Before I Sleep (18 page)

While in TPNG, I had a firm thought that I should seek to develop in my Australian colleagues a better understanding of policing problems in the territory. It seemed to me that in the near future TPNG would want to send locals to Sydney or Melbourne police headquarters to train as police experts in such things as fingerprinting or ballistics. If the state commissioners were more aware of the TPNG problems than I had been before my appointment, their responses were likely to be more favourable. The venue for the Australasian Police Commissioners' annual conference rotated around among the participant nations. While the TPNG commissioner had attended many of them, he had never before invited his colleagues to the Territory. In my own experience, members had travelled to New Zealand twice but never to Port Moresby. I decided to invite the commissioners to the Territory. I obtained the support of David Hay, the administrator, and then did some lobbying among my Australian colleagues. I had thought that the possible reason for the reluctance of my predecessors to offer to host the conference in TPNG was a lack of confidence in their ability to run such a conference, or just possibly that such a conference might have meant the loss of a “holiday” down south in more pleasant conditions.

As soon as I began to canvass the possibility of a TPNG conference, I ran into strong opposition from the commissioners' wives and their civilian secretaries. I had known that the host always provided a separate entertainment program for spouses, but since the Whitrods could not afford it, my wife had seldom attended a conference so I knew little about these activities. I had not realised that one of the attractions for the ladies was several days' shopping at large department stores where discounts had often been arranged. Rather than Port Moresby, which in many ways closely resembled Townsville or Darwin, I had decided that I should offer Mt Hagen as the site for the conference, as this would give maximum exposure to TPNG problems. But I could not arrange suitable shopping — especially when it came to gifts for children and grandchildren. There were native artefacts of course, but these apparently didn't appeal.

Although I did win over the commissioners and we held the Conference at Mt Hagen, quite a few of the wives did not attend. We had what I assessed as a useful week's conference in the Highlands, with visits to nearby villages where we were graciously entertained at a “sing-sing”. At the “sing-sing”, the locals performed in splendid head-dresses with mainly only grass skirts below. The benefits of this conference were not apparent during my short stay in TPNG, but I like to think that it did later influence the state commissioners' favourable responses to requests for the secondment of their senior officers to assist the PNG constabulary after Independence.

I found my more relaxed policing philosophy was contrary to the stiffer views of the
kiaps.
I was in conflict with their proposal that police should be used to force landholders off their traditional land in Bougainville. I told the administrator that there ought to be a less violent way of achieving their removal and that if the police were to be seen as the protectors of the local people, every avenue that might lead to a peaceful resolution ought to be explored. The
kiap
approach may well have been correct, but I had trouble accepting it. One of my problems in TPNG was that I had not developed any close working relationships. I was clearly a new arrival and an outsider. To the “old hands”, I was a too-clever academic from the comforts of a Canberra office who had never been on patrol. They thought that I failed to appreciate that the principle of the separation of powers did not and could not exist in many parts of the country simply because of the lack of manpower. I had met the public defender, Peter Lalor, and liked him and his philosophies but our relationship was only in its early stages. As I've said, I liked the Catholic archbishop who was dedicated to TPNG and a mature thinker knowledgeable in the TPNG culture, but in only a year we hadn't yet achieved the deeper mutual understanding and trust that comes with long acquaintance. At about this time, I received a telephone call from John McKinna asking me to consider applying for the commissionership of the Queensland force. The Queensland Police Minister, Max Hodges, flew to TPNG to personally invite me to apply.

I decided that I had little hope of bringing about much improvement on the TPNG front in the next four years. I had suffered several attacks of malaria which Mavis nursed me through; the hot muggy climate was harder on our ageing bodies than I had expected; Mavis was missing contact with our children and grandchildren; we had not made any close friends with Port Moresby residents for our philosophies were not mutual; and I had realised how little I did know about the complex scene. Economists have a concept,
opportunity costs,
which requires decisions to be based not only upon the benefits of choosing one particular option, but on the loss of benefits if another option is chosen. I was being offered an opportunity to implement a set of recommendations to improve the Queensland Police Force which had the unanimous endorsement of the Queensland Cabinet. This appeared to me to present a better opportunity for real progress than an isolated campaign to prepare TPNG police for Independence Day, especially since my moves were being resisted by a substantial number of influential administrative officials. There would be other benefits: a move south would bring the Whitrods closer to their family, away from malaria and within easier reach of medical specialists and better living conditions. So, after a preliminary refusal and some long talks with Mavis and Kim Beazley Snr, who happened to be in Port Moresby, I accepted the minister's invitation.

