In the 1970s Australia was turning its attention beyond our shores, with Four Corners leading the way on television. Allan Hogan was reporting from Vietnam in 1975 on the eve of the fall of Saigon and interviewing Idi Amin in Uganda in 1976. Jim Downes went to Sweden to detail the innovative industrial relations experiment at Volvo, where the company was turning its workers into shareholders. He also ranged around the Pacific, reporting on how ‘big brother’ Australia was facilitating — or hampering — the tiny, dependent economies of our island neighbours. And his personal account of giving up smoking, through a Seventh Day Adventist course, drew enormous interest from fellow smokers.
John Temple was producing essays on Australian society. One of his finest was a 1978 reflection on Manning Clark, in which Temple explored a current criticism of the prominent historian’s scholarship with a memorable lead-in to the subject: ‘Some people have complained that Manning Clark doesn’t write objective history. He agrees with them.’ It was typical of Temple’s thoughtful, sardonic style.
Reporter Peter Ross developed a talent for the political profile. A notable example was in 1975 when Queensland Premier Joh Bjelke-Petersen appointed Brisbane French polisher Albert Field to the senate to replace an ALP senator who had died, defying political convention by ignoring the candidate nominated by the Australian Labor Party. The ploy resulted in Field’s immediate expulsion from the ALP and placed him in a position to bring down the Whitlam government. Thrust into this pivotal role, Field was completely out of his depth and his replies to Ross’s questions led him into a self-parody which was both excruciating and somehow touching to watch. Politicians were less sophisticated then. Spin doctors and minders had not yet come on the scene.
As my colleagues’ stories came in, I found them endlessly fascinating. And I had perhaps the best job of all — writing a succinct introduction to reports on sometimes unfamiliar or difficult subjects to make them relevant to an Australian audience. Working with Peter Reid during his term as Executive Producer, I learned from his journalistic wisdom for seven years. For shorter periods I worked happily with EPs Tony Ferguson, Brian Davies and Paul Lyneham.
Evaluations of my presentation of Four Corners varied. In his book This Is the ABC, K.S. Inglis kindly wrote that I was ‘as unflappable as Peach, as crisp as Charlton, and transmitted by face and voice a humane and liberal concern that was exactly right for the program’.
Others were far less impressed. In Programmed Politics: A Study of Australian Television, three academic authors, Bell, Boehringer and Crofts, referred to my ‘style of hand-clasping concern’ and seemed disturbed by my simultaneous presence on daily morning current affairs radio, which, according to them, provided ‘a unique form for her particular brand of socially concerned liberal reformist journalism’. ‘No other ABC journalist had such apparently uncontrolled editorial access to ten or more hours of radio per week,’ they added.
Until I read their book, I had not realised that the construction of my every sentence revealed that I ‘rejected the validity of analyses which assume society to be structurally conflict-based, preferring the assumption that the ad hoc rectification of social illnesses is appropriate to the interests of the social whole.’ I had not consciously identified my own philosophical position, so these analyses made me reconsider the notion that one could report from a neutral standpoint.
On occasion, restraining, or concealing, personal bias was a challenge. In 1975 I was assigned to report on a prevailing perception that the pharmaceutical drug diazepam, marketed most commonly as Valium, was being over-prescribed, especially for women. A member of my family had committed suicide while taking another of the new mind-altering prescription drugs (not Valium), to treat depression, and I had a strong view on the subject.
Counselling and support groups were not yet readily available as alternative treatments to anti-depressant drugs.
I found and interviewed a well-respected psychologist and social commentator who expressed the view that astute drug company advertising was targeting general practitioners with a promise to alleviate their stress when confronted with an increasing cohort of unhappy women. The implication was that this advertising could be a factor in an increasing rate of prescription. Of course, neither the drug companies, nor their advertising agents, nor the medicos were doing anything illegal, but I considered it a feasible suggestion and I gave it some prominence.
Next my crew and I went to film a recently installed playground, established beside a high-rise housing block. Here we interviewed young women, including a number of single mothers, who were enjoying the new facility, and discovered that their prescription drug-taking had decreased.
The Housing Commission had the humane insight that women may need to escape the loneliness of their domestic confinement to enjoy companionship, to share mothering experiences and to benefit from cooperative child-minding arrangements. I thought that this was a desirable initiative and I am not sure that I avoided displaying my personal bias in that report.
As presenter, my opportunities to produce reports for the program were fewer than those of my colleagues, and when they came, I relished them. In 1973, with cameraman Ray Byrnes, sound recordist Peter Lipscomb and editor Ian Gonella, I produced a program on Jack Mundey, controversial secretary of the NSW branch of the Australian Building Construction Employees’ & Builders’ Labourers’ Federation — until recently it had been known as the BLF — which was pioneering the use of so-called ‘green bans’ to stop development of heritage sites. Their actions led to the preservation of much of Sydney’s history, including The Rocks district around Circular Quay. The inclusion of Dick Dusseldorp provided the balance of a prominent developer’s view. We interviewed him at his Lend Lease Corporation headquarters high up in Australia Square, the first modern international-styled office tower in the country, a landmark at 50 storeys, designed by Harry Seidler.
