites. As the clean-up of the three major sites moves forward, the remaining locations need to be prioritized and neutralized. In some, full remedial action will be required and in others, soft measures may complete the job. Additional data on possible pooling of dioxin in ponds and reservoirs may create fresh priorities.

2)   To upgrade social services for people with disabilities. Model programs will need to be tested and significantly expanded to reach those families most in need. Health care should include prenatal


information and services, a system for maternal surveillance and screening monitoring of child development and early childhood intervention.

3)   To increase the productivity of damaged landscapes. Training courses for forest managers, technical staff and farmers should be greatly expanded in areas with severely degraded lands.

This was also an opportunity to advance disability rights, augment the professional managerial skills of local partners, conduct local research studies, create new funding mechanisms and enhance public awareness in both the US and Vietnam, the report argued.

It also suggested that $100 million should be spent on cleaning up dioxin contaminated soils and $200 million expanding services to people with disabilities over the following five years.

US Secretary of State Hilary Clinton, on an official mid-year visit in 2012 preceding the Da Nang launch, was the first senior American politician to ever utter the words “Agent Orange” in public.

Clinton declared that she had “worked very hard to make sure that the United States is addressing the Agent Orange issue. It is a legacy issue that we are - we remain concerned about, and we have increased our financial commitment to dealing with it.”

The US Secretary of State also raised the issue of long term planning so both countries could address the issue in the following years; as well as the need to involve the private sector in remediation efforts.

Of Clinton’s acknowledgement of the Agent Orange issue Dr Bailey said: “This represented a change in US government approach from a problem to be managed to an opportunity to be grasped, to clean up hotspots, deal with damaged landscapes, deal with disabilities and put this behind us. Clinton’s speech marked quite a sea change in a relatively short time.

During the colourful ceremony at Da Nang airport two months later US Ambassador to Vietnam David Shear described that August day as an “historic milestone”. He said both America and Vietnam were “moving earth and taking first steps to bury the legacies of our pasts”.

“We’re cleaning up this mess,” he declared. “I look forward to even more successes to follow.”


Shear claimed that by the time the cleanup was finished in late 2016 the soil would be safe for industrial, commercial, and residential uses according to Vietnamese government standards as well as U.S. government standards for dioxin cleanup sites in the United States.

“Today’s milestone is both an acknowledgement of our painful past as well as, in the words of Secretary Clinton during her October 2010 visit to Vietnam, ‘a sign of the more hopeful future we are building together.’

“It demonstrates the astounding trajectory of cooperation our two countries have enjoyed since beginning diplomatic relations only seventeen years ago.

As these efforts move forward, resources and expertise from the private sector will be crucial to bolster this assistance. The work of private foundations like the Atlantic Philanthropies, Ford Foundation, Gates Foundation, and Rockefeller Foundation complements our work with UN agencies and foreign government partners.“

Dr Bailey said unlike many vaguely focused international projects, Agent Orange was a humanitarian story with a beginning, middle and end.

“Much progress has been made,” Bailey says. “We are a far cry from even five years ago. People are startled to learn that Agent Orange is a current problem, but there is a realization that America has a responsibility.

“Da Nang was particularly important and of interest to news reporters.

“It is a ground breaking joint effort.

“For Congress the estimated cost of $450 million cost is virtually a budgetary rounding figure,” he says. “I was taught as a child to clean up my own mess. We did not intend to create this problem but we have a responsibility as a nation to fix it. To do so is good for America, good, obviously, for Vietnam and good for the bilateral relationship.”


About Dr Charles Bailey

Charles Bailey is the Director of the Aspen Institute Agent Orange in Vietnam Program. He has worked on solving the lingering problems related to dioxin contamination in Vietnam for the last 14 years, from when he first went to Vietnam to head the Ford Foundation’s program there. The Aspen Institute's Agent Orange in Vietnam Program (AOVP) is a multi-year project to help Americans and Vietnamese address the continuing health and environmental impact of herbicides sprayed in Vietnam during the war. The program promotes dialogue on solutions to the continuing impact of the wartime use of herbicides in Vietnam. The program provides the U.S. secretariat for the bi-national US-Vietnam Dialogue Group on Agent Orange/Dioxin <http://www.aspeninstitute.org/policy-work/agent-orange/ us-vietnam-dialogue-group-agent-orange/dioxin> and manages the Agent Orange in Vietnam Fund supporting model projects benefiting people with disabilities in Vietnam.

Before coming to Aspen in May of 2011, Charles Bailey was one of the Ford Foundation's most experienced grant makers. Over three decades, he has worked in Asia, Africa and the United States, beginning with assignments in New Delhi, Cairo and Khartoum. Thereafter, he served in Dhaka as the Ford Foundation's representative for Bangladesh and in Nairobi as representative for Eastern and Southern Africa. He was representative for Vietnam and Thailand from 1997 to 2007. In 2011, he received the Vietnam Order of Friendship medal, the highest honor accorded by the government of Vietnam to non-citizens. This citation from the President of Vietnam recognizes his contributions during ten years as the Ford Foundation’s representative in Vietnam.

Charles Bailey has a PhD. in agricultural economics from Cornell University and a Master's degree in public policy from the Woodrow Wilson School at Princeton University. He received a bachelor's degree from Swarthmore College and then joined the Peace Corps in Nepal where he taught high school.


About the Author

The first money John Stapleton ever made out of writing was in 1972 when he was co-winner of Australia’s leading cultural celebration the Adelaide Arts Festival’s Short Story Competition. The amount of $75 seemed like a windfall at the time and opened his eyes to the fact he could make money out of what he liked to do the most – that is to write.

He graduated in1975 with a double major in philosophy and anthropology from Macquarie University and did post-graduate work in the Sociology Department at Flinders University.

His articles and fiction have appeared in a wide range of magazines, newspapers and anthologies Men Love Sex, a collection of short stories which briefly topped Australia’s bestseller lists, as well as Australian Politics, a collection of profiles and analyses by journalists from The Australian newspaper.

After a long period as either a contributor or doing casual shifts as a reporter, Stapleton joined the staff of The Sydney Morning Herald in the mid-1980s. He later joined the staff of The Australian.

As a general news reporter in Sydney John Stapleton, or “Stapo” as he was universally known, covered literally thousands of stories, from the funerals of bikies, children and dignitaries to fires, floods, droughts, from the demonstrations of inner-city worthies concerned over the plight of refugees to the sad and pointless deaths of youth in the city’s impoverished housing estates.

