Although I knew of a great many people and women’s organisations, such as WEL, which would have been very interested to know of this incident, I did not inform them. Someone, though, did leak the information, and a small report about my letter appeared in the limited-circulation newspaper Private Eye.
I had just three days left to find accommodation in which I could welcome my children. In Nation Review I found an advertisement placed by a family in Gladesville who wished to share their house. I rang them and, being Nation Review readers, they immediately recognised my name.
The house was large, and the two bedrooms on offer were not very close together. Still, Russel was twelve and Naomi five, so they were old enough to come looking for me in the night if need arose. I met the children at the airport and we moved in. Although I was a bit sorry to give up the convenient location of my flat, I was so overjoyed with having my children with me at last that no sacrifice was too great.
At this time I imposed on the AMS to create a position for me. I had been working on a voluntary basis for the organisation for over a year and had raised substantial funds for the service. Now, Federal Government funding was assured, but there remained the need to generate both publicity and private funds to enable the service to retain a degree of autonomy and not come under complete government control. I became education/publicity officer and, using my extensive list of contacts, wrote and circulated a regular newsletter. I also successfully approached vitamin and blanket manufacturers to contribute goods to help needy Kooris make it through the bleak winter. The Ford Motor Company heard of my work and contacted me. For months they kept me supplied with a vehicle, and Ampol donated petrol to keep it on the road. This enabled me to respond to urgent requests from communities as far south as Lake Tyers in Victoria, as well as several areas in New South Wales.
The service had a long and expensive wrangle with South Sydney Council, which claimed that the presence of the AMS in Redfern attracted Blacks to the area (rather than providing a service for the thousands who already lived here). As a consequence, the AMS moved from its original two-room shopfront to a slightly larger premises a few doors down, still on Regent Street. Despite greater privacy and better medical facilities for patients, the administration section was particularly cramped and there was no office or even a desk for me.
I received a call from Dr Moss Cass, the Federal Minister for the Environment, requesting a meeting. He came early one morning to the AMS, and because I didn’t have an office I invited him into Naomi Mayers’ office to talk. He was hardly seated when Naomi arrived. I hastened to introduce her.
‘What are you doing in here?’ she boomed.
‘Naomi, I’d like you to meet Dr Moss Cass.’
‘I don’t care who he is. Get him out of here. I want to work.’
I found it difficult to believe Naomi hadn’t noticed his government limousine and driver parked directly outside the building. I had to apologise to him and try to make light of the incident, then Dr Cass and I adjoumed to a nearby milkbar and had a cup of tea. He invited me to join an environment advisory committee he was putting together, the membership of which had not yet been finalised but which would include the unionist, Mr John Halfpenny, representatives from CSIRO and other scientific, development and regulatory bodies. As I was both interested and widely read in the area of environmental science, I agreed.
On my return to the AMS I told Naomi exactly who she had just booted out of her office.
‘A politician? We’re not about politics,’ she replied. ‘This service is about health.’
Despite the frustration I often felt at the low level of political nous and the lack of support I received, I continued working at the AMS, generating literature, sponsorship and funds, as well as responding to many rural communities’ requests for information when they wanted to start their own medical services. I also took my place on the Environmental Advisory Committee, and despite the intensive reading this often required, I enjoyed the intellectual stimulation of a diverse committee concentrating on one point of common concern—the environment. My work day was long and in the evenings I often had to bring the children in with me to Redfern to attend meetings. They frequently went to sleep on the floor.
Around this time I received a letter from the Taxation Department, forwarded to me by William. It was a final notice, informing me of the department’s intention to arrest and imprison me for non-payment after seven days. The week’s notice had already been exceeded by more than three days by the time it arrived. William, I learned, had signed my name on documents to turn my half of the company over to him and the department was wanting their share of my profits. I panicked and rang Eric. He contacted the department on my behalf and obtained an extension. I was fortunate then to meet an accountant, Rob Fisher, who helped explain to the department that I had never received any money from the company and indeed had even lost my initial investment.
I rang William. He admitted not having forwarded the Tax Department’s earlier correspondence, and seemed unconcerned that his actions had brought me to the brink of imprisonment, which would have left the children without care. I thought my explanation to the department may have put him in trouble, and was surprised at his disinterest. ‘I’m going bankrupt anyway,’ he told me, which I found difficult to believe as he had just recently bought a speedboat.
At home I began to notice strange things. The couple who shared the house were both psychiatric nurses and worked shifts, and another woman often seemed to be there. At our weekly house meeting I was informed that the woman had moved in. She was sharing the master bedroom with the couple, and they were ‘exploring an alternative lifestyle’.
I wrote to Mum and she and Arthur came down, bringing their caravan and parking it in the backyard. Despite having a job which enabled me to pay the rent and fit the children out with schoolwear, I had made little progress establishing a secure domestic base. The other family must have taken their family’s clothes to launder at the hospitals where they worked, as there was no washing machine in the house, and I was obliged to do all our washing by hand, a long and tiresome job. Mum took over the washing for me one day to give me time to run out and look for a second-hand washing machine. When I returned she advised me that the family I was sharing with was too strange, and that I should move.
