Losing objectivity, surrendering integrity

Image: The Australian 

Something’s been iffy about Australian media coverage of the Middle East since the October 7 massacre of Israel’s Nova festival-goers by Hamas.

Much more than iffy, actually, more a case of distinctly and disturbingly on the nose.

Almost immediately, the hundreds of innocents murdered and kidnapped were somehow deemed deserving of the horrors and terrors visited on them by their vicious, ruthless, rancorous attackers by extensive elements of the media that come down squarely in support of the Palestinian cause.

Never mind the manic and virulent bloodlust that erupted on so-called social media. That cesspool of humanity is the wild west of unchecked depravity.

But the mainstream media that likes to pride itself on producing breakfast for the brain, quality journalism, and fair and balanced, accurate and unbiased reporting has proven itself lacking in just about any of those attributes.

Israel, despite constant daily bombardment from Hamas and its affiliates for years, in addition to the massacre, has been villified as the aggressor.

Hamas, for all its human-shield defences, and starvation terror against its constituents, has been painted as hard done by, an  undeserving and tortured victim. As if it didn’t bring every Israeli defensive rocket 0n its own head.

More recently, we’ve seen an abject lack of concern from the West’s pro-Palestine camp for the massacred, tortured and executed victims of its backers, Iran, in its brutal purges.

How did we get to this? How did we find our purported media champions of integrity so off the mark?

I could bang on for some time but an article in The Australian by Michael Gawenda, former editor of The Age, says it better than I would and with considerably more clout.

Read on:

FROM JOURNALIST TO JEW TO ZIONIST

MICHAEL GAWENDA

In September 1997, I was appointed editor of The Age. I had worked at the paper, on and off, for almost three decades.

Neither the announcement of my appointment as editor nor the announcement that I was appointed editor-in-chief in 2003 mentioned that I was a Jew, although in the Jewish community the fact that I was the first Jew to be appointed to the position in the paper’s 150-year history was cause for some celebration.

In the decades before I was appointed editor there were few instances when the fact that I was a Jew was an issue; not when I worked for The Age, not when I worked for the Herald and Weekly Times and not when I worked for Time magazine.

What was important to me was that I was committed to the ethical rules of good journalism – open-mindedness, fairness, accuracy and something approaching balance. The idea of balance is often misunderstood.

It is not giving every view on any issue equal weight. What it means is avoiding giving preference to voices that you find agreeable and in line with your thinking but, rather, making sure that you have given not equal space but sufficient weight to the arguments and experiences of people with whom you may disagree, even vehemently so.

The fact that I was a Jew was not an issue. Not among my fellow journalists and not in the letters that came flooding into Time. This was what great journalism was about. Deep reporting during which the reporter’s preconceptions are put aside as much as is possible to get as close to the “first rough cut of history”.

Let us now fast-forward to August 2025. Sky News presenter and journalist Sharri Markson had just interviewed Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu when Linton Besser, the host of Media Watch on the ABC, called.

He wanted to know whether I would be prepared to comment on the interview for his program. He had asked Ray Martin and Kerry O’Brien to comment as well. I agreed to do it.

I criticised the interview because Markson had not asked the obvious questions about Netanyahu’s recent criticism of the Australian government and, specifically, of its failure to deal with what was, Netanyahu said, an explosion of antisemitism. Indeed, Anthony Albanese was exacerbating the antisemitism problem, he said.

This was an extraordinary intervention in Australian politics. The Jewish community leadership criticised Netanyahu for his intervention. So why no questions about this?

Martin and O’Brien more or less agreed with me on this, but O’Brien went on to say Markson should have challenged him over the war in Gaza and this should have been the main thrust of the interview.

I thought he was wrong; Markson had a few minutes and the issue of Netanyahu’s intervention in Australian policies was clearly the main issue for Australian audiences.

Before Media Watch went to air, Besser called to read to me how he was going to characterise me on the program. Was it OK if he described me as a veteran journalist and a Zionist?

I asked how he knew I was a Zionist. And how was this important? Wasn’t it important that I had been a senior editor at Time and editor-in-chief of The Age? Was I not a Zionist, he asked. When I requested to be called a former editor-in-chief of The Age and nothing else, Besser said it was important to acknowledge my views on Israel.

What was used eventually was that I was a former editor of The Age and a contributor to The Australian who has written about his deep feelings for Israel. I agreed to the change, albeit reluctantly.

I wondered how it was that Besser could want to characterise me as a Zionist when he knew what the word had come to mean among many journalists and many people on the left.

Zionists were supporters of an evil, racist ideology and of Israel, a genocidal, apartheid state.

What did it mean that the host of Media Watch wanted to refer to me as a Zionist?

That question is at the heart of the way a large section of the media, a large number of journalists, have reported the rise of hostility and hatred towards Jews in Australia across the past couple of decades and that exploded after October 7, 2023.

It is the question that has to be answered in light of the attacks on Jewish institutions and assaults on Jews growing and culminating in the Hanukkah massacre at Bondi Beach on December 14, 2025.

Answers to this question need – that dreaded word – context. 5\

In 1970 when I started at The Age, the majority by far of journalists on the paper – including the legendary editor Graham Perkin – were not tertiary educated. Many of the journalists were working-class men – there were few women in journalism – including the sub-editors on the papers for which I worked, who in the main were masters of plain, grammatically correct English.

There were no celebrity journalists. They were reporters, wonderful reporters many of them, out there most afternoons and nights – for that was when we worked – in search of a story.

All journalists now have a university degree. They come, in the main, from the middle class, many of them from private schools. Most of them have done undergraduate degrees in journalism. Some have done a master of journalism.

I know something about university journalism courses because when I left full-time journalism I was hired to set up a journalism centre at the University of Melbourne and during my time at the university I helped plan a master’s program that started after I left.