The administrator, David Hay, appreciated my situation and accepted my resignation with a kindly worded regret. I was touched to receive a letter from the secretary of the TPNG Officers of Police Association asking me to reconsider my resignation as his members would very much like me to stay. Before we left, Mavis found a suitable position for Manassa and a safe home for Pepi, our faithful watchdog. When Mavis first told Manassa we were leaving, his eyes filled with tears and he retired to the kitchen and sobbed. Manassa, like Eric Kibuka, obviously regarded Mavis as a two-cow lady.

I now realise that I was a poor choice for the TPNG commissionership. I was not acquainted with local customs and current administrative practices. I was inadequately briefed, mainly because there was no authoritative material on which to base predictions of social change or on which to make decisions about the coming upheaval. The politics of the situation made the Commonwealth feel justified in seeking to grant independence as soon as possible. The reality was best understood by the
kiaps,
who argued that it was coming too soon. When first asked to help, I had tried to poach a younger police administrator from the states' forces, but I could not attract anyone in whose capabilities I had faith. I had been it, by default. My predecessor, Bob Cole, had been a man I much admired. He had a fine war record in the TPNG regiment; he had been a senior
kiap
and was able to hold his own with other senior
kiaps,
he spoke fluent pidgin and had a most cooperative wife: he was an excellent choice for the job. But Bob Cole was understandably thin on police practices and philosophy, especially for urban areas, and these looked like being trouble spots in the near future. The Coles had decided that they should go south to retirement — and they were younger than Mavis and me. Perhaps a better arrangement might have been to invite Bob to stay on for a year with me in a protracted handover. His TPNG knowledge would have ensured that my London philosophy was modified for local application. In fact, I now think that I was wrong in attempting to introduce these principles, no matter how modified, at that time. Perhaps we could have worked out some kind of variation on the “bastard” Canadian system where the Royal Canadian Mounted Police provide an armed gendarmerie for country areas and a national police centre, while Canadian municipalities appoint their own constables in the English form.

But it is easy to use hindsight to formulate alternative scenarios. As it was, we left Papua New Guinea and I soon found myself at Brisbane airport where Sergeant Ken Hogget met me and drove me into the city. He was a likeable young man. I found out afterwards that he had wangled the job of picking me up, displacing the commissioner's normal driver. As we approached the City, Ken said: “Commissioner, I don't know how much you know about the Queensland Police Force, but it's pretty corrupt.” Not wishing to appear totally naive, I said something about having some idea of the problem.

“Well, it's pretty bad,” Ken said.

8
In need of reform: Queensland

(1970-1976)

C
OLIN Dillon called to see me recently when he was passing through Adelaide. I had waited many years to meet him and to congratulate and thank him for his invaluable evidence at the Fitzgerald Inquiry into police corruption in Queensland. Colin was the only person who responded to Tony Fitzgerald's plea to members of the Queensland Police to come forward with information about corruption in the Force. Colin had been a sergeant in the now infamous Vice Squad and was in a good position to answer Fitzgerald's call. Nobody else did. Colin received commendation from Tony Fitzgerald, but since then he has not been promoted. When he went to the top to discover why all of his contemporaries had been promoted while he hadn't, all he got was a steely stare.

I told Colin that in the mid 1970s, because of certain events, I hadn't felt safe despite being the top policeman in the state. I had taken to locking my bedroom door at night and keeping a firearm with me. Colin said he had done the same thing after the Fitzgerald Inquiry.

Colin Dillon has been a very good officer and a fine role model for Aboriginal police. He told me how very disappointed his mother was with the stopping of his promotion, but how very proud she is of him. I told Colin that when Mike Ahern took over as premier, I immediately wrote to him asking that there could be some recognition of the great contribution made by those members of the Queensland Police Force who had been prepared to publicly fight corruption in the force and who, as a consequence, had suffered much under the administration of my successor, Terry Lewis. I had mentioned Alec Jeppeson and Basil Hicks as two who had been grievously treated. I received a reply from Ahern saying that the matter would be considered. Nothing has ever eventuated. To this day, there are still many individuals in the Queensland system who are unequal to their responsibilities, who still seek revenge for others' refusals to be “yes men” or who wish to be seen as supporters of the old and now disgraced political machine. Colin and I talked of these matters for an hour. When he left he said: “I've always wanted to shake your hand.” I said: “Let's keep in touch. I'm glad that you called.” We hugged each other.

But all this was far in the future when Mavis and I moved to Brisbane in 1970. Mavis hunted out a lovely old home at St Lucia, close to the University of Queensland and to the Police Headquarters where I was to spend a great deal of my time over the next seven years. Again, we were establishing ourselves in a city in which we had no friends or relatives.