In 2000 he joined a small group of separated dads at the community radio station 2GLF in western Sydney as a volunteer, thereby helping to found Dads On The Air, now the world’s longest running radio program dedicated to fatherhood issues.

After finishing full time work, since 2010 Stapleton has been traveling in Asia. During the first few years following his retirement from the demands of day to day journalism he has written several books, a movie script and founded A Sense of Place Publishing.


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Jack Darmody: Legendary Sydney Journalist



JACK DARMODY: LEGENDARY SYDNEY JOURNALIST

BY JOHN STAPLETON


One of the last of the old breed of journalists was Jack Darmody, who died in March of 2006, his wake being held at The Shakespeare, a hotel up the hill from News Limited’s headquarters.

There was a good roll-up at his funeral. Jack was a legend of Australian journalism from the 1960s, 70s and 80s, when he worked as a police reporter on some of the country's leading tabloids, including the defunct Daily Mirror in Sydney and that legendary tabloid The Truth in Melbourne.

Jack broke the story that Great Train Robber Ronald Biggs was hiding out in Australia.

Jack was of the old school, when journalists were expected to be drunks and misfits. While mineral water became freely available at press conferences, and alcohol not even served if the event was before midday, in Jack's day if you didn't feel like a beer it was only because you wanted a Scotch.

Jack died in St Vincent's Hospital's Sacred Heart Hospice with a flask of rum beside his bed.

If not kind to himself, Jack was often kind to others; and adored by generations of cadet journalists for the world he introduced them to.

Jack would never have lasted in later decades. He would have been sacked for being drunk on the job.

Jack lee a trail of ex-wives and broken relationships.

At the funeral and the wake afterwards I took particular note of the sad face of his son; who had no doubt had a hard time of it all.

Jack was known across the pubs of Sydney. For a long time he lived upstairs from the Darlo Bar in Darlinghurst. After he fell and ended in a wheelchair, the Housing Department found him a place where he could get in and out, but it was at Ultimo, on the perimeter of his natural drinking grounds.

Even then, in his dying days, he was always at the bar early, smoking unfiltered Camel cigarettes, sipping Scotch. He had at once a melancholy and jovial air; always good company if nothing else, always happy to catch up on newspaper gossip and rail against the incumbents running either the country or the media.

Jack never had any intention of stopping drinking.

The rest of us might bounce in and out of detoxification centers or seek help in counseling or self-help programs, but none of this was for Jack.

As sports writer Peter Kogoy said in his eulogy, quoting Walt Whitman: “I am large, I contain multitudes.”

The line perfectly summed Jack up. Darmody was bigger than himself. He had one of those faces which seemed to take up the whole room.

As one barmaid who went to his funeral, a woman who had spent many hours talking with him at the Darlo during the periods when there were no other customers, said: “Of all the many barflies I have known, he was the one with the most perceptive intellect.”

I was working as a reporter at The Sydney Morning Herald when Jack latched on to me as someone who might be sympathetic to a story he was flogging.

The government was not renewing funding for an inner-city gym on a troubled housing estate, one of Jack’s pet projects, and he was trying to bring as much attention to the issue as possible.

Jack was himself an old boxer – as an amateur he had been known as The Mooretown Mauler. On a memorial brochure that was passed around at the wake after the funeral there was a picture of him as a strapping, fit young fighter kicked out and ready for a brawl.

The athlete in boxing gloves bore no resemblance to the old man I had known.

I went down to the gym with photographer in tow to do the story; which was a natural fit for The Sydney Morning Herald.

In any case Jack had also been besieging the News Editor, who knew the best way to get Darmody off his back was to relent and at least send a reporter down to see what he was up to.

The Liberal government of the day, or at least its Housing Department, had decided to cut funding for the boxing ring on the tough inner-city Glebe Housing Estate.

Boxing was a male working class tradition and as such was completely out of fashion with the bureaucrats whose own tertiary acquired feminist agendas bore little resemblance to the concerns of those they purported to represent.

The bureaucrats had probably calculated that the cut would be painless and the victims powerless.

They hadn’t counted on Jack Darmody.

Boxing was known by old hands as a way of pulling into line testosterone fueled criminals in the making. The gym was one of the few remaining places where young men could club together, get their angst out in sound and sweat, be mentored by some of the areas tougher characters, get a bit of exercise and learn to defend themselves.

The Glebe Boxing Gym, unrenovated and unpainted, had played an important role in the lives of the adolescents on the estate. Their parents were often enough drunk, disabled, derelict or dead.

The first thing Jack tried to do was put a can of beer into our hands. His idea of being a public relations expert was to buy as many crates of alcohol as the budget would withstand and proceed to pour it down the gullets of as many journalists as possible. Everything else would take care of itself.

Once he had done with the grin and grip Jack settled himself down next to a large green garbage bucket filled with ice and beer. Several cartons of the amber fluid, stashed conspicuously to the side of the bin, showed that Jack was in for the long haul.

As a sign of just how glorious life could get, there were bottles of Scotch floating in with the beer. Jack Darmody was in paradise.

When I tried to refuse a drink, Jack would not take no for an answer.

As far as he was concerned, “I'm working” was simply not an excuse.

It was late in the day, about four o'clock, with some of the kids starting to come in after school, the place large and poorly lit, pungent with the smell of sweat. In the ring, an Aboriginal boxer of some local renown was warming up.

The photographs were beautiful and the story got a run.

Unlike the cool PR princes and princesses of today, Jack rang up the next day and was fulsome in his gratitude.

Former footballer John Fahey was Premier at the time. Fahey took one look at the story and promptly stepped in. He not only reversed the bureaucrats' decision but gave the gym extra money and resources to ensure its survival.

In typical Fahey-style he did it without fanfare or self-serving announcements.

As for Jack Darmody, he garnered many tributes.

Mark Morri, crime editor at Sydney’s leading tabloid The Daily Telegraph, wrote: “As a storyteller he could write and tell a yarn with the best of them. He could be poignant, witty or straight-to-the-point with a simplicity that could be brutal. But it's more the stories about Jack Darmody, rather than by Jack Darmody, that he will be remembered for.

