If GS File 75, Exhibits 1 to 88, do not reveal the truth about how Telstra treated the COT Cases during our disputes or how it has treated any similar Australian citizen, I encourage you to consider the following internal memo from Telstra's General Manager to the Manager of Network Investigations regarding me and my business. The subject is the Cape Bridgewater Holiday Camp FOI folio Ko3281, which pertains to a briefcase accidentally left at my Holiday Camp on June 3, 1993, by Telstra senior network investigator Hew Macintosh. The memo states:
"I refer to our telephone conversation regarding the material contained in Mr Macintosh's briefcase.
Please find attached a letter from Austel (the government communications authority) regarding that incident. Whilst I can respond to the details regarding the information provided to him at the time of settlement, I cannot comment on the variation between what Mr Smith was told and the contents of the network Investigations files. I need your assistance for this. Can we discuss as soon as possible, please?"GS File 79 Exhibit 1 to 88
On 19 December 1995, Darren Kearney from AUSTEL visited my premises, seven months after my arbitration concluded. He assessed the valuation based on what the arbitrator had awarded me, without knowing the contents of the briefcases or the information I had received in a settlement on 11 December 1995. Mr Kearney stated that if the arbitrator had been aware of the misleading and deceptive information I was given during my 1992 settlement with Telstra, the valuation of my loss would have been threefold. Therefore, the award granted to me on 11 May 1995 would have been significantly higher.
While my situation is specific to my case, it reflects a common theme among other COT Cases, all of which have similar experiences. My case is not unique; I just happen to have the evidence to support my claims. Despite this, the government has never assessed my losses based on the evidence I provided to them on 19 December 1995. → see also An Injustice to the remaining 16 Australian citizens
🕳️ A Pattern Too Deliberate to Ignore
As you scroll through the many mini‑reports and narratives on absentjustice.com, you will notice that some segments, exhibits, and images appear a second or even a third time. This is not an oversight. It is deliberate.
For more than thirty years, the government bureaucrats who shielded Telstra—along with the arbitrator and the government agencies that quietly enabled Telstra’s relentless attacks on our group—relied on repetition, obstruction, and silence to bury the truth. Their strategy was simple: drown the facts, exhaust the victims, and hope the public never noticed the pattern. To counter that, I have had to show, again and again, that what happened to the COT Cases was not a one‑off mistake or a bureaucratic misstep. It was a system. A machinery of protection that allowed Telstra to behave like a cancer, spreading through every layer of the arbitration process.
Revisiting the same evidence is the only way a reader can grasp the scale of this misconduct. Telstra’s own documents expose how the arbitration system was twisted—not to uncover the truth, but to suffocate it. Each repeated exhibit reveals another strand in a web of deceit, each recycled image another glimpse into a pattern of behaviour that resurfaced across years, across claimants, across every stage of the process.
This story cannot be understood through a single example. It must be unravelled through the recurring signs of institutional decay—the same lies, the same treacherous tactics, the same insidious cover‑ups—repeating themselves with chilling consistency. Only by recognising these patterns can the reader begin to comprehend the nightmare we, the Casualties of Telstra, endured. Our attempt to challenge the corrupt telecommunications services inflicted on our small businesses was met not with fairness, but with discrimination and contempt. We asked only for the same treatment afforded to other Australian enterprises. Instead, we were fed into a system that failed us repeatedly, a betrayal that felt calculated.
Don’t forget to hover your mouse over the images as you scroll down the homepage.
→ Are arbitrations conducted in Hong Kong scrutinised enough?
⚠️ A System Built to Conceal, Not to Correct
My journey through the Administrative Appeals Tribunal (AAT) and the Freedom of Information process marked the beginning of a descent into a system that was not merely flawed, but disturbingly opaque. This was only the first chapter of two parallel processes I was forced to navigate, followed by eleven further remedies—all pursued because the arbitrator, Dr Gordon Hughes, refused to compel Telstra to address the telephone faults that crippled my business.
On 11 May 1995, Dr Hughes issued his findings. They ignored the ongoing telephone and fax problems that continued to sabotage my livelihood. Desperate for resolution, I allowed myself to be drawn into yet another government‑endorsed arbitration process, unaware that I was stepping deeper into a labyrinth designed to protect Telstra, not the truth.