Leonie had rented a flat in Ernest Street, Crows Nest, but was planning to give it up. ‘Take over her place,’ Mum urged me, ‘and do it while we’re here so we can give you a hand to shift your things.’ Ford’s contribution of a vehicle had by then petered out and I didn’t own a car.
After two weeks in the Crows Nest flat, I presented myself at the real estate agent and told him I was Leonie’s sister and wanted to take over her lease. Because of Leonie’s Asian features and very straight silky hair, I was initially met with open disbelief over my statement that we were related, but eventually the agent said, ‘I heard you were there. You’ve kept the place clean and you’ve paid the rent. You can stay.’
I heard later that the man in the domestic triangle at the Gladesville house had committed suicide. He had shot himself in the head. I thought of the two women and small children he had left behind. What would become of them now?
I enrolled Russel at Crows Nest Boys’ High and Naomi at Cammeray Primary. My wages from AMS barely covered our expenses, so I had to continue to write articles and review books to supplement our income.
William came down to Sydney at this time, and when he saw how we were living he offered to buy me a car. I was outraged at the idea that he could cheat me out of my half of the business and then offer to patronise me, placing me in the position of having to accept a ‘gift’.
‘Just give me the money you owe me and I’ll be able to buy my own car,’ I responded.
‘Okay. If that’s how you feel about it, you’ll get nothing,’ he said as he departed.
In adversity, I threw myself into even more work. Taking the children with me at night to AMS management meetings
meant having to wake Russel and make him walk while carrying Naomi in my arms. We would catch a train to Wynyard, where we changed to a bus that would take us almost to our door. I also sat up nights, reviewing books and writing articles, surviving for weeks on four hours sleep a night.
I received a brief letter from Charles, the Black American soldier who had befriended me when I’d first arrived in Sydney. He alerted me to an article in either Penthouse or Playboy in which, he said, ‘your friend has betrayed you’. Unable to afford such expensive magazines, I went to several newsagencies to read the article.
Germaine had written a piece on rape. In it, as I recall, she inferred that women who had been raped and who didn’t make it public were doing a disservice to the women’s movement. She referred to a few examples including my own, using the scant details I had shared with her. Although she did not disclose my name, the description she gave was sufficient for my friend to identify me. In conclusion the article said that she intended to give the names of the women next time.
I was stunned. How could I have been so naive and trusting? I fumed. And how could Germaine so easily betray my confidence, throw into the public arena information I had shared with her so privately?
I staggered home under the heavy weight of her disloyalty, weeping at my own stupidity. I was to blame, I reasoned. If I had answered with a lie when she had asked me so directly, this would not have occurred.
Heavily into forgiveness at the time, I tried to excuse Germaine, telling myself that she could have no idea of how much harm her disclosure could do to an innocent child, Russel. Despite my efforts to put the article behind me—it was published in the US, few people would read it in Australia, and there was little likelihood anyone else would have made the connection—I remained angry. How could anyone, much less a feminist, treat personal confidences with such disdain as to put them into print for mere money? After this incident, every time I was approached by white women reputed to be feminists, suspicion and distrust arose in my mind and, in many instances, I closed off any possibility of friendship with them. I could not afford to be hurt again. I could not afford relationships that might ill-effect my son.
Just as I was beginning to find juggling all my commitments an almost impossible task, an amazing stroke of good fortune occurred. While giving a talk to a North Shore women’s group, I was approached by one of the participants, Mrs Mary Owen, who said she lived close by me and would be interested to help if she could.
A few days later, MumShirl called and asked me to attend to a young woman who was suicidal. I rang Mrs Owen to ask if she would mind looking after Russel and Naomi for a few hours, as I had to deal with an emergency. Mrs Owen, whose own children were grown up, was reluctant; she had not expected that I would ask her for assistance with childcare. Her husband, she told me, didn’t like children—but, ‘well, since it’s an emergency’.
Neither Mrs Owen nor I were prepared for Mr Owen’s complete reversal. A taciturn man with few friends, he was perhaps won over by Russel’s thoughtful consideration of everything that was said to him and Naomi’s happiness just to bubble along chatting even if she received no reply. It was not long before Mr Owen himself was knocking on my door, asking if my children could go to the beach or a local fete with him. Russel and Naomi became regular guests at their house, welcome at any time of the day or night. I encouraged the children to consider the Owens as extended family members, putting them on our gift list for Mother’s Day and Christmas. Over time Mr and Mrs Owen became as close as grandparents.
With Mrs Owen’s assistance I was able do even more work for the AMS and take on many of the tasks MumShirl was anxious to pass over to me.