Among my most memorable assignments was a trip to Papua New Guinea, one of the world’s last colonies, which gained self-government in 1973 and independence from Australia in 1975. With the same camera crew, I reported on the prelude to that transition. One sequence featured film of the Mount Hagen Cultural Show in the Western Highlands, a gathering in which tribesmen from many districts danced and sang for hours on end in traditional dress designed to distinguish each unique group. Their adornments included full face and body paint, mud, grass, bone, beads, penis gourds, palm fronds and brilliant headdresses of bird of paradise feathers. The show was an almost overwhelming experience. The rhythmic stamping of hundreds of bare feet accompanied by hypnotic chanting made the earth tremble, while the coordinated movements of massed bodies with arms linked rippled in waves through the vast throng. Our footage brought the spectacle of the Stone Age tribesmen of our near neighbour into the living rooms of Four Corners viewers.
Reporting from overseas, I found it difficult to avoid judging an unfamiliar culture with Australian eyes. This problem is exacerbated if you are accommodated each night in Western-style four-star hotels. In Papua New Guinea there was none, and I got a better insight into the resilience needed to survive in a tribal society by sleeping with the local people on slats in a bamboo hut, and trying to evade the enthusiastic attentions of their many prized pigs when attending to the calls of nature in the open air. The experience allowed me to reflect on the particular discomforts for women, and to imagine myself into their lives.
By complete contrast, also in 1973, I presented Four Corners live from the opening of the Sydney Opera House. (The ABC bought me a dress for the occasion!) That really felt like being a part of history. As Queen Elizabeth walked past me up the many stone stairs I became nervous; even more so when my commentary was punctuated by an ebullient greeting from the organiser of this grand occasion, Sir Asher Joel, and I disappeared momentarily in the flurry of Lady Joel’s feather boa.
One story I’m not proud of was a 1973 report I made with producer Gordon Bick on Jerilderie, New South Wales, as a ‘typical’ country town
. I grew up in such a town. I could see that the satirical tone of our program, which canvassed parochial conflicts and hinted at social improprieties, would hurt local pride. And it did. A follow-up program the next week did not heal the wounds. Years later, stranded in Sydney with a flat battery in my car, I rang the NRMA for roadside assistance. The mechanic who came was Jerilderie-born and bred. He remembered the program very well, and he let me have it, before fixing the battery and driving off in triumph. I couldn’t blame him.
Having a job on television bestowed a status that was not necessarily warranted. It was a constant surprise to me that my television role seemed to recommend me for a variety of public appointments. In 1971 Don Chipp, the Minister for Customs in the Coalition government, appointed me to the National Film Board of Review, a new authority constituted to hear appeals against decisions of the Commonwealth Film Censorship Board. Appropriately, our screenings were held underground in government offices beneath a shopping arcade, where we viewed an eye-popping parade of films featuring pornography, sado-masochism and the outer reaches of violence. The would-be distributors were often world-weary, middle-European gentlemen in felt hats and trenchcoats. One of the favourite arguments they put in support of their films’ release onto the general public was delivered with a shrug and palms upturned: ‘On the continent, this would be considered merely educational.’ The ten years I spent on the board were certainly an education for me. The Whitlam government gave me a place on the new Australian Council for the Arts, chaired by H.C. ‘Nugget’ Coombs, whom I admired greatly, with a Who’s Who of some of the most prominent people in the land. I was overawed but did my best to make a contribution.
I was also invited by the Governor-General, Sir Zelman Cowan, to dinner at Admiralty House in Sydney to meet Prince Charles, on a visit to Australia prior to his marriage to Lady Diana Spencer. (Thank goodness for that Opera House dress!)
I am sure that none of the above opportunities would have come my way had I not been presenting Four Corners.
Accepting the prized position at Four Corners — and all that came with it — meant putting the rest of my life on hold. Over the course of my working life I turned my back on several opportunities for marriage and family life. Forty years on, I admire all the women who juggle work and family with apparent dexterity but I could not see myself fulfilling the two roles without compromising both. Perhaps I was lacking in imagination or courage but I saw it as a choice and my decision seemed straightforward. I had been brought up to place a high value on purposeful work as the way to a good life and the stimulating, privileged job I had been given was my priority. I loved the work and, in my 30s, I preferred it to the demands of negotiating a relationship. Although I worked well in a team, my personality was not well suited to partnership. I found the exclusivity of it put limitations on my participation in a wider world of friendships, work, interests and causes.
Later there was a period of sorrow that I did not have children of my own, but I accepted it as a consequence of my earlier decisions. I was born just before the baby boom and raised under a wartime sense of values that was more modest, less self-confident than that of the post-war generation. I think we were not imbued with such great expectations of personal fulfilment: I never believed that I was entitled to ‘have it all’. I have been graced with a fortunate life, in many ways, and being single has allowed me the opportunity for a variety of rewarding relationships. For instance, there are plenty of younger people to whom one can be a mentor — and I find great satisfaction in that.