What makes this even more sinister is that a government body later concluded my claims were neither frivolous nor vexatious. This stands in stark contrast to the baseless accusations circulated by certain individuals within the government—individuals who went on to oversee arbitrations globally, establishing offices in Hong Kong and Melbourne. One of them, John Rundell, has been implicated in altering and tampering with arbitration reports to covertly favour one side. This behaviour surfaced in my own arbitration and casts a long, cold shadow over every case he touched.
His conduct demands a transparent investigation. The evidence supporting this call lies in the details of The First Remedy Pursued, and every visitor to absentjustice.com should examine it before reading further.
Despite Judge GD Friedman stating, “I don’t consider you, personally, to be frivolous or vexatious – far from it,” my claims continue to be ignored. This wilful dismissal of justice exposes the treachery embedded in the process—a treachery that has shaped my battle for decades. The corruption I have faced does not merely undermine my case; it threatens anyone who dares to enter an arbitration process overseen by these same disreputable individuals.
Meanwhile, Telstra’s systemic failures to uphold its commitments fostered a perverse situation in which Fox was being rewarded for its failure to Fox—a clear indication of the discrimination and injustice at play.
If this was not discrimination of the worst order, then what can be deemed as such?
A pivotal moment unfolded during my conversation with Helen Handbury after her second visit to my cosy holiday camp, following her thoughtful and insightful reading of my manuscript. As we sat across from each other, enveloped in a warmth and familiarity, I felt compelled to express my deep concern about her brother, Rupert Murdoch—a figure whose considerable influence casts a long shadow over Telstra. This telecommunications giant plays a significant role in the lives of countless Australians. I articulated my doubts about whether he had even laid eyes on my manuscript and whether acknowledging my claims of discrimination would be too much to expect under such circumstances.
In response, Helen reassured me, her tone calm and soothing. She revealed that she had not yet forwarded my manuscript to him, which alleviated some of the anxiety I had been carrying. She explained that her return to the holiday camp was solely to retrieve an item of clothing she had inadvertently left behind during her first visit. This minor yet personal detail added a genuine touch to our encounter, highlighting the connection we had developed over our conversations.
For years, I have harboured the belief that if Rupert Murdoch had taken even a moment to read my manuscript, I would likely have received a formal notice from his company—an official communication indicating they did not wish to pursue any further correspondence. This lingering thought occupies a significant space in my mind, shaping my understanding of the intricate dynamics at play in this complex and often disheartening situation.
Helen's response resonated deeply with me; she thoughtfully asked whether Rupert could truly remain indifferent to the plight of the COT Cases, especially if he fully understood the immense struggles, frustrations, and emotional toll we had endured. We fought valiantly against an obstructive system, paying hundreds of thousands of dollars in arbitration fees in a desperate attempt to compel an arbitrator to act on our unresolved phone issues. Yet, our passionate and unwavering efforts were callously dismissed as “fixed,” when in reality, they were anything but. This frustrating saga dragged on for a staggering eleven years, as thoroughly detailed in → Chapter 4 The New Owners Tell Their Story, Chapter 5 Immoral - Hypocritical Conduct.
Following Helen Handbury's passing, I was deeply touched to receive a handwritten letter from her husband, Geoffrey Handbury. In his heartfelt note, he expressed genuine regret for his inability to engage with the complex issues we discussed, attributing it to his advancing age. I accepted Mr Handbury's sentiments with grace, recognising the sincerity behind his words and appreciating the connection we had formed. The Handbury family is well-respected in South West Victoria, not only for their generous philanthropy in supporting various worthy causes but also for the authentic warmth and kindness they extend to everyone they meet. Tragically, Geof has since passed away as well, leaving behind a legacy of compassion.
As I approach my 82nd year, I am inspired to document my experiences with the convoluted Telstra arbitration issues and the various unscrupulous lawyers and forensic accountants who exploited the plight of the COT arbitrations for their own gain. This entire experience serves as a poignant reminder of the inner strength required to confront daunting obstacles and the relentless resilience needed to pursue justice, even in the face of overwhelming uncertainty and adversity. Through my writing, I hope to illuminate the complexities of our struggle and inspire others to stand firm against injustice.
In essence, a troubling disparity has long existed in how legal standards are applied across the Australian business landscape. Those with deep government connections — people like Rupert Murdoch — seem to move through a different system entirely, one where influence opens doors and failures are swiftly compensated. Meanwhile, those of us without such privileges are left to navigate a maze of bureaucracy, indifference, and neglect. It is a divide that becomes painfully clear when you compare how the government responded to Telstra’s failures when they affected Murdoch’s interests, and how it responded when those same failures destroyed the livelihoods of small business operators like me.