“A big man physically, he could fill a bar with his laughter or empty it just as quickly with a growl. To make him laugh was a joy. To make him angry was akin to a death sentence. Many a cadet reporter learnt more about journalism – and life – from Darmody in the Shakespeare Hotel than in a newsroom.

“Darmody didn't chase fame, just a story or mate who needed help. He fought for those doing it tough. It was in a Glebe early opener one morning I asked him if he wasn't worried about the toll that drinking 15 schooners, a dozen rums and smoking 80 Camel a day was having on his health. He replied: ‘I'm 48, I've been married three times, once for a week. I have done two tours of Vietnam. I know prime ministers and murderers by their first names. If I go tomorrow, I think I've done enough.’ "

Media commentator Mark Day wrote:

“Jack is a reporters' reporter if ever there was one, up there with the best of our times. Built like a side of beef, he was a boxing champion in his youth and he knew his way around a ring before he knew life on the other side of the ropes. His appearance could be highly intimidating if he wanted to convey the message that he was not to be trifled with – a man mountain given to scowls, gravel-voiced growls, and body language reminiscent of a bull pawing the ground before charging. But it was mostly an act. He preferred to use words as his fists and he was very handy at it. He wrote like a poet, always on the side of the angels; always in search of dignity for those who had precious little of it.

“Not everyone got it with Jack. They saw a barrel-shaped man, utterly devoid of dress sense, with rarely-combed hair and endless Camel cigarettes poking out from a singed but formidable moustache; they heard him demand the facts, the truth, or just the story, and they registered rejection, puzzlement or fear. But those who knew him – particularly women – found a kind, caring man who would shift heaven and earth to help and protect them. His body had to be so big to hold his heart.”

Tuesday, 26 March 2013

The Great Books, From Hunting the Famous.


THE GREAT BOOKS


FROM HUNTING THE FAMOUS


JOHN STAPLETON


A certain rubbing familiarity with the public face of Australia’s leaders was just one of the byproducts of a career as a working journalist. As a single father on the morning shift, in their younger years I would often have to take the kids along on early assignments; a child care issue I tried to avoid mentioning to the news desk.

My children had met Prime Minister Paul Keating’s successor John Howard at Sydney Airport; where by then the talk of Islamic terrorists and the fall of the Twin Towers was making everyone nervous.

Uncharacteristically, Howard was more or less hiding behind a wall of security officers as he waited to play his part in the triumphant return of the Australian Cricket Team; conquering heroes.

At an official breakfast later Howard congratulated the team on a “stunning performance” and said “you've warmed the cockles of the hearts of those who see cricket as the greatest game that the world has ever seen, and a game at which Australia are unsurpassed as world champions”.

The kids, then about ten and 11, probably weren’t quite sure who they were meeting, but got his autograph; which they proudly took to school to show off.

But teaching, in Australia at least, is a predominantly left wing profession; and the hated Howard, who was seen as having taken an axe to funding for the public school system, was not someone the teachers wanted their students to admire.

My kids were never impressed by the fact they had a journalist as a father until some of their friends started to comment that they had seen me on the front page of the newspaper.

While not very impressed at meeting John Howard, they were very excited when they came out to the airport one morning for the arrival of the American singer Fergie of Black Eyed Peas fame.

It had all begun a very long time ago.

Later, as a general news reporter, I wrote about pyromaniac kids who set alight forests, threatening lives and homes. The flames of the bush fires, the young people’s disgrace, the public’s condemnation, I reported all these things dutifully – straight up and down.

But I always wondered about the kids, who of course weren’t about to come forward to defend their actions or reveal their motivations.

The greatest moments of my childhood had all involved conflagration, burning fields, fire jumping from palm tree to palm tree down steep valleys, endangered houses. The beltings were worth the sight of those leaping flames.

As a child The Great Books of the Western World, an impressive 54 volume set produced by the publishers of the Encyclopedia Britannica, lined the shelf of my tiny bedroom, looming over the narrow bed with the weight of the ages, of Homer’s rosy fingered dawns. I read The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky, I tried to get my head around Socrates and Plato, I ploughed through swags of the plays of Euripides and Aristophanes. There was Tolstoy and Thucydides, all the greats. At age 14 I read everything I could, thought it was important to know all there was to know.

It was all a tad overwhelming. Certainly a shift from The Magic Far Away Tree or Swallows and Amazons and those classic children’s series by Enid Blyton, The Famous Five and The Secret Seven.

Outside the demonic rustling of the gum trees was fundamentally disturbing. Head buried constantly in books, anything to escape the torture of the present, I decided to adopt the sacred role of observer.

My earliest attempts to put pen to paper involved strings of apocalyptic images. I wrote lengthy poems about lines of condemned souls snaking down mythical steps and through mystical buildings, waiting to be judged by a merciless God. Despair written on their faces, the condemned just kept on coming, in their hundreds, thousands. There was a strange, stifled chant, more evil than religious emanating from those about to face their final judgment. I wrote about them all the time.

Elsewhere, Beatlemania, a kind of fervent joy, was sweeping the world. Up there where my family lived on a then fairly remote hill surrounded by the gum trees’ writhing white limbs, we were preparing for the Second Coming, for Christ to rescue us from the wickedness the long-haired Beatles represented.

That was the way I grew up, cowering in a remote, unsafe place, waiting for the tides of licentiousness that were sweeping the world to get to us, to threaten our goodness.

There were always ideas, sentences forming in the head. Nobody to know.

Rescue me, rescue me, my thoughts hammered. This is not my life. This is not where I'm meant to be. I felt wrong in my school uniform and wrong in my body and most certainly wrong in that terrible place; waiting for life to happen, waiting for an opportunity to escape. I argued with everybody.

As the awkwardness of adolescence progressed, so did my strangeness. There was a public speaking competition at the school; and the winners from the school would then go on to the regions, and then the state. The theme was hobbies.

Keen to succeed, I decided to be more ambitious than just repeating a previously successful e ort on collecting stamps and do something closer to my heart. I prepared a speech on learning shorthand and typing, and how while it could be a hobby these skills would also be incredibly useful in later life. Prior to the computer generation, it was virtually unheard of in Australia for a man to be able to type. There was a baffled, uncomprehending look on the audience's faces, my sneering peers. The teachers marked me poorly.