During my years on Four Corners, I became increasingly aware of the potential of my position and the pioneering opportunity it offered, not only for me but for other women journalists. I thought that if I could do this job well, preferably without aggravating my all-male peers, it would open the door for other women. This was my quiet contribution to the women’s movement, although I took care to blur my motivation. I was aware that there were divisions between the more radical and conservative women’s groups and that some women were feeling threatened or excluded by the stronger expressions of feminism. I preferred not to fuel disunity. A challenging idea has more hope of realisation if you can bring people with you, rather than backing them into a corner.
With this in mind, in December 1973 I produced a Four Corners report on Elizabeth Reid, the newly appointed special adviser to Prime Minister Whitlam on women’s affairs. In the Australian on 4 December 1973, Michael Le Moignan described it as ‘an unsensational, perceptive film report on the work and the woman … Ms Jones was able to show us both the mother and the academic with equal warmth … Her commitment is based on humanitarian rather than party lines.’ Mr Le Moignan wrote that he was disappointed when the report came to an end halfway through the program and thought the subject warranted fuller treatment. His response was just as I had hoped: it left the door open for more of the same.
I was fortunate to have the professional support of some excellent women working on Four Corners behind the scenes. I remember with gratitude the researchers, librarians, film researchers, script assistants and secretaries. None received equal pay with men, yet their work was vital to the success of the program. We were all modestly paid. I was excited when elevated to the status of senior reporter in the early ’70s, with an annual gross salary of $8000. It seems so little now, but everything was cheaper then. I bought my home unit in Sydney in 1971 for $19,000. I had to borrow several thousand dollars and, despite being a media identity, I had to ask my father to be my guarantor in order to satisfy the bank.
In my nine years at Four Corners, I encountered only fairness and encouragement, as I had from the early ’60s when I joined the ABC in Canberra as a trainee broadcaster. I was given many opportunities, most of them by men because they held most of the senior positions. I found them generous in sharing their experience and in mentoring me. I have never had to apply for a position, except the very first one. Although conscientious, I did not see myself as being outstanding. Through good fortune, I was in the right place at a particular time in Australian broadcasting history.
During the ’70s, much of our working social life centred on Sydney’s 729 Club, a magnet for media workers because it remained open until late at night. Drinking was an element in our relaxation, as well as the occasional romance, and a lot of talk. We played snooker and I smoked slim cigars (sophisticated, I thought) with my Danish friend Kirsten, a film editor. (No smoking over the billiard table — we knew better than that.) We enjoyed being a few women among all the men, who were entertaining and good company. Because I was, for a while, the only woman in a prominent post in television current affairs, I was not seen as being a threat to anyone else’s ambition. I was not very assertive. It was not necessary. I was happy being ‘one of the boys’.
On assignment, we travelled as a team of three: reporter, cameraman and sound recordist; the latter two were always male. Together we worked out how to cover the story. They were my best teachers, especially when I was still a novice at filmmaking. In news and current affairs television, it is always the reporters who get most of the credit, yet it is in large measure the camera crews and editors who create the production values and the impact of a program.
When travelling overseas with a crew, I tried to judge when it was not appropriate for me to join in all their activities. Quite early on I got it wrong and earned the nickname ‘Matron’ because I thought it must be my duty to dispense the malaria tablets and wait up at the hotel until ‘the boys’ got back from their evenings at leisure. I soon got the message, but the nickname has stuck. To this day, Mike Carlton takes delight in loudly addressing me as Matron at any public gathering where our paths may cross.
From 1977 to the end of 1981, while I continued to present Four Corners, the demands of my daily morning current affairs radio program, City Extra, broadcast on the ABC in Sydney, virtually ruled out travelling or reporting for television. Although the dual roles made for a challenging week, they complemented and informed each other. R
enowned radio current affairs Executive Producer Russell Warner offered me this challenge and, after the initial terror, I loved working on live radio. It’s a high-wire act with only a seven-second delay as a safety net. With good producers and researchers, the program was richly varied in content and rated well, even against the then king of commercial radio, John Laws. Surprisingly, 30 years on, people still remember the whimsical exchanges I enjoyed each day at 7.25am with the iconoclastic breakfast announcer Clive Robertson. But as the program took a more investigative turn, exploring the reach of corruption into local and state government, we became part of the headlines, and I realised that there was a time limit on working at this level of intensity.
In 1979, I was on a tour sponsored by the US State Department in the United States with a group of international women broadcasters. I was sharing a room with the Indonesian delegate, Diati Ganis. We were startled awake by a phone call in the early hours. It was Gerald Stone, calling me from Sydney, inviting me to join his first team of reporters for the new Channel 9 program, 60 Minutes. I had worked with Gerald when he was a producer on TDT and I was pleased that he had asked me, but I decided to stay with the ABC, which had given me all my opportunities.
The Stories That Changed Australia: 50 Years of Four Corners Page 5