The Centre for Advancing Journalism is thriving, I’m told, and the master’s program apparently is doing OK, although it is not the program I had wanted: one aimed at mid-career journalists who wanted to sharpen their skills, learn new skills and have the time to think about journalism in a digital age, when most media companies were in crisis, their economic model destroyed by the internet, their future cloudy at best.

This master’s program didn’t happen. What happened can be summed up by the fact that one of the senior lecturers in journalism and international journalism in the master’s program at Melbourne University is Jeff Sparrow, who was the editor of Overland magazine when it published an open letter titled “Stop the Genocide in Gaza” on October 21, 2023, 14 days after the October 7 Hamas attack and before there had been any ground invasion by the Israel Defence Forces.

The letter was signed by hundreds of writers and artists. To understand the significance of Sparrow’s position and that of journalists who signed his letter, one needs to understand the ethical conflict this created.

When I was editor of The Age, the publisher and I, together with the staff, drew up a code of condict for the paper. The code sets out ethical standards expected of The Age.

Central to the code were these principles:

  • Staff should seek to present only fair, balanced and accurate journalism.
  • It is in the best interests of The Age that real and perceived conflicts of interest be eliminated.
  • Staff involved in a story who believe they have an interest that could be seen to influence their views on the issue at hand should acknowledge that interest during preparation and at publication of the story.

These principles of what constituted ethical journalism were – and remain, it must be emphasised – widely shared by most newspapers, the ABC, commercial television networks’ news services, the Australian Press Council and the journalists union, the Media, Entertainment and Arts Alliance.

The ABC editorial policies document is clear and unequivocal about this. Its journalism must be independent and responsible and practised with integrity. The ABC has a statutory duty to be accurate according to “recognised standards of objective journalism”. And its journalism must be impartial and include “diverse perspectives”.

This was before social media took hold and journalists became brands and the young journalists, armed with a journalism degree, came to view the old ethical rules as quaint and outdated.

This produced the sort of coverage of the October 7, 2023, massacre of Israelis by Hamas terrorists, their taking of 251 hostages and the subsequent war in Gaza, most of which only newspaper editors and television executive producers who are wilfully blind and wilfully deaf would be proud.

This is particularly true when it comes to the way the rise and then the explosion of hostility to Jews and Jew-hatred after October 7 was covered in large sections of the media.

I mean by this the ABC and the Nine newspapers, The Sydney Morning Herald and The Age, and Guardian Australia.

In my view, The Australian’s coverage of these issues – I mean in particular how the rise in Jew-hatred had affected the lives of Australian Jews and threatened Australian multiculturalism – has been pretty good.

I must declare that I write for The Australian. I am happy to do so, but I would have also liked to reach the readers of the paper I wrote for and edited, but The Age has not wanted to publish me. Not a single piece by me has been published since October 7, 2023.

To understand how many journalists see their role in the coverage of Israel and the Palestinians and the rise in hostility towards Jews, we need to go back to 2021.

In May 2021, a letter signed by 400 journalists and publishers during the short war between Hamas and Israel that year started with a preamble that these journalists and publishers presented as a guide to the way the war should be covered.

Here are the main points:

  • Israel’s government led by Netanyahu had unleashed an unprovoked brutal war against the besieged population of Gaza.
  • Seventy-five years after the Nakba – the expulsion by Israel of 750,000 Palestinians – Israel was maintaining an apartheid regime against the Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza and inside Israel (my italics).

This was the potted history – the context – that the letter signers wanted journalists covering the Israel-Palestinian conflict to sign on to and use whenever they reported on any aspect of the Israel-Palestinian story and, importantly, when it came to covering the Australian Jewish community and its formal leadership, a community that was overwhelmingly attached to Israel and its central role in Jewish life.

The preamble ends with this: “We believe that the coverage of Palestine must be improved, that it should no longer prioritise the same discredited spokespeople and narratives and that new voices are urgently needed.”

The letter went on to say that journalists must prioritise the voices of the oppressed, the Palestinians, and avoid “both-siderism” that equates the victims of the “military occupation to its instigators”.

What is more, media organisations must respect the right of journalists to publicly and openly express personal solidarity with the Palestinian cause without penalty to their personal or professional life.

How all this would not compromise their reporting is wholly unclear, as if such old-fashioned considerations no longer mattered.

Then, in October 2021, Monash University Publishing – as part of a series of small books on government policy commissioned by the then Monash University guest publisher Louise Adler – published Dateline Jerusalem: Journalism’s Toughest Assignment by ABC senior editorial executive John Lyons, who was head of investigations and oversaw some of the ABC’s highprofile programs, including Four Corners, when he wrote Dateline Jerusalem.

By the time it was published he was the ABC’s global affairs editor. The thesis of his book was that a powerful lobby, variously referred to as the Israel lobby or the Jewish lobby, had exercised its formidable powers to bend  editors and journalists to its will, to make them too frightened of retaliation to properly and vigorously cover the Middle East, especially what Israel was doing to the Palestinians.

This “exposure” of a powerful Jewish lobby and its nefarious work by Lyons was not new.

For decades sections of the left had worried about the way “powerful” Jews forced weak-kneed Australian governments – prime ministers and foreign ministers – to act against our national interest when it came to Israel.

Lyons had been a long-time, Middle East correspondent for The Australian. He also had overseen iconic ABC programs and investigations.

How it was appropriate for him to write about the way powerful Jews were distorting and censoring the journalism of reporters under his control is beyond me.

Instead, Lyons was given the softest interviews on the ABC. He was clearly a hero to many ABC journalists.

He went on to become an award-winning journalist for his coverage of the Gaza war. He continued to argue that the Israel lobby was desperately trying to silence him.

The letter signed by hundreds of journalists in May 2021 – similar letters were signed by thousands of journalists in the US and Britain – and the Lyons book in which he argued so fiercely against the Israel lobby/Jewish lobby became the blueprint for how journalists would cover the October 7 Hamas massacre of Israelis and the taking of hundreds of hostages, and the subsequent Gaza war.