I soon became involved in a political struggle with the Police Union and with the premier, principally because I wanted to implement an existing police regulation. This stated that promotion would be by merit. My controversial administration of the force had repercussions for Mavis. We were subjected to a harassment campaign which entailed union-inspired media attacks on me personally. In the press I was said to be ‘destroying the morale of the Force'. It was clear this piece of editorial opinion came from the journalists who report on police matters and rely on their contacts within the force; it was hardly surprising that they ran the union line. We received anonymous telephone calls and unrequested visits at all hours by medicos and taxis. The taxi companies soon got wise and took to ringing us to confirm any request for their services. But we still had to answer the phone at unearthly hours. The heart specialist who said he had been contacted by ‘one of your sergeants' arrived on our doorstep at 3.00 a.m. expecting to find me incapacitated by a heart attack. I told him I was fine and he went away. Getting rid of the truckload of gravel that was dumped in our driveway was more difficult.

Much of Mavis's time was spent in supporting me socially and privately. She organised excellent dinner parties for influential guests, she joined me in visiting police cadets on their outings, she once provided a sick bay for a cadet whom we had found ill in the mountains. As well, Mavis soon had to contend with a family problem. The marriage of one of our son's had broken down and he had brought his son to Queensland. Mavis was asked to go to court to give evidence in the custody trial. Our grandson was placed in his father's custody and the two of them lived with us for some time, with Mavis providing out-of-school-hours supervision.

Mavis really propped me up at times when I felt beaten. I had few public supporters for my campaign to reduce corruption in the Queensland Police Force. It became increasingly clear that my code of strict honesty did not have general appeal to Queenslanders, and without a community base I could not win. I worked six days a week and on Sundays we drove to the coast and walked along the shore. I have always found the sea a soothing influence and that, coupled with Mavis's tranquility and wise counsel, would gradually restore my peace of mind. There were two occasions I remember well. When one of my few trusted senior officers, Val Barlow, retired in 1973, I felt lonely and vulnerable and thought of leaving. As we walked along the beach, Mavis gave me fresh hope and so I stayed. Later, when my ministerial protector was transferred by the premier, shutting off any opportunity to present my case to Cabinet, I again became dispirited. There seemed to be no point in continuing the struggle, but again Mavis inspired me to stay. This I did until the premier began overriding my operational control and, amidst some small public dismay, I left office. Later, the Fitzgerald Commission revealed some of the stress we had been subjected to.

When I decided to go to Queensland, I had just assumed that that state was simply another part of Australia, with similar values and customs. I had lived and worked in South Australia, New South Wales, Victoria and the ACT And while there had been minor variations, I had felt at home in all of them. But Queenslanders are not like other Australians. Certainly, they drive on the left hand side of the road and pay federal taxes, but there are significant differences. There is no Upper House of review; Parliament meets on only a few days for short sessions; the struggle between the Irish mafia and its protestant equivalent is far more pervasive and intense than elsewhere; until quite recently, education had a very low priority; the squattocracy tradition persists; and local media are passive, perhaps as a result of the frequency of “stopper writs”.

I gradually put together an assessment of the hurdles facing me. Most of these were new to me, and few people were keen to declare their allegiance to my cause. It soon became clear that there were three power bases on the sociopolitical scene: the Irish, the anti-Irish and the squattocracy. However, because of my philosophy that a police administrator should maintain strict neutrality, I was not prepared to seek the sponsorship of any of them. This was a position they did not understand, it was apparently a new concept in Queensland. Everyone accepted the slogan “If you are not for us, you are against us”.

I found the Premier, Joh Bjelke-Petersen, to be a complex character. I had come to Queensland prepared to like him as I had immediately liked the Police Minister, Max Hodges, when Max had come to New Guinea. When I first met Joh, I think we both warmed to each other and elements of that warmth remained in an ambiguous fashion over the next seven years. I'd heard that Joh was a non-smoker, non-drinker, non-gambler and a Sunday school teacher and I thought I had some idea of what his values would be. I found him pleasant enough to talk to, but I was uneasy in his presence. Over the previous twenty years or so, I had spent a fair bit of time professionally and socially with Australian prime ministers and Cabinet ministers. I had got on well with them and was accepted by them as a friendly professional with my own area of expertise. Joh never gave me that professional recognition. He treated me as though I were another of his clerks, there to carry out his instructions while not impeding his plans. I kept trying to get through to him that I had a responsibility to maintain the law, that I had taken an oath to this effect and that I was responsible for my own actions as a constable. I said I would implement any legal instructions given to me by him or by my minister, but how I did this was my decision. Joh sensed, I think, that I would do no more, and perhaps that wasn't sufficient. Certainly his subsequent relationship with Terry Lewis was quite different.