I have never denied the importance of protecting Foxtel’s enormous investment in cable infrastructure, nor the hidden costs of running a media empire of that scale. But I also know what it means to build something from the ground up — to pour your time, your savings, and your heart into a business that serves real people. Over the years, I invested heavily in building a vibrant agency operating across Melbourne, Ballarat, and Mount Gambier. It was the engine room for my Over Forties Single Club, a lively and much‑needed social hub where people over 40 could meet, connect, and rediscover companionship. Every weekend, the club generated between $6,000 and $7,000 in bookings. It wasn’t just a business; it was a community, a place where people found friendship and belonging.
Everything depended on one thing: a reliable telephone service.
When the 008/1800 free‑call system — the backbone of our operations — began to fail due to systemic software faults, everything collapsed. Calls dropped. Lines went dead. Customers couldn’t reach us. The revenue that sustained the business evaporated almost overnight. And unlike Murdoch, I received no compensation. No government intervention. No acknowledgement of the damage done. I was left to absorb the losses alone.
My story is far from unique. Across Australia, countless small businesses — possibly thousands — were suffering the same fate. Tourism operators, accommodation providers, tradespeople, community organisations: all of them depended on the telephone system to survive. When it failed, they failed. And yet the government, which moved mountains to protect Murdoch’s interests, seemed blind to the struggles of the very people who kept local economies alive.
This raises a question that has haunted me for decades: why does the government allocate vast resources to support the Murdoch empire while overlooking the legitimate struggles of grassroots operators who work tirelessly to contribute to their communities?
For many small business owners, the only path to justice was arbitration — a complex, costly, and often punishing process. They entered arbitration not because they wanted to, but because it was the only way to force Telstra to acknowledge the faults that were crippling their operations. Yet even after arbitration concluded, the problems that triggered it often continued. The faults persisted. The losses mounted. Businesses stagnated or collapsed. The system that was supposed to protect us instead became a mechanism for burying our claims.
For me, the consequences were long‑lasting and deeply personal. On 11 May 1995 — the very day I received my arbitration award — the telecommunications faults were still unresolved. They remained unresolved when the new owners purchased my beloved school holiday camp in December 2001. They bought it for its land value, not its business potential, because the phone faults had already rendered it unviable. Eight years later, in 2009, they went bankrupt. The same faults that crippled my business crippled theirs. The same silence that met my pleas met theirs. The same system that protected the powerful abandoned us both.
What makes this even more galling is that the government communications authority had already acknowledged the scale of my losses. In March 1994, they documented — in detail — that the revenue lost due to Telstra’s failures was substantial. Their own internal notes, spanning points 2 to 212 and referenced on page 33, point 85 of AUSTEL’s Adverse Findings, confirmed what I had been saying all along. Yet when it came time to calculate my losses, the figures were slashed to a fraction of their true value.
There is an enormous difference between $30.82 for a two‑night stay for school groups and $120 to $165 for a two‑night stay for social club patrons. Downgrading my losses by such a margin was not an accounting error. It was not a misunderstanding. It was a deliberate act that stripped away the truth of what I had lost. And when a government‑owned corporation knowingly reduces a claimant’s losses by such a percentage, it raises profound questions about fairness, integrity, and accountability.
This situation paints a vivid picture of the enduring struggles faced by small businesses caught in a web of inefficiency, neglect, and systemic imbalance. It is not about whether Foxtel deserved its compensation. It is about the profound inequity in the government's response to Telstra’s failures. One group received protection. The other received punishment. One group was compensated. The other was left to drown. One group had influence. The other had none.
And that is the heart of the injustice.
The potential Over Forties Single Club patrons’ testimonials are also referred to in the AUSTEL report of 3 March 1994:
“As Mr Smith points out, the RVA message had the potential to severely damage his business. An important point in relation to the possible financial impact of the RVA message on the Cape Bridgewater Holiday Camp service is the camp’s dependence on group bookings. In June 1992 the camp tariffs ranged from $1500 to $6000 per week, so the loss of even one booking because of the RVA problem could mean a substantial financial loss.” (Refer p33, point 85 AUSTEL’s Adverse Findings).