The goal was to expose the nefarious doings of the Israel/Jewish lobby, that bunch of powerful Jews who were trying to silence journalists and were using the exaggerated threat of antisemitism as a weapon to counter criticism of Israel’s “genocidal” war in Gaza.

The journalists who signed the letter were, in the main, the product of university journalism courses in which they were instructed by academics such as the aforementioned Sparrow, the editor of Overland magazine.

Days after the October 7 attacks, Sparrow organised and published the now-infamous letter signed by hundreds of writers that urged the massacre by Hamas of 1200 Israelis to be seen as an act of “resistance”.

He was teaching journalism and what constituted good, ethical journalism in the masters course at Melbourne University.

In the weeks after the October 7 massacre of Israeli men, women and children and the taking of hundreds of hostages, including children who were still toddlers, a dozen or so letters signed by hundreds of journalists and supported by the journalists union, the MEAA, were distributed.

The first of these letters was released and distributed to all media organisations on November 10. The signatories to the letter, hundreds of them, identified as members of the MEAA.

The letter condemned the Australian government’s support for “Israel’s genocidal assault on Gaza”. The letter went on to demand that the government change its policies and condemn Israel for its “genocide” of the people of Gaza.

Some of the letters urged journalists, with the support of the MEAA, to give equal weight to statements coming from the declared terrorist group Hamas to those from the IDF.

Scores of letters and petitions were circulated and signed by thousands of journalists in the Anglosphere that not only called on governments to end their support for Israel but urged journalists to side with the Palestinians, preference their voices and implicitly silence the voices of Zionists and Israel defenders, defenders of a “genocidal state”.

Perhaps the starkest illustration of this was the news coverage and the commentary that followed the release last July of the report by the government-appointed envoy to combat antisemitism, Jillian Segal.

The report was released by the Prime Minister at a solemn press conference. There, too, was Home Affairs Minister Tony Burke, who is also Arts Minister. Albanese spoke about the importance of Segal’s work and how the government would carefully examine the report’s recommendations and act accordingly as soon as possible to curb rising antisemitism.

The actual report and its recommendations barely had any coverage on the ABC, in The Age and The Sydney Morning Herald.

The plan had taken 12 months to prepare, with significant contributions from major Jewish institutions such as the Executive Council of Australian Jewry.

The recommendations in the report came from the mainstream of the Jewish community.

Not long after the press conference, social media was full of hate and abuse directed at these Zionists who had conjured this plan to protect and provide cover for “genocidal Israel”.

The posts maintained these people were powerful Jews, Zionist Jews, supporters of genocide and adherents of an ideology that was evil and racist and was designed to oppress and eventually ethnically cleanse the Palestinians, the indigenous people of Palestine.

In The Age and The Sydney Morning Herald, a Jewish lawyer, Josh Bornstein, wrote of the way the plan was designed to subvert Australia’s legal system. Bornstein is an anti-Zionist who believes an Israel lobby of powerful Jews has worked in the interests of Israel and not Australia.

In Guardian Australia, Adler, another anti-Zionist Jew, wrote about the way the plan weaponised antisemitism – surely a shocking and grave accusation – in the service of Zionism and Israel. And she saw in the plan the work of the dreaded and dreadful Israel lobby.

Both are on the advisory board of anti-Zionist group the Jewish Council of Australia.

Not only has The Age, The SMH and the ABC given the JCA space beyond what could be considered fair, but editors of opinion pages, when it came to giving space to Jewish commentators who may not be anti-Zionist but who hate Netanyahu, believe that Israel has committed major war crimes in Gaza – if not quite genocide – and believe that somehow, if there has been a real rise in Jew-hatred, Netanyahu and his criminal government are responsible.

Writer Richard Flanagan wrote this in The Age and The Sydney Morning Herald in response to the Segal plan:

“The report creates an attractive template that could be broadened to silence dissenting voices that question the state’s policies on other issues … Despite the Segal report’s claims about rising antisemitism, some of which are contested as exaggerated by leading Jewish figures (he is referring to Adler in particular), it fails to provide a single citation in evidence.”

And he goes on to attack Segal’s credibility because her husband had made donations to the lobby group Advance which, Flanagan writes, “advocates anti-Palestinian positions”.

This attack was subsequently amplified by other journalists who considered Segal a creature of the Israel lobby, given she had once been the president of the Executive Council of Australian Jewry.

In its coverage of the plan, the ABC concentrated on one recommendation: that the ABC and SBS as publicly funded broadcasters should be monitored to ensure the coverage of the Gaza war and of the Jewish community in Australia was fair and accurate.

In a major interview on the 7.30 program, Segal was vigorously interrogated about this recommendation, and nothing else in her report, by host Sarah Ferguson, who was clearly outraged by Segal’s “attack on the independence of the ABC”.

After the Bondi Beach massacre, despite the shock expressed by many journalists about what had happened, there was great enthusiasm about the reluctant and late decision by the Albanese government to set up a royal commission into antisemitism and what it called “social cohesion”.

The Age published a cartoon by Cathy Wilcox that suggested the outpouring of support for a royal commission from people in business and professional sport was not spontaneous but the work of a certain powerful group whose conductor was the evil Netanyahu.

There was a time when journalists were faithful servants of the institutions for which they worked – the ABC and the big newspapers in particular – by which I mean they were proud of these institutions and felt privileged to work for them.

That time has gone. The decline of trust in institutions, generally, has infected journalists. Many journalists now see themselves as individual “brands” who happen to work for the ABC or The Age or the SMH. There is little pride – or trust for that matter – in their employers.

It is important to know how we got here for there to be any real hope of reasserting the ethical principles that once governed what was considered good journalism.

What is needed is brave editorial leadership; for editors and ABC senior editorial executives to reassert their authority, to consistently insist that journalists adhere to the ethical principles of the organisation.

They must be the enforcers of ethical best practice. They must do the work they are paid to do.