My advocacy for the acquisition of shorthand and typing skills marked me even more firmly as truly weird; and I paid the price in the school yard. I stayed very quiet for months afterwards, playing games to see how many days I could go without speaking a single word. Silence became my only true friend. Then at home I would be beaten for refusing to speak, and the cycle of pain would start up once again. I didn't want to say anything at all. My parents would grow more frantic as the days passed and I remained wordless: not a good morning, not a good night, no answer to how was your day at school, no apology, nothing.

They had beaten me into silence, and now they didn't know what to do; so they beat me again, demanding that I speak. I didn't speak, I swallowed the tears and retreated still further into a cathedral of my own making, full of echoes and shadows and unsuspected doings; but at least a place that was safe, a place they couldn't get to.

The first stir, if you could call it that, I created with anything I wrote was when we were asked to do a short story for English in High School. The piece was about a young man who changed out of his school uniform after school on Fridays and didn’t come back until Mondays, being dropped back home by older men in cars after a weekend of strange and wild parties where the protagonist was the youngest person there.

It may or may not have been a flowering of early talent, but the Deputy Principal promptly called me into his office, wanting to know if there was anything I would like to talk about. “No,” I told him. The Deputy sternly stated that the story was very disturbing indeed and if I ever wrote anything like it again I would be caned.

After considerable disturbances to other people when my father put a private detective on to me, I walked off down the road at the first legal age possible. I left behind volumes of juvenilia in boxes in the basement of my father’s double story work shed. They were thrown out with the rubbish.

Sydney’s red light district is known as King’s Cross. Having grown up in an apocalyptic religion, it really did feel as if we were living at the end of days. Everything was coming to a close. With a certain theatricality, I thought I was literally sacrificing myself on the Cross.

The bar at the centre of the group of miscreants and wild young men I hung around with was called The Bottoms Up Bar, part of the Rex Hotel.

Anyone who entered there had already travelled far. They had left normal bourgeois society, decent suburban lives and the meat and potatoes of working life.

It was the era of the grand queen, before clones and masculinity, t-shirts and muscles and moustaches, came into fashion. This was a time when anyone who declared themselves gay, or undecided, had already shouted in the face of convention, defied all community standards, entered into bestiality, abnormality, eternal corruption, damnation.

At times their own self-loathing decorated everything they did. “Not well, dear,” was a standard greeting as they flapped their wrists and died inside.

I drank and I drank, sitting in corners watching the passing parade. The Rex Hotel is no longer there. In its place are modern apartments and offices. The adjacent park has been paved and planted with palms. There are no longer shadowy corners suggesting criminal intent, lurking and mischief.

In my dreams slime coated the bar’s walls and filtered into my writing, into my soul. Tendrils of an evil, alien lichen hung down from the ceiling. The stained walls reeked of some sort of dysfunctional evil, the byproduct of the corruption leaking from the pores of the drinkers.

I drank enough for the bar to slowly make sense, the lowering walls, the cackled laughter, the disease that spread everywhere. As the nights turned to blackout and I sank into the oblivion I so desperately sought, then the tendrils turned into human hands pleading for attention. I worshipped at the knees of corrupt saints. Later the bar became the centre of a science fiction novel; the hundreds of pages stuck all over the walls of an inner-city terrace as I struggled to formulate the meandering plot.

There were always two sides to every story; and this was equally true of mine.

While I often drank heavily during long nights when I forgot to sleep; there was a second person who rented a cheap room and studied earnestly by correspondence in an attempt to finish high school.

I was furiously completing essay assignments, reading all the course material, liaising with invisible teachers. But there was no classroom. There were no classmates. There was much more work involved than if I had just been a normal student, another teenager at home. Instead I was on my own, in a tiny room the private hotel’s manager rented cheaply because it was next to the incinerator.

Precocious enough, at 16, I was the youngest member of the Australian Society of Authors and would eagerly attend their meetings.

The then already old Sydney writer Dal Stivens, a small, curious man who had written about some of the same parts of the city I wanted to write about, took a liking to me. Sometimes I would see him standing alone near the giant Coca Cola sign in Kings Cross, an area he had described in some of his books. We would stand and talk and watch the scene together.

At 16 I also got a job as a copy boy at The Daily Telegraph, on the midnight to dawn shift.

Digital was yet to arrive. The stories from abroad spewed constantly on long streams of paper from the teletype machines. I read or struggled to make sense of Tolstoy’s War and Peace and James Joyce’s Ulysses while listening to their clatter through the long nights.

We had to be on good terms with the cleaning staff, because if they didn’t like you and you fell asleep, they would leave you there to be found by the day staff. And you would end up getting sacked for sleeping on the job.

Copy boys, as was made pretty clear, were at the bottom of the pecking order.

David McNicholl, a big walrus of a man, was then The Daily Telegraph’s Deputy Editor.

I was thoroughly frightened of him. Each evening I had to take the tear offs of the overseas stories into him in batches. Later, in those Sydney twists of incident, his son, also called David McNicholl but better known as DD, would become a colleague on the country's national newspaper The Australian.

The first time I encountered DD Junior was after a plane, which had been on a flight to Norfolk Island, crash landed in Sydney’s Botany Bay.

While there were no casualties, the incident was unusual enough to attract the attention of the city’s media.

The fact that The Australian, then the opposition, had a reporter on the flight was not lost on the rest of the media. As the major story of the day, it was a stroke of journalistic good fortune. But then the McNicholls had seen quite a lot of good fortune courtesy of the media, DD Senior being close to Frank Packer, then the Telegraph’s owner and one of Australia’s richest men.

DD Junior, having grown up in a journalistic dynasty, was accustomed to the demands of the media and generously gave the gathered pack all the blow by blow quotes we needed. As he talked, he posed cheerfully, draped in a blanket, in front of the ditched plane; making for perfect pictures.

I couldn’t believe how almost identical DD was in appearance to the father I had been so terrified of as a copy kid all those years before.






Paul Keating, from Hunting the Famous.

PAUL KEATING


FROM HUNTING THE FAMOUS


JOHN STAPLETON






The successor to Australian Prime Minister Bob Hawke was Paul Keating, an entirely different kettle of fish.

After a prolonged battle for the leadership the two Labor leaders rarely spoke.

Keating, who came to power in 1991, could never see why a lower form of life like Bob Hawke should be top dog when clearly the position belonged to him.

Keating was one of those people where all the mastery is in the fight. They don’t know what to do when they get there.

He was famous for sneering lines like: “You’re nothing but a shiver looking for a spine to run up.”