I wrote a report on the philosophy and activities of the AMS for a review in Canberra, and was unhappy to find my name taken off it to be replaced with Naomi Mayers’ and Paul Coe’s names. Naomi told me Paul would have objected to taking a report to the government under my name, but I suspected he had not even been asked. As neither Naomi nor Paul had laid eyes on the work until it was completely finished, I considered the action as intellectual appropriation and said so. When the work became widely quoted in many other documents within government circles, with Naomi and Paul cited as the authors, I began to wonder if either of them felt any embarrassment.
Government subsidisation enabled the AMS to increase the salaries of Black workers to bring them into line with their white equivalents. As the only Black worker whose salary was not increased, I prevailed upon Naomi, as administrator, to put a case on my behalf to the Board for their consideration. When she refused to do so, I resigned.
With my only regular income gone, I raced around trying to find more work, without any great success. Although I had formally resigned from the AMS, I was still called upon when my skills or contacts were required.
The government had promised the AMS a permanent home, as the building it occupied was under threat of demolition. When a suitable building was finally located, no easy feat in the limited area of their search, AMS Board representatives went to Canberra to discuss its purchase. However, they were told the building was too expensive. As no financial parameters had previously been mentioned, when they queried the ceiling they were informed the building was just $20,000 over the mark. Sister Ignatius rang me on behalf of the AMS, asking me what I thought I could do.
I contacted one of lan’s friends in Melbourne, Sandra Bardas, who had already shown deep interest and support in a wide range of Black community endeavours. Her husband, David, owned Sportsgirl, a chain of clothing stores around Australia.
Within forty-eight hours I had in my hand an offer from Sportsgirl to make up the difference, if the government would proceed with the purchase. The offer stipulated that the AMS should be the outright owners, and that Sportsgirl retained the right to publicise their contribution.
On receipt of this offer, the government turned around and agreed to fund the entire purchase. Although the government then stalled the acquisition so long that this particular deal fell through, the AMS had been able to demonstrate its ability to bring its own strengths to the negotiating table.
The work of the AMS, I had decided, was too important for personality differences and petty jealousies to prevent the essential teamwork required for its success. I continued to oblige whenever I was called upon, displaying, I hoped, a loyalty that would eventually gain acknowledgement if not reward.
We were unable to live on the little money I was now earning so, without any great hope, I rang William to see if he was prepared to pay maintenance. He was blunt. The answer was no.
‘I have no responsibility for Russel anyway,’ he informed me.
I reminded him that he had adopted the boy and that this had established a legal responsibility for his welfare.
‘If you’re going to come at that, I’ll tell him how he really came to be here,’ he replied. Threatened with disclosure of the one thing he knew I did not want Russel to know, at least until he was old enough to understand, I backed off. I felt this was about as low as a man could go in order to get out of providing food for his children.
With no other options left to me, I realised I would have to go to the government and plead my case for a supporting mother’s benefit. Recalling my distress when, years earlier, I had required assistance, I agonised over this decision and determined that I would tell the Social Security staff only as much as they needed to know.
In the department’s office, on the day of my appointment, I had a sense of tension in the air, but couldn’t work out why. My interview was conducted by a woman, Suzy Hayes, who was warm and helpful.
I was surprised when, a very short time later, Suzy rang asking if I would meet her for a drink after work.
We met in a small coffee lounge in Wynyard where Suzy told me frankly that she was the ‘trouble-shooter’ for the department, called upon to conduct interviews at which it was anticipated that there might be trouble or disruption. Parents accompanied by their difficult intellectually disab
led adolescent children and people who could not control their charges were typical of the clients she was allocated for interview. She was aghast that she had been sent to interview me. Suzy had not known who I was when she received my file, and her supervisors had advised her to leave the door of the interview room open, and back-up had been stationed in the hallway. No wonder I had felt some tension.
I couldn’t help laughing, even though I felt outraged beneath my mirth. None of these people knew me, I thought. What sort of image is the media projecting of me?
Suzy became a good friend and, over time, we shared meals and I listened to her talk about her dissatisfaction with the way the department functioned. One day she came to me with a copy of a notice from the bulletin board which announced a review of departmental procedures and invited submissions. She would like, she told me, to put in a report but didn’t have the ability to write anything so comprehensive.
‘You have all the info,’ I suggested to her, ‘and I can write. We could put our knowledge and skills together.’
Several late nights later, Suzy’s damning report was prepared. In it, she exposed practices which included officers labelling trays containing applications for unmarried mothers’ benefits with a tag saying ‘Sluts’, delaying processing applications for financial aid to people from specific ethnic groups, and generally hindering, confusing, or refusing by procrastination, services that should have been readily available to all Australian citizens in need.
Once word of her report became known, Suzy was demoted and sent to work on simple and repetitive clerical tasks in the basement of the building. Committee members of the Canberra review, however, invited her to meet with them in the capital. She was permitted out of the basement only long enough to attend this review hearing.
Snake Dancing Page 20