Michael Gawenda is a former editor of The Age and the author of the book My Life as a Jew. This is an edited version of a paper published by the Centre for Independent Studies. Gawenda will appear as a witness on these issues at the Royal Commission on Antisemitism and Social Cohesion led by Virginia Bell SC.

This article appeared in The Australian 2 May 2026

 

Happy birthday, Keni, and keep ’em coming

Been hearing a mountain of stories lately about sick kids, hard-pressed parents, dedicated medicos and carers, and a fair tribe of corporate, trade and everyman supporters looking to help the old Royal Kiddies Hospital in Parkville.

Lengthy family history with the place going back 40 and 50 years now; one that remains a bruise and a scar, a stab of cold old grief as much as a well of warmth, care, dedication, even gallows humour fun in the face of that intransigent shrew, fate.

So it’s lovely to see things like the Good Friday Appeal in its 95th year kicking hard to raise bucks for a place that’s a world-class backstop and saviour for the families with sick kids around the country but which, for reasons unfathomable, can’t garner enough recurring funding from government to do all the work it needs to do.

I’ve found myself amid a remarkable exercise, with remarkable people, building and donating a house-and-land package to the appeal to flog off at auction and then hand over all the proceeds to the hospital. Half a million bucks worth of land, another half million and more of tradie services and materials, all gratis. My gig’s been to help plug it to media.

It’s all just one part of a much larger citizen action that generates upwards of $25 million to a fine cause but in its own right has raised more than a million bucks a year the last five years running. Which is good, and so much so, I suspect, that Spring Street’s getting embarrassed, and been donating a million itself in a crocodile-tears attempt to negate its neglect.

But my cynicism can’t eclipse the emotion tied to those people in there for all the right reasons, driven by everything from grief to gratitude, hope to humanity.

On auction day, I find myself standing beside mother-of-six Teigan Fono as her two boys, Keni and Kobi, are presented with birthday cakes on auctioneer Paul Tzamalis’ stage as 600-plus supporters of this fund-raiser sing a beautiful ‘Happy Birthday’ to them led by singer Marcus Hayden. Auspicious day for a birthday and a wonderful moment.

Teigan’s fronted every single promo event we’ve staged for this house, determined to help the hospital that removed a brain tumour from Keni in 2023 and which is still keeping close, close tabs on him.

She’s in tears. I’m not far away myself. But she has to move, Keni has to run through the banner at the Good Friday clash between North Melbourne and Carlton, and they’re dyed-in-the-wool Shinboner fans. No time to get emotional, too much to do. Lives to be lived.

Two weeks earlier, the boys were at the house for a promo when North’s Charlie Comben fronted for a bit of a kick-to-kick and an Easter egg hunt for the cameras. Major hoot for the boys. Curious intersection of things too, I thought, for Charlie’s great-uncle Bruce’s ties. To the Carlton opposition.

Bruce was the Blues captain back in the day, from 1958 to 1960. He went to God back in 2002. Charlie, born 2001, didn’t know him but has heard lots about him since. He hadn’t heard, however, how Bruce helped my kid brother during his time at the Royal Children’s, battling leukaemia back in the ’70s and ’80s.

Young Damien, aka Jack, was a dyed-in-the-wool Bluebagger. Our darling old man, Jim, played cricket against Bruce. The two also ran a barley share-crop operation on Skeleton Creek near Werribee.

When Bruce got wind of young Jack’s strife, he rounded up The Age sports journo Mick Sheahan and Blues superstar Alex Jesaulenko and sorted them up to The Royal Children’s with a footy and a photographer.

Story and pic ran back page of The Age. Just huge at the time. Been a family heirloom ever since and a masterpiece in league with the grand masters as far as we’re concerned.

Jezza and young Jack, 1976

I could probably relate any number of other connections and stories about Brucie and Mick, which are lovely, and amusing, but they struggle to match the fact Jezza turned up at the hospital again, a while later and unannounced, to say g’day and see how young Damien was going.

None of us knew until after. Brilliant. For a nine-year-old kid, something else again.

So, yeah, the house raised $1,212,000 through the effort of my mob, Villawood Properties who coughed up the land and a swag of marketing, Henley Homes and its army of tradies and suppliers, and a host of supporters including the sadly injury-prone but otherwise champion Charlie Comben.

I have to say, though, my heart goes out to Teigan, and her husband Jason, and I hope that house somehow returns the favour to Keni. A bit of positive karma in their troubled times would be just lovely.

 

Crusades and Richard’s lying heart

Coeur de Lion

The Journals of Richard the Lionheart

By Isla Tate

Impossible to read Richard’s fictitious journals about his 12th century Holy Land warmongering without drawing parallels with the unholy oil wars in the Middle East as we speak.

East versus West for possession of Jerusalem – ground zero of Islam, Christianity and Judaism – is now about access to oil reserves, buttressed by logics equally mediaeval.

Iran, battered, brutal and belligerent, will fight its ideological/religious cause to the last civilian. The US, foolish, confused and denied oil it had untrammelled access to before the Iran conflict, is looking for a way to exit its Epic Balls-up with its dignity intact.

Fair chance it will declare victory if Tehran somehow acquiesces to providing that access once again. Which is probably what you’ll find in future dictionary definitions of vainglorious. Along with Vietnam, Afghanistan, Venezeula, Cuba …

Richard the Lionheart, shrewd son of the Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitane, was as French as he was English and spent most of his working life at war with his family spread across two countries. The hatred, betrayal and cruelty attendant to this was oddly and ironically eclipsed, at least partially, by the Saracen Saladin’s regard for him.

No such esteem forthcoming from the East for our contemporary Richard I avatar. His fervour’s nothing on that of the Templars. His attention span’s incapable of anything resembling a siege and his military record is a draft-dodging zip. The bone spurs might have been in his head.

Richard, by contrast, was a veteran battlefield commander deemed the sharpest general in all Europe. History’s written by the victor, of course, or used to be. Nowadays it’s written by the loser, too. Neither are too accurate.