I have never forgiven Joh for letting me walk blindfolded into the nest of ants that was the Queensland Police Force. Joh must have been well aware of the real state of the Force, but he never gave me any inkling. For example, I knew nothing of the Sir Thomas Hiley exposures until three years after I'd left Queensland. Joh must have known that Hiley had shown almost every police officer in Queensland to be participating in a giant scam, that they were accepting their immediate superiors' assertions that arresting illegal bookmakers was out of the question. Hiley had revealed that illegal bookmakers in every town in Queensland paid a substantial fee to the local police. The Fitzgerald Inquiry subsequently showed that there was an illegal bookmaker operating quite openly in Kingaroy, Joh's own town. If the police could be bribed on this scale to turn a blind eye to people committing one sort of offence, why not to other offences as well?

Looking back, Joh's reaction to me was much the same as my reaction to him. He was meeting a stranger: all he knew about my background was what Max Hodges had told him when putting me forward as a candidate, and his only experience with police commissioners had been with crooked ones. Perhaps he thought I was from the same mould. He did give me some advice at the time which I've always remembered, but I'm not sure how it should be interpreted. He said: “Ray, my two years as Police Minister taught me one thing about the Queensland Police Force. It's a big organisation, it's like a big bit of complicated machinery. If you lean on it too hard you'll put it out of kilter.” I don't know what he meant by that. Did he mean that I was to go slow in introducing the recommendations of John McKinna, the South Australian commissioner who had recently written a report on the Queensland force? If so, it was strange advice — I'd been given the implementation of the McKinna reforms as my main task.

I sometimes wonder what was covered in the Sunday school lessons Joh gave to the children in Kingaroy. I wonder if he ever brought up that biblical principle: you cannot serve both God and Mammon. The children's parents would have known of the SP bookmaker in Kingaroy, some of the children might have known themselves. Joh, it seems to me, has proved you can do something that the Bible says you can't do. Joh, in my opinion, has served both God and Mammon.

Luckily for me, Joh was not present at the gala picture night that I arranged soon after I arrived in Brisbane. I had discovered that, as commissioner of police, I was automatically the president of the Queensland Police Citizens Youth Welfare Association which ran about fifteen clubs throughout the state. Each club had a police constable as executive officer, but representatives of the community helped run the clubs and provided instructors. I found that the association was short of money and at our first council meeting we discussed ways of raising funds. I suggested that we hold a picture night. I had noticed a newspaper article about the famous actor, Leo McKern — usually known as Rumpole of the Bailey — who was back in Queensland on holiday. His new film,
Ryan's Daughter,
had just been released in Melbourne where the
Age's
reviewer had found it to be very good. I suggested that the association should arrange an opening night at Brisbane's leading picture theatre.

We did this and the cinema proprietor agreed that all profits could go to the association. We publicised the event well and had Leo McKern arrive at the cinema in a limousine where he was met by an escort of mounted Police Troopers. There was a packed house. The first part of the program was completed without incident and then
Ryan's Daughter
was shown. It was an excellent and very interesting film, but it had a couple of bedroom scenes. These weren't all that revealing or suggestive by present day standards but, thirty years ago, they were far too advanced for Brisbane. They offended many of the parents with children present in the audience and I understood their concern. Unfortunately, I hadn't previewed the film; I had only read the review in the
Age.
The following day I received a number of angry calls from parents. There were complaints on talkback radio and letters to the editor of the
Courier-Mail.
I had to make a public apology for choosing the film and confess that I had been at fault in not viewing it beforehand. This was a very poor beginning for my stay in Queensland and I'm sure many people thought I was far too liberal. Joh is himself a strong family man and I'm glad he wasn't present.

I took to keeping out of Joh's way as much as possible. I was answerable to the police minister, not the premier. But Joh had once been the police minister himself and he retained much of his old interest in the job. This suited the executive of the Police Union, who routinely bypassed Max Hodges and myself, going straight to Joh. Joh believed he had God on his side. I always thought I had God on my side. But Joh also had a majority of influential Queenslanders supporting him. I had far fewer backers. I tried to gather support, but with very little success. I tried the Police Christian Federation, of which there was a strong branch in Queensland, but they were far more interested in personal salvation than in improving the ethical standards of the Police Force. The Police Scouters Branch of which I was a member wasn't interested in any political activity, and rightly so. The International Police Association, which I strongly supported and which gave me life membership when I left, never concerned itself with the ethical standards of the individual members of the Queensland Force. Mavis and I went to the evening services of a number of churches and spoke at random to members of the congregations, but most of them told us they were perfectly satisfied with the Police Force. They seemed to be unaware that there was so much corruption existing right under their noses. It was not clear to me whether they were simply ignorant or in a state of psychological denial.