There might be Keating Square and Keating whatever else out in the working class western Sydney seat of Blaxland from whence he came but Keating himself, preening around in two thousand dollar Italian suits, couldn’t wait to get out of there.

A disciple of multiculturalism partly perhaps because immigrants tended to vote Labor en masse, at the very first opportunity Keating escaped from Blaxland to the wealthy white Sydney enclaves of the Eastern suburbs, where his slim form and scathing wit were much admired.

And he could listen to his beloved Mahler without being called a wanker.

While Keating himself never completed High School, leaving at age 16, he had a masterful gift of the gab and held the country’s academics enthralled.

At one press conference at the Mitchell Library one woman piped up: “Mr Keating, Mr Keating, I’m an academic at Sydney University and I just wanted to say how much I adore everything you do. I agree with everything you say.”

Give us a break.

The rest of us are working.

Idiotically, Keating would go out of his way to insult the Fourth Estate.

He never worked out that the media were a conduit to the general public and he would be applauded or hung by them; but never ignored.

Keating might have had a wife and four children but we always thought he was gay, and were happy to believe the rumors.

Particularly after his divorce.

Would an ordinary Australian male rip out the floor of a bathroom because the tiles were a quarter of an inch off?

What other Australian male had such well-manicured hands?

We knew a lot about Keating’s private life because we all loved his gracious, charming wife Anita. We spent many long days staked outside her house in the heart of up-market Woollahra after the divorce was announced.

On one such day, feeling sorry for us as we stood shivering in the relentless rain just before Christmas, Anita invited us all in.

She knew perfectly well that some of us were already familiar with the house. During the long and exacting renovation of the house to its original glory we had often talked our way past the carpenter, plumber, electrician, tiler or whoever to get a shot of progress. A lot of them were naïve enough to let us.

Asking the mother of Keating’s four children about her errant husband and his various alleged escapades or the reason for the divorce was not something any of us wanted to do. And Anita was not the sort of person to kiss and tell, or take out her grievances in public.

Hard of heart but even harder of hearing, there were days when we just ignored the News Desk’s repeated requests to go and door knock her. Instead we huddled miserably inside the company cars as it poured rain day after endless day.

A lot of the photographers were either close to Anita, held her in high esteem or in some cases had even worked with her on various projects after she started Arts College.

None of us wanted to hurt her.

On the other hand a lot of us were happy to hurt Keating, the artful dodger, the great pretender.

But the paper always refused to take a picture of Keating and his alleged boyfriend, although we believed we knew exactly how to do it.

That’s an invasion of someone’s private life, the News Desk protested. We couldn’t do that!

Sure.

Now there’s a judgment call.

In newspapers high moral standards were cloaks of convenience which lasted for just as long as it suited whoever held the editorial reigns of the day.

Everyone knew how prickly and litigious Keating was; and how much a picture of him and his purported lover would have driven him to attack.

Keating brought color and movement to public life, giving stirring speeches while cutting a stylish figure across the political stage. He remained a hero to segments of the community for years after he left office.

He wasn’t a hero to the many journalists he had abused, bullied and attempted to intimidate.

My last encounter was pretty much par for the course.

Keating was giving a lecture on governance in one of the conference rooms at Sydney University to an assembly of local government mayors from around New South Wales.

He preened on about how a $90,000 a year salary just wasn’t enough for a local council worker to stand up to the temptations of a developer waving millions.

And he would be happy to talk to anyone who had questions afterwards. He would talk to the media last, he said, because that’s what he thought of them, as beneath contempt.

The State’s mayors were on a cosy junket to Sydney; the media had multiple jobs and tight deadlines to deal with. Not that Keating cared.

A little bit like Prince Charles, Keating was often given the opportunity to go on about one of his favorite hobby horses, urban architecture and in his case the glories of Paris and the ugliness of Australian cities.

It was, in a sense, a return to form.

His speech included lines like: “Developers are just brigands who build things.”

I wrote a piece which began with the observation that Keating had lost none of his bile.

The paper compounded my sins by running an editorial expanding on the theme that Keating needed to move on with his life, develop some humility and stop throwing barbs at everyone he regarded as his intellectual inferior, which was just about everybody.

We all thought it pretty funny that Paul Keating would wake up each morning with only one thought in his head: the man he hated most in the world, conservative leader John Howard, was running the country, the job that Keating regarded as rightfully his.

Keating could not understand why the mauling masses had failed to appreciate his brilliance.

He was incensed both by my story and the editorial.

Several days after their publication he rang at about five pm.

Anyone who knows anything about journalism and newspapers knows you do not ring a reporter at five pm.

At that time, every working journalist is on a deadline for the next day’s paper. Yesterday’s story might as well have been a lifetime ago.

Production takes precedent over all other considerations.

Contrary to expectations, with changes in technology deadlines became earlier rather than later. By the turn of the millennium we were under general orders to file by six or the paper would take wire copy or spike our efforts; didn’t much matter what the story was.

With a national newspaper like The Australian, published at multiple points across a vast country, every minute over the production schedule cost tens of thousands of dollars.

A soft, sibilant, whispery voice came down the line.

“Paul Keating here,” he said.

“Oh Paul, hi,” I answered, surprised, my head immersed in an entirely different place.

“Why did you write such a terrible story about me?”

“It wasn’t a terrible story,” I replied. “It was just a straight news story.”

“It wasn’t a straight story. There were many things incorrect. Let me take you through the points…”

“Paul, you’re notorious for abusing journalists,” I cut in on what was about to become a diatribe. “I don’t have time and I don’t have to put up with it. I’m not paid enough.”

I slammed the phone down and went on about my work.

My then micro-managing Chief of Staff, all of two meters away, looked at me quizzically and asked: “Who was that?”

“Paul Keating, he’s always abusing somebody,” I shrugged and then deliberately ignored my boss as well.

I had outlived a number of Chiefs of Staff; some good, some bad, some utterly indifferent. This particular one was somewhere between utterly indifferent and a pain in the ass. I did my best to destroy his sanity. He did not oblige.

After some frustrations he had given up trying to run the minutae of my working life, but he wasn’t used to journalists slamming the phone down on former Prime Ministers.

Keating, even more incensed now and with time on his hands, besieged the News Desk for days to come, demanding to speak to the Editor in Chief.

Every editor in the country knew what Keating was like; and this one had no apparent desire to deal with him.