Which is a kind of undercurrent to Tate’s Coeur de Lion journals. Alluring as they are, loaded with chilling violence, gratuitous sex and Machiavellian palace intrigues, they’re also patently bullshit. He didn’t write them, just in case you’re unclear about things.

These journals, like history, politics and journalism, don’t really let the facts get in the way of a good story.

But brother versus brother, versus mother then with mother, for and against dad, not to mention in-laws, with the body count mounting all the while, make for grand coliseum stuff.

There’s nothing like a brutal evisceration or 20, let alone a terrifying flaying that makes getting burnt at the stake look good, to keep you glued to the page.

And yet there is a fair degree of truth in there.

Richard’s wife’s travails are chilling, horrifying and mysterious, their love story tragic. His brother Henry, the young king, is a bombastic, ignorant dolt. His favourite brother is a turncoat while his mother is expert at running with the foxes and hunting with the hounds. His purported ally, Phillip II, King of France, is a duplicitous poltroon of the first order.

All good fodder for lovers of historic faction, naturally. Throw in a sniff of the supernatural, if religion’s not enough, such as the Hashishiyyin, or the Assassins, and their leader, the Old Man of the Mountains, and you have more than enough adventure, politics, religion, sex, violence, exotic and enigma for a best-seller.

Which, of course, is what Coeur de Lion is. And a book about what the current Middle East crusade could possibly become too. I’ve got a working title: Cur de Guerre – The Journals of Jeffrey Epstein.

High-flying jungle bungle just bananas

Took a while but I finally figured out who was responsible, thanks to young Gex’z Anei of Ubud. And all in the middle a torrential tropical Indonesian downpour.

It wasn’t Warren Buffett, or Milton Friedman, whose names and portraits are emblazoned across the mysterious Boeing 737 deep in the Balinese mountain village of Penestenan.

I know Boeing has its issues but I wouldn’t have thought it’s been crash-landing these suckers in the Ubud jungle.

Tell the truth, it’s not a wreck, it’s a hotel room, and yours for about $100 a night at the Villa Biyu Siyu, which means the hundred bananas villa.

It has most things you’ll want: wifi, aircon, hot tub, tv, workspace, swimming pool, free parking, a river and a waterfall.

You can even jump into the cockpit to play Flying High if you’re silly enough. I missed the plantains but you can pick the fattest passionfruits you’ve ever seen straight off the trees.

I’d been trying to figure the plane’s provenance since discovering it on Google Earth and visiting briefly a couple of years back. All I’d figured was some bloke named Hugo someone assembled it on his estate.

Young Anei explained he was the late Hugo J. Van Reijen, a Dutch-born economist and champion of free-market ideas, smaller government and free immigration, and head of an import/export business handling large quantities of bank notes and stamps between more than 80 different countries.

Hugo was an entrepreneur, globetrotter, artist, photographer and author, and clearly a fan of Buffett and Friedman. But why the plane?

Turns out he was a regular critic of airlines which might have something to do with things. He published the 1997 book, Why Not Fly Cheaper? How to Save in Air Travel Costs, which has become a collector’s item with Amazon asking a not-so-cheap $780. That’s a good few bananas.

Hugo was a well-known and well-regarded economic commentator, who ran conferences and discussions at his Ubud estate.

He published a photo book, Love them or hate them, more than 1000 articles, addressed international conferences and also ran up annual calendars, made by villagers in Nepal, to help along his Libertarian cause.

Funny thing, for all his celebrity, for the fact he pulled a thumping great 737 together in his back yard, locals know bugger-all about the place.

I spent a couple of hours with a GPS and a surveyor trying to locate the place a couple of years back. Even the neighbours were unaware of the aircraft.

It’s easy to find now I know where to go but, man, in the middle of an Ubud monsoon? I know who’s bananas …

See also: https://noelmurphy.com.au/blog/bushwhacked-by-the-jungle-again/

And also: https://noelmurphy.com.au/portfolio-item/fortune-favour-and-crocking-fnq/

 

Ingenious boardwalk marks Indigenous heritage

A sleek floating boardwalk and lookout on a rocky knoll at developer Villawood Properties’ Rathdowne, shortlisted in this year’s Planning Institute of Australia awards, highlights the possibilities of design underscoring Indigenous and heritage elements.

With views as far as the Melbourne CBD, and taking in local waterways and surrounding landscapes, the lookout is an exemplar of touch-the-earth-lightly engineering, and a striking celebration of an important Wurundjeri meeting place.

Rising alongside the entrance to the 1000-lot Rathdowne, as well as the UDIA Great Place-awarded Club Rathdowne, the boardwalk/lookout has been expertly engineered with a bespoke steel frame sitting atop in-situ rocks, leaving insects, reptiles, small animal habitats and grasses and shrubs undisturbed.

Villawood’s team workshopped the project with Wurundjeri elders and developed the innovative no-ground-disturbance design to accommodate the hill’s challenging stony topography.

The boardwalk features a viewing platform with seating, offering a stunning panorama and a welcoming space for reflection and connection. It bridges the past and present, preserving the site’s heritage, protecting significant artefacts and honouring its history as a traditional meeting place.

The Planning Institute of Australia has recognised the project, shortlisting it for its 2025 Planning with Country award.

See also: https://villawoodproperties.com.au/news/rathdownes-ingenious-boardwalk-celebrates-indigenous-heritage/

Mick’s got the mail on heritage post boxes

They’ve been handsome sturdy fixtures of the Australian social and geographical landscape since the Gold Rush days but the ravages of time and progress have seriously depleted their numbers.

Heritage rescuer Mick Slocum says the historic postal boxes that once numbered in the thousands have been reduced to just 180. And he’s on a mission to help preserve a rare example at Geelong’s Eastern Beach.

A cast-iron postal box at the corner of Swanston and Alexandra, a square pyramid style shaped liked an obelisk with a large cornice, is up for a little of the TLC he’s rendered to more than 60 of these treasures to date.

His work in Ballarat recently earned him a National Trust excellence award, after restoring and painting 18 post boxes across the city in their original colours. He’s also turned his brushes to numerous post boxes throughout Melbourne, Bendigo, Castlemaine and other regional towns.

Now he’s eyeing Geelong and some other nearby sites.

What started as a graffiti clean-up on his first pillar post box, a local job, became a mission for the 76-year-old history buff.

“I’d driven past it 1000 times. It was covered in graffiti. One day I stopped and thought I’ll just clean it off for a minute,” he says.

“I bought some cleaning material, cleaned it up and looked at it and thought, I’ll just keep going.

“Then I bought cans of red, gold and black, went back and rubbed it all down and sanded it and resprayed it.

“It was a work of art and made me want to keep going.”

Mick’s love of Aussie heritage goes back a while. He’s celebrated Australia’s musical tradition since his youth, heading up national icon The Bushwhackers as frontman for many years as well as The Sundowners and Slocum & Co.

He’s earned himself an OAM along the journey for his service to the performing arts and if you cast around Flemington pubs you’ll still find him regularly displaying his accordion skills in sessions with long-time music mates.

There’s no mistaking him on the job either. Mick’s been a fashion model of the past for decades, resplendent in checks, tweeds, tartans, boaters and blazers, although he tones down a smidgin with more utilitarian clobber while working on the post boxes.

As for the boxes themselves, while common in Europe in the 18th century, they arrived in England in the 1850s and Melbourne in the 1860s.

They follow three main designs: two circular styles which are similar and cover the periods 1860 to 1875, and 1890 to 1920, respectively, and the more unusual square design of the Eastern Beach model – a design prominent between 1875 and 1890 across country Victoria.

Geelong Advertiser 15 November 2025

Philistines at the gate

It’s tough seeing Australia’s rich legacy of built heritage so often vanish before your eyes.

And tough watching important buildings slowly fall into disrepair, succumbing to the old ploy of demolition by neglect.

No fun seeing them surreptitiously knocked over in the night by owner-vandals or set alight by arsonists in friction-fire attacks where insurance policies rub up against mortgage papers.

Crook, too, when they’re disappeared by home renovators flying under the radar of planning laws.

Gets nasty and personal when you see the historic house where you and all your schoolmates were born demolished and replaced by a McDonald’s outlet. And worse when old mates who numbered the bricks to rebuild it haven’t done so decades later.

The aqueduct under construction, and the Bow Truss woolstore.

Not unlike the Marshall bluestone cottage demolished for Barwon Heads Road works where locals were assured it would be rebuilt elsewhere. Two levels of government presently shirking any responsibility.

It’s especially tough, however, when demolition of this built fabric of the community is legally sanctioned by authorities.

Nothing short of barbarianism how so many stunning buildings that made Melbourne the greatest city in the world during the gold boom of the 1800s failed to last even 60 or 70 years before they started being ripped down.

By the time of the Melbourne Olympics, most were considered a shameful, ageing disgrace that needed culling in a modern international city under the world’s gaze – never mind that cities in war-torn Europe were rebuilding their shattered architectural treasures.

All culled in the name progress, that weasel-word justifying the Philistine finance-driven destruction of the design, culture, social milieu and beauty within the built form that created our cities. Cradles burnt on the altar of Mammon.

Schools, pubs, churches, grand shops, public institutions, woolstores, any number of homes making up a living museum of Australian architecture have been fuel to the fires of progressive expediency.

Geelong’s been as much as shocker as anyone for bowling over anything with any semblance of legacy, history, heritage, social or cultural connection.

There might still a good bit about and, yeah, some praiseworthy efforts at restoration and preservation. But I’ve seen some sad losses in Geelong and I watching with trepidation every time I see a planning notice on the front fence of any old house in Geelong.

The Dell and The Priory mysteriously disappeared when the adjoining Ariston House was earmarked as a childcare centre. North Geelong Primary, learning centre of so any post-war migrants, almost disappeared to arson. Deakin Uni’s social housing museum of historic regional buildings was put to bed by none other than the uni that oversaw its creation.

Waverley House was knocked down to make way for the waterfront’s Crowne Plaza complex, with gormless CFMEU vandals hosing National Trust protesters for their temerity. Jack Mundey should have been cartwheeling in his grave.

Two lovely between-the-war homes next to The Palais gave up the ghost without a whisper. Now a heritage car park. An ancient forgotten chapel behind the old Aberdeen Chateau near my place was smartly demolished in front of me one Saturday morning without ceremony or recognition.

The CBD has long hosted vacant buildings left to rot in their footings. Buildings that can’t be knocked down but which also can’t be rebuilt, or renovated so they might be repurposed. I’ve also seen owners refuse to repair their properties.

I kind of like the idea of owners who deliberately destroy heritage buildings being forced surrender the land’s title. But I’ll admit it’s a bit heavy, there’s no doubt maintenance costs are real and not everyone can afford them. And that you’re unlikely to be able to readily sell such a property, making compulsory acquisition maybe not such a bad idea.

I do spy an irony in the architectural landmark that is the Geelong Heritage Centre, contrasting the fact so much of Geelong’s architectural heritage has vanished.

Similarly, in comparisons drawn between the heritage Dennys Lascelles Bow Truss Building on the site of the present-day TAC HQ and the heritage Breakwater aqueduct Barwon Water wants to bring down.

The former was demolished by the State Government in its own heritage advice, not to mention World Heritage condemnation. Now a government water utility wants to do the same to the aqueduct, renowned for its magnificent bowstring design akin to Scotland’s famed Firth of Forth bridge.

The move is driven by concerns about its deteriorating concrete collapsing and presumably some attendant legal liability, even if ducks are probably the only denizens of the underlying swampland likely to be injured in any such instance.

I can’t help but wonder if demolition crews might not encounter the same significant difficulties they did when trying to wreck the Bow Truss building. And yet it was purportedly in danger of imminent collapse.