The Australian’s Editor in Chief Chris Mitchell dodged Keating for several days before his secretary finally admitted he was in his office and put Keating through.

To mollify him, the boss gave Keating the opportunity to say what he wanted in a piece on the Opinion pages.

Everyone who read it had the same reaction: “What?”

The point Keating most wanted to make was that he hadn’t said the council system in Australia was corrupt; what he had said was that it was closely modeled on the corrupt borough system of the United Kingdom and as a result had many of the same flaws.

The opinion piece began, in classic Keating style, with a high handed insult.

The man who simply could not understand why he was no longer Prime Minister suggested that the only mistake he had made in attending the conference at Sydney University was not to have prepared a press release in advance, so that even the most simple minded of journalists could understand what he was saying.

OK Paul you’ve made your point. What was it you wanted to say exactly?

“You’re nothing but a shiver looking for a spine to run up.”

Hold the world in contempt and it will hold you in contempt straight back

Bob Hawke: Drinking Again? From Hunting the Famous.



BOB HAWKE


FROM HUNTING THE FAMOUS


JOHN STAPLETON




Everyone loved Bob.

Bob Hawke, Australian Prime Minister from 1983 to 1991, enjoyed for a sustained period of time enviable approval ratings – during the 1980s the highest ever for an Australian Prime Minister. He led the Australian Labor Party to four successive election victories and to this day remains the lee’s longest serving leader.

“Hawkie”, as he was often known, was the Sydney’s taxi drivers’ politician of choice.

He wasn’t just another working class hero. Many of the Australian population genuinely felt that Hawke was one of their own, an ordinary person with their interests at heart. And such a person, after a string of upper-class residents, was finally living in the Prime Minister’s official residence, The Lodge.

There were celebrations across Sydney when Hawkie trumped the opposition with a lightning dash, becoming Prime Minister less than four weeks after overthrowing former Opposition leader Bill Hayden in an internal coup.

The Liberal leader’s attempt to exploit disarray in the Labor Party by calling a snap election backfired and the charismatic former union leader led his party to victory.

Like many a journalist I somehow thought of the city’s taxi drivers as the voice of the common man.

I wasn’t the first and certainly would not be the last reporter, lazy or pressed for time, to grab a quote from the taxi driver on the way back from a job. And then include a quote in their story so it sounded like the paper had surveyed half the country’s working class to uncover a common sense voice.

Bob was clever in a nation which confused cleverness with pretentiousness and regarded such a trait with suspicion.

Hawkie had won a Rhodes’ Scholarship to Oxford University where he distinguished himself by setting a new world speed record for beer drinking, a feat which gained him an entry in The Guinness Book of Records.

The Australia of the day lived by the motto: “Never Trust a Man Who Doesn’t Drink.” In a country with a strong beer culture Hawke believed the feat helped him become Prime Minister.

Australians loved their Hawkie even more when he told the nation in the lead-up to the 1983 election that if he became Prime Minister he would stay away from the sauce.

In what other country would a promise of abstinence made by someone running for the highest office in the land be regarded with such admiration?

It was a promise Hawke would keep, much to everybody’s amazement.

There was speculation that Hawke attended Alcoholics Anonymous meetings held exclusively for high ranking government officials.

True or not; his anonymity was respected. His confessions, if he ever made any, did not become the subject of common gossip.

Often enough you would never have known Bob had any more neurons than your Average Joe.

Hawkie wasn’t about to let on to the voters he had ever read a book or could see straight through them in a micro-flash. The ability to act like a normal working class man was a keystone to acceptance. Chameleon-like-abilities were essential.

Hawke adopted the camouflage of the good bloke, an Australian male. It was part act, part truth.

Prior to his election Bob Hawke smoked, drank to excess, loved a party, a brawl, a fine curvy woman, he swore like a trooper and bulldozed his way through any given situation. Like many Australian men.

The dust stained workers perched on the bar stools after work took to commenting on how smart Hawkie was; how he had a Rhode Scholarship or something; but even so he was a “decent bloke”, the highest compliment one Australian male can pay another.

Australians loved him. That he was clever was forgiven or forgotten.

One of the world’s most urbanised countries, Australia was essentially a land of suburbs. Hawke was famous for going to the shopping malls of the country’s outer areas and shaking hands with anyone and everyone he met. We the media were often obliged to follow.

In that Arcadian world, prior to the Twin Towers turning security worldwide on its head, Hawke wasn’t the type of Prime Minister to hide behind a screen of police or national security officers.

Unlike the carefully scripted encounters with the “public” of his successors, Bob Hawke was prepared to take on not just the flattering praise of party members, but to genuinely front all comers. If someone wanted to verbally attack him over a real or perceived injustice, as sometimes happened, Bob would stand his ground, listen to what they had to say and promise to look into it.

Hawk’s successor Paul Keating dismissed Bob Hawke’s “shopping mall” antics as cheap populism. Unlike Bob, Keating also made the mistake of ridiculing the media as a bunch of low life grubs. Partly as a consequence, Keating experienced some of the lowest popularity ratings of any Australian Prime Minister in history.

Hawke’s shopping mall circuses were a vital part of how he won elections; a fact Keating never grasped.

Successive Prime Ministers, particularly John Howard, would try and emulate Hawke, even visiting some of the same shopping malls. But none were ever as successful.

When Bob Hawke committed troops to the first Gulf War, a controversial move in a country which had seen too many of its young men die in distant wars for the benefit of other nations, he slickly purloined what was an electoral risk into an issue of national pride.

To question the country’s commitment to Iraq was to denigrate, as the spin went, some of the world’s finest soldiers.

Having neatly survived the country’s natural anti-war sentiment post-Vietnam – and as common Australian decency would dictate – Bob Hawke went down to the docks on the day the first troops were being sent o to war, ignoring the band of protestors outside the naval yards.

Hawke lingered on the ship for hours, shaking the hands of every soldier he laid eyes on and wishing them all good luck.

After the official proceedings were over, Hawke wandered the battle ship decks, cheerfully posing with the soldier’s proud families.
I followed the Prime Minister, his circling minders and his ever despairing security around the battle ship.

Follow in Hawke’s wake as a reporter and virtually all one ever found were fans. And so it proved on the day the country sent the first contingent of soldiers off to Iraq.

“Hawkie shook my hand, he touched me here, he kissed me on the cheek, I’m not going to shower for a week,” one of the mothers clutching children gushed.