Just like the aqueduct was 30 years ago, when a report for Barwon Water said the structure could collapse at any time. Funny, it’s still there. Fancy that, the ducks must be getting nervous.

Parmi punters prey in global gastro war

So the Aussie national dish, our most popular culinary go-to, is pretty much the chicken parmi.

Been that way for a while, of course, though I’m not quite sure just how it superseded the old dog’s eye and dead horse, and barbie snags and roast lamb, let alone Vegemite on toast and Chinese fried rice, but there you have it.

Look through any pub kitchen’s order list and the chicken parmi’s first cab off the rank with the punters … steaks, battered fish and chips, sliders and spag bol and marinara all lengthy place-getters in the race.

Parmi nights are de rigueur in many pubs, often pipping trivia nights, happy hours, burger nights and half-price cocktail sessions.

But it seems keeping parmi patrons happy is still a bit of a tricky business. Which is probably why you’ll find chicken parmi morphing to meet the market.

Actually, it’s more than morphing. More like transmogrifying, if you can do that to a battered chicken.

That’s transmogrify, transitive verb: to change or alter greatly and often with grotesque or humorous effect.

Yeah, strange, grotesque, bizarre. That’s about the only way you can describe the menu I tripped over up the bush this week.

It hosted no less than 18 different chicken parmi toppings. And two types of chicken, grilled and crumbed, plus crumbed eggplant if you didn’t fancy chicken at all.

All very cosmopolitan, multicultural: Napoli, Hawaiian, Italian, Mexican, Greek, French and Moroccan. Even Australia if you like barbecue sauce, bacon, onion, egg and mozzarella cheese, which was Italian last time I looked.

And diverse too: meat lovers, spice of life, pumpkin, carbonara, pepper, gravy, mushroom, garlic butter, creamy Dijon and seafood for the piscatorially-inclined.

Amid all these you’re talking jalapenos, chilli flakes, hummus, dukka, chorizo, pineapple, feta, goats cheese, corn chips, sour cream, ras el hanout, salsa, olives … and kilos of mozzarella.

In short, the humble chicken parmi is quietly assuming the role played for the past five decades by that evergreen European migrant, the pizza.

The pizza, of course, has already been through the mill, assuming every global gastronomic possibility to the point my favourite has morphed from Napoletana and pepperoni to the more-catholic quattro-gusti four-quarter job.

And the favourite of the four, what else? Satay chicken.

Yeah, sacrilege I know but perhaps not as bad as my effort at the bush pub parmi jamboree.

Sick to death of chicken, I ordered the scotch fillet.

“No probs mate – how do you like it?”

“Medium’ll be fine, mate.”

Then I was taken aback.

“Which topping do you want?”

“Topping? Like all the parmis? Gees, you’ve got ’em from everywhere.”

“Yair.”

I quickly eyed the menu again.

“You don’t have satay sauce by any chance?”

I already knew the answer. This was northern Vic, after all, not Bali or Thailand or Malaysia.

“Sorry, I can ask the chef.”

“Naah, don’t fuss, I’ll go the mushies. They’re not from Leongatha by any chance, are they?”

Fair to say I’m still smarting from the glare that attracted.

History-mystery repeats itself

The Vanishing Place, by Zoe Rankin, Hachette

Okay, you emerge from the deep bush of New Zealand as a young girl after fleeing a mad/bad, abusive/loving dad who kept you, your siblings and your mum apart from the world.

Mum’s dead, dad’s clean off his rocker, a serious and paranoid boozehound killing blokes with shovels, so it’s get out of Dodge time, even if your siblings won’t follow.

Locals are flummoxed by your wild child nature, authorities never get a handle on anything and a new isolation, bar one or two tight friends, and haunting memories and grief, make life a painful, stressful daily travail.

Fast forward some 17 years and our protagonist, Effie, has long fled the Long White Cloud for Scotland when she’s petitioned back home by the policeman boyfriend she was forced to leave behind. The magnet is dynamic, she can’t resist.

There’s a curious job to investigate and he needs a very singular hand; an eight-year-old red-headed girl has just emerged from the wilderness, collapsing half-starved in a shop, with blood all over her hands.

She’s clearly traumatised. Won’t talk. Says her name, Anya, then slams the door shut. Shrieks at anyone trying to talk to her, attacks them tooth and nail.

Chillingly, she’s also the dead spit of Effie when she wandered out of the bush, red hair, green eyes.

History-mystery is repeating itself, with a poisonous unavoidable question: is her father still out?

Faced again with everything she’d tried to escape, the isolation and fear enforced by damaged parents, Effie is the only one who can get through to Anya, but it’s an agonising task, for both: one terrified, religious mania-like, of her new surroundings; the other of revisiting her horrific past – as well as her painful lost love.

Author Rankin employs a rapid-fire, present-past-present-past technique to relate the two stories. It’s a somewhat infuriating mechanism running two tales in tandem but it’s effective in maintaining a tense and compelling narrative. Mercifully, the to-and-fro annoyance is abated by short, sharp and fast-moving chapters.

That aside, Rankin delivers a harrowing account of murder and mayhem as police raid the bush home the still-mute Anya escaped. And as Effie, unconvinced by the all-too-neat findings of the police, inevitably and foolishly returns to the wilderness with Anya to find an unexpected, and very nasty, small but deadly cult. But no so sign of her father.

Things turn very pear-shaped when she’s predictably trapped, chained, starved, humiliated and menaced with a misogynistic religious zealotry. Effie’s outlook is even bleaker when Anya reappears beside one of the cult’s monsters to chastise her and order her to repent for not fulfilling a biblical female submission to men.

That’s enough spoilers for one review. Rest assured, sufficient twists and turns exist to make the book one that will keep you reading well into the night. You might find daytime just that little bit more comfortable.

Little art of murder

Odd, the things that can come your way unexpectedly. A late aunt some years ago presented me a large envelope of unusual sketches and prints.

A swag of etchings and proofs of rural scenes in New South Wales. All rustic radiance, bucolic beauty and pastoral pulchritude if I can labour the alliterative allusions.