“He asked after my grandmother, he remembered her from the teachers union, and said he was sorry to hear she had passed away,” another threw in.

“He wanted to know the names of my children. He posed for a picture with them. When I told him one of the kids was sick, he said he knew an asthma expert, and would get one of his staff to send me the details.”

All of this and more from the devoted constituents left in his wake. Hawke didn’t win four elections in a row without a gift for electioneering. Nobody had the common touch like Bob.

Outside the heavily fortified Australian Navy docks at Woolloomooloo protestors waved placards and chanted anti-war slogans with little affect.

Journalism dignified the extremities of any debate.

Often enough the holders of minority views were quoted simply because they added color or tension to a story.

During the days when Sydney’s Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras was still controversial rather than the city institution it became, we would always quote the Reverend Fred Nile’s consistent attacks on the parade.

In fact Fred Nile’s views, far from being common, were representative of the few members of the fundamentalist Christian tradition to which he belonged.

Critics liked to dismiss Australia as a country of rednecks and homophobes. In fact most Australians couldn’t have cared less who was doing what to whom, as long as it was not to them.

They might normally have been a focus, but few journalists bothered with the anti-war protestors on the day the first group soldiers were sent o to the Gulf.

Hawke had starved the placard wavers of media oxygen and stolen the limelight.
The fact that he was sending soldiers to a dangerous and far-off place where Australia had little business being purely to support the American Alliance was lost.

Manipulation of public opinion was just one of Bob Hawke’s many talents.

Years after he ceased being Prime Minister, a photographer and I were sent to cover a function in Eastern Sydney for the launch of something or other, a book, a restaurant chain, a new line of doilies, an inoffensive new charity for the ladies who lunch. In the end all the launches merged into one another.

It was one of those leisurely, well catered for events where someone had thrown $50,000 or so on the table for expenses and considered it money well spent.

Everyone was well dressed. Except, of course, for the journalists and photographers; the city’s riff-raff.

Hawke, like many politicians, knew half of Sydney’s media pack by name, he made a point of it, and even then, years after he lost the leadership, he knew exactly how to play them.

After the launch of whatever it was, lunch was served. The media were placed at a table well away from the main guests so they wouldn’t spill anything on the neatly starched table cloths or overhear a confidence no one wanted to read in the next day’s papers.

Bob as always was prominently situated near the podium.

As far as pulling a living legend was concerned, having Bob at your function was about as “good a get” as a society hostess could pull off.

And as always, Hawkie knew everybody. The working man’s hero was perfectly at home in the upper echelons of Australian society.
This was the refined, clever, upper-crust Hawke the general public never saw.

This was the man the nation’s taxi drivers, builders laborers, electricians and hard-working masses hadn’t vote for; because they thought they were voting for one of their own.

With all the charm and discretion for which the media were renowned, The Sydney Morning Herald photographer pulled off a string of shots of Bob drinking what looked suspiciously like alcohol.

He was no longer Prime Minister, having been replaced by the knife edged Italian suits draping Paul Keating’s elegant form, but to everyone’s knowledge he had maintained his pledge of abstinence.

Hawkie holding a glass of what looked like white wine was the first public sign that The Big Dry was over. It had been a long time between drinks.

All of those lay-it-on-thick sympathy articles about his long suffering wife Hazel, who was admired more than any other Australian Prime Minister’s wife before or since, disappeared in the wave of a glass.

The country’s women sympathized with Hazel for all those long nights spent alone caring for the children, waiting for her husband to come home from the office or whatever function Bob happened to be attending – including all those boozy late night Australian Labor Party dinners in Sydney’s Chinatown where drinking to excess was compulsory.

And Hazel was much admired for her dignified look-the-other-way response when Hawke’s womanising became the subject of gossip.

The parable of Hazel’s quiet heroism and Bob’s self-sacrifice disappeared with the first photograph of Bob holding a glass of “piss”, as Australians so elegantly called wine.

The Sydney Morning Herald where I then worked loved the story.

A common place launch of nothing in particular I was hopeful I wouldn’t have to file a single word on suddenly turned into a front page story – thanks to an enterprising photographer.
Wrung out from so many hundreds of stories, I wished the photographer had kept their lens cap on.

In a dreary afternoon under the News Room’s fluorescent lights I was obliged to ring everyone even remotely connected to the luncheon, from experts on alcoholism to the event’s caterers.

Hawke’s press person declared that he had no idea where Bob was and as Hawke was no longer Prime Minister but a private citizen his whereabouts wasn’t a reporter’s concern.

The helpful little press person turned o his phone after I barraged him with calls.

Former Australian Prime Ministers received ample benefits costing the taxpayer hundreds of thousands of dollars annually, but you couldn’t expect them to answer any questions in return.

The pictures of Bob drinking white wine, spread across the top of the front page proofs, looked fantastic.

The problem, the editors declared, was it could possibly be non- alcoholic white wine. It seemed unlikely. It was certainly news to me that there was any such thing.

I rang the caterers. They weren’t prepared to discuss. No, they couldn’t possibly put me on to the waiter who had been serving Hawke – they were casuals and had dispersed.

No, the head waiter could not comment and no, they couldn’t possibly pass on any of the staff’s numbers, a question of confidentiality.

The emphasis on individual privacy as a right and its progressive enshrining in legislation had become the bane of working journalist’s lives.

The restaurant delivered up the same story as the caterers: “Sorry, everybody’s gone home now. No, I don’t have anyone’s number. No, I’m so sorry, I would like to help but I just can’t. Best of luck with it.”

Non-alcoholic white wine!?

Would someone like Hawke even drink such a thing? Was it available in Australia? And if it was, what a nightmare assignment for some marketer that must have been!

Prior to the advent of Google, there weren’t any lightning fast computer searches which would reveal every minor reference to such an oddity as the sales of non-alcoholic white wine in Australia in 0.24 seconds.

The principal wine merchants were all bemused. Some suggested they had heard of such a thing but had no idea where to buy it.

As day turned to night there was only one thought on my mind – “I want to go home”. Lunch was an increasingly long time ago.

Journalism might seem like an interesting line of work, but being constantly under surveillance from the marauding layers of Chiefs of Staff, Editors in Chief, News Editors and Night Editors, to name a few, increased stress levels magnificently.