Lots of landscapes, mountains, eucalypts, post-and-rail fences, barns, stables, slab huts and farm buildings, cattle, horses, bushmen, timber bridges, bush tracks, gullies, rivers, creeks … a fair old Cook’s Tour of the Aussie bush, in fact.

Many of them depict scenes in and around the Burragorang Valley west of Sydney, where their artist, David Little, lived in the 1940s. Fair way, in the day, from Werribee where my grandfather, who supplied him with hard-to-source paper back in the wartime years, lived. Lot of the valley’s now underwater, flooded for Sydney’s Warragamba Dam in the 1950s.

David Little came out of Bacchus Marsh and Ballarat’s St Pat’s, same as my grandad, Leo Bartels. Both were born in 1893.  Little’s old man, also a David, was a rate collector, hydraulic engineer and secretary across various local councils, Romsey, Bacchus Marsh, Melton and Werribee.

 

He lived in a Wattle Ave heritage home in Werribee I visited years later, as a kid, to hang out with a young schoolmate. By then, a scrap metal collection , with impressive aircraft fuselages and car bodies, had amassed at the rear of the property. A few years later, I recall 21st birthday and bucks turn parties.

Little the younger pursued a career in electrical engineering, earned himself a pilot’s licence in 1918, joined the Australian Flying Corps at age 25 and headed off to war only to have the Armistice signed while he was in transit. Took him a year to get home again whereon he settled in Sydney as a telephone engineer.

   

He’s listed on the Bacchus Marsh & District Roll of Honour and has a tree planted in his name in the town’s famed Avenue of Honour, not far from the old Woolpack Inn, one-time watering hole of the notorious bushranger Captain Moonlight with whom I share an odd connection (https://noelmurphy.com.au/portfolio-item/im-being-followed-by-a-moonlite-shadow/).

Little took off to the US and Canada in the 1920s, details are sketchy, returned to NSW where he married and moved about a bit – Armidale, Bondi, Burragorang and Avalon in a luxuriously furnished cottage among gum trees on a hill overlooking Pittwater. He worked in the public service and developed skills as a successful artist.

 

He suffered a nervous breakdown and while his artworks fetched  impressive figures, one painting as much as 200 pounds in 1951, he described himself as an invalid pensioner. Well-educated, qualified and read – he was friends with the poet Paul Grano  – his preferred art medium was oil but he produced a significant number of etchings as well.

A letter from my grandfather to Little, now in the University of Queensland’s Grano Collection, discusses everything from his paper supplies to Shakespeare, Grano himself – who was a St Pat’s old boy – and the nuns at Geelong’s Sacred Heart College, where my mother and her sisters boarded.

 

In his late 50s, however, Little’s life unravelled horrifically. He went to various doctors, including a Macquarie Street specialist, for mental problems. His wife, Ada, was diagnosed with a cancer which treatment was unable to contain. Her problems, however, deteriorated in catastrophic fashion.

As The Daily Telegraph reported on 19 August 1951:

Detectives late yesterday charged a Sydney artist with having murdered his wife. They allege he killed her in their luxuriously furnished home at Taylor’s Point, Avalon.

“The dead woman was Mrs Ada Adeline Little, 52. David Little; 58, appeared at Manly Court, and was remanded until August 27.

“Detectives found Mrs Little’s body, battered about the head, in the living-room of her home.

“Little and his wife, who were childless, lived in a three-roomed cottage in Wandeen Road.

“The cottage, set amid high gum trees on a hill, overlooks Pittwater.

“Little, a successful portrait painter, bought the cottage six weeks ago.

“Neighbors said Mrs Little had a growth. They said that recent treatment had failed to stop the spread of the growth

“Early yesterday they saw Mrs Little collect the morning paper from the delivery van at the front of the cottage.

“About three hours later they saw a man leave the cottage and run down the road.

“Detective-Sergeant A. Garlick (Manly) found Mrs Little’s body.

“Dr H. Sanders, the local government medical officer, found Mrs Little had died from head and brain injuries about 8am.

“Many oil paintings were hung on the walls of the living room where the body was found. Most of the paintings were signed ‘David Little’. In the studio police found a half -finished portrait of an elderly woman.

“Neighbours said Little last week told them he had sold a painting in Avalon for £200.

“They told police that the Littles were a quiet couple.

“Little, grey-haired and stooped, appeared in Manly Court wearing a khaki wind jacket, grey trousers, and blue shirt.”

Three weeks later, Little was committed to stand trial for murder after the Coroner found Ada died from injuries feloniously and maliciously inflicted by her husband. Details that emerged in the coronial inquiry, as reported in the broadsheet Sydney Morning Herald, were class-A tabloid fodder.

“Francis Blackwell, retired, of Hudson’s Parade, Taylor’s Point, said that at 9.15 a.m. on August 18 he saw Little standing at the entrance of his (Blackwell’s) drive.

“Little, he stated, said to him: ‘Will you drive me to Newport, please? I have murdered my wife’.

“Blackwell said he led Little to a grass embankment near his house. Little appeared agitated and when questioned by Blackwell on the murder said: ‘I hit her with a mallet — I did it in cold blood’.

“At this stage, Blackwell said, Little was in a ‘terrible way and pulling up grass and muttering’. 

“Little said to him: ‘They will hang me for this’.

“Detective-Sergeant Allen Garlick, of Manly police, said Little told him later that day that he had killed his wife and was prepared to take the consequences.

“Detective Garlick said he asked why he had killed his wife, and Little replied: ‘Well, it is a long story. A certain situation had built up in my mind concerning my wife and myself and something had to be done about it.

” ‘I had my breakfast. I got a mallet and I hit her four or five times on the head and killed her’. “

Little was duly sentenced to life imprisonment but on October 10 was taken from Long Bay Prison to Parramatta Mental Hospital where he died of natural causes on 29 November 1951.

David Little and his one-time Burragorang home before being flooded.