Journalism was a high burnout high turnover profession and only naturals, misfits or hardheads survived past the first two or three years. The rest of the annual throngs of eager young cadets soon lee for bigger offices, more respect and considerably better salaries in corporate public relations.

As night fell outside the Fairfax building – which to the amusement of the journalists working there never made it onto The Sydney Morning Herald ’s annual the list of Sydney’s Ten Ugliest buildings – the brewery on the other side of eight lanes of traffic lit up for the night shift. The editors continued to wring their hands over the possibility of being sued if the paper went with the Bob Drinks Again story.

Hawkie might have been all bonhomie to the nation’s working journalists, a seasoned master at manipulating the media which played such a crucial role in the stratospheric popularity he enjoyed for so many years.

But in fact Bob was no lover of the Fourth Estate.

Since his retirement Hawkie had lined his pockets with more money than he ever made as Prime Minister by suing the news’ organizations which had dared to malign, slight or allegedly defame him during his time in power.
This is my time in jail, I often thought, as I crossed the six lanes of ceaseless traffic on the strip of Parramatta Road known as Broadway. Here soot-covered camellias lined the edge of the highway, remnants of some optimistic council project aimed at bringing beauty to an unbeautiful spot. It didn't work. The plants and their usually much admired flowers were coated with pollution from the thousands of cars passing every day.

This Broadway had none of the lights, glamour or entertainment of its New York counterpart; and I would sometimes feel all was lost, lost, as I gazed up at the dreary concrete building where I worked. I knew I was a stranger in a strange land, that I would be lucky to make it through the day.
When I first started work at Fairfax the place resembled a self-contained factory with management on the top level, editorial in the middle, and production downstairs.

The place smelled of ink.

Arriving for work on a Sunday morning, I would find the docks full of drifting newsprint left over from the hundreds of thousands of copies of The Sun Herald which had just been loaded onto trucks and dispatched around the State.

When the printing machines started up the entire building shook.

Technology changed everything, not just the nature of journalism and newspapers, but the atmosphere of the buildings themselves. Within a few years of my joining the profession, the smell of ink no longer permeated newspaper offices. Printing took place tens or even hundreds of miles away from the editorial offices. The once compelling ambience of news rooms began to resemble that of any other city workplace.

The characteristic sight of a reporter smoking furiously at their desks and stubbing cigarettes into overflowing ashtrays as deadlines approached became a part of history.

The air came to smell like air conditioning rather than tobacco and the desks became occupied by bright young things with bottles of mineral water in their gym bags.
A former generation of journalist would never have even known what a gym bag was.

But more than just smoke free, news floors became silent.

With the introduction of electronic messaging the culture changed dramatically.

The news floors were no longer full of people shouting ideas at each other, comparing leads or arguing with Chiefs of Staff.

Many a proud production role also vanished with the evolutions in printing technology. The same was true of editorial. In the 1980s The Sydney Morning Herald’s library remained legendary. The personable librarians meticulously ran the daily clipping services. They often got caught up in stories and the hunt for detail, seeing it as an honorable role to help journalists.

The library’s banks of metallic grey cabinets were stuffed with files full of clippings from the Herald and rivals. In subsequent years all the same functions were fulfilled within seconds by computers.

In the mid- 1980s Sydney's most famous tabloid of all, The Sun, was in its final death throws, made uneconomic by rising labor costs and changing readership patterns since the advent of television. It eventually closed in 1988. Evening newspapers were a fading tradition worldwide. The demise of The Sun was followed by its rival The Mirror. The dueling headlines of the city’s afternoon papers slipped into history.

At first, when I arrived each morning at the offices of the SMH the old soldiers from The Sun would be just winding up their shifts. I watched in awe as the ancient sub-editors finished o the edition, excited to at last be inside that almost impenetrable citadel. And citadel it truly was. I had knocked so often, tried so hard.

By midday the sub-editors and pickled old newshounds would be found filling the surrounding pubs, where journalistic legends finished their work days by drinking themselves into a convivial state.

On the day of Hawke’s luncheon I had already reached the allotted hour for being swamped by a daily feeling of burnout. Other interests lay outside the newspaper’s precincts.

I might have been working since morning, but my bosses weren’t about to hand this story over to the night reporter.

“Ring him and ask him,” I was ordered.

“I don’t know where he is,” I replied.

“Do your job,” came the frustrated response. “Ring everybody you can think of who knows him and don’t stop until you’ve got him. Because you’re not going home until you do.”

Finally I tracked the quarry down to the bar in the Duke of Stamford hotel in Double Bay. It was the hotel of choice for the affluent and influential, discrete, tasteful and with top-of-the-line service.

“He’s not in his room, he’s in the bar,” I told the Chief of Staff , hoping I could wriggle out of making the phone call, knowing perfectly well Bob wasn’t going to take kindly to this sort of invasion.

“Ring the hotel and ask to be put through to Bob in the bar,” the Chief of Staff ordered. “It’s that sort of hotel and they’ll know exactly who you mean.”

“Ugh” I responded, grumbling as I went back to my desk.


I rang the Duke of Stamford and explained to the man on the switch what I needed.

We had bonded over the previous hour of multiple calls when I dropped the hint I might “bat for the other side”.

The switch-bitch was all aflutter at the gossip that one of the reporters on the city’s Bible of the Chattering Classes aka The Sydney Morning Herald might be sympathetic. Who knew what stream of stories might change the way conservative Australia thought about sexuality; if only he was kind enough to help out a reporter with a little show of brotherhood.

After some prevarication the telephonist did exactly as I asked.

I could hear the muffled flurry in the expensive padding of that exclusive watering hole as the barman said quietly: “Phone call for you Bob.”

And I could almost hear Hawkie’s self-important “harrumph harrumphs” as he excused himself from the group he had been entertaining and went to take the call.

Once I had that instantly recognizable and most famous of Australian voices on the line and apologized for interrupting him I explained to Bob that the editors were a pack of idiots with no respect for other people’s privacy, but they wanted to run a picture of him, probably in the gossip section at the back of the paper, probably not at all.

And they just wanted to know if what he was drinking in the photographs at that day’s function was actually white wine.

“For Goodness sake,” Bob snapped, slamming the phone down.

The story, including this response, along with a string of prominent photographs, was strapped across the top of the front page of The Sydney Morning Herald the next morning.

It would be some time before Bob let his guard down enough to be photographed drinking in public again.