When AUSTEL representatives visited my venue, I also demonstrated that singles club customers regularly bought souvenirs before they left: printed Cape Bridgewater t-shirts, sweatshirts, postcards, headscarves, and crafted driftwood plant arrangements. Schoolchildren didn’t have that sort of money and typically only bought postcards. FHCA (the arbitration financial resource unit working for the arbitrator and Telstra) ignored all the income I lost from single-club bookings, i.e., the profit I made on souvenirs and the $120 to $165 tariff per person for these customers.
In case the visitor has not grasped what has been said above:
By hovering your cursor or mouse over the Chronology of Events, you will be led to a document dated March 1994, referenced as AUSTEL’s Adverse Findings. This document confirms that government public servants investigating my ongoing telephone issues supported my claims against Telstra, particularly between Points 2 and 212. It is evident that if the arbitrator had been presented with AUSTEL’s Adverse Findings, he would have awarded me a significantly higher amount for my financial losses than he ultimately did.
Government records (see Absentjustice-Introduction File 495 to 551) show AUSTEL's adverse findings were provided to Telstra (the defendants) one month before Telstra and I signed our arbitration agreement. I did not receive a copy of these same findings until 23 November 2007, 12 years after the conclusion of my arbitration, which was outside the statute of limitations for me to use those government findings to appeal the arbitrator's award.
AUSTEL’s Adverse Findings, dated 4 March 1994, confirmed that my claims against Telstra were validated (see points 2 to 212) before I was forced into arbitration under threat of the then Telecommucations Industy Ombudsman (TIO) Warwick Smith and Telstra that unless I sign for arbitration then Telstra and the TIO would collectively decline to further investigate my telephone faults which I alleged had been apparanty since February 1988, when I purchased the business.
Unfortunately, I did not receive a copy of these findings AUSTEL’s Adverse Findings at points 2 to 212 until November 23, 2007, 12 years after the termination of my arbitration process. In simple words, the government had already validated my claims as early as March 4, 1994, six weeks before April 21, 1994, when I signed the arbitration agreement.
But despite this proof, I was still required to endure 13 months in a gruelling arbitration process that cost me well over $300,000 in professional fees to prove something the government had already established.
TWO SYSTEMS OF JUSTICE
How Australia Protected Power While Sacrificing Its Own Citizens
There are moments in a nation’s history when the truth reveals itself not through grand speeches or official inquiries, but through the quiet, devastating contrast between how the powerful are treated and how ordinary citizens are discarded. For me, that contrast became impossible to ignore in the early 1990s, when Telstra — still a government‑owned corporation — failed to meet its contractual obligations to Rupert Murdoch’s Fox operations.
The failure was significant. Telstra had promised a level of service capacity essential for Fox’s broadcasting and commercial expansion. When it couldn’t deliver, the consequences were immediate and costly. The government moved swiftly, decisively, and with a clarity of purpose I would never see applied to ordinary Australians. Murdoch’s companies received a compensation package reportedly in the hundreds of millions of dollars — a settlement negotiated behind closed doors, executed with precision, and justified as necessary to protect commercial confidence.
It was a masterclass in how the system responds when the aggrieved party is powerful, wealthy, and globally influential.
But while the government was quietly writing cheques to protect a multinational corporation, a very different story was unfolding for the rest of us.
Around the same time, a group of small business owners — the people who would later become known as the COT Cases — were fighting for something far more basic: the right to reliable telephone service. We weren’t asking for special treatment. We weren’t demanding millions. We simply wanted the service we had been promised, the service we were paying for, the service our livelihoods depended on.
When Telstra failed us, the consequences were catastrophic. Lost calls meant lost customers. Faulty lines meant lost bookings. Static, dropouts, and dead lines meant reputations destroyed. For some, it meant bankruptcy. For others, the collapse of marriages, health, and hope.
The government’s response?
Not swift. Not decisive. Not protective. Instead, we were herded into a government‑endorsed arbitration process — a process that, we were assured, would be fair, transparent, and independent. A process that would hold Telstra accountable. A process that would restore what we had lost.
But from the moment the ink dried on those agreements, it became clear that the arbitration system was designed not to deliver justice, but to contain us. To manage us. To neutralise us.
Where Murdoch received compensation for Telstra’s failure, we received legal bills.
Where Fox was treated as a partner, we were treated as a problem.
Where the government protected a corporation’s commercial interests, it protected Telstra from its own citizens.
The contrast was not just stark — it was damning.
To understand how such a double standard could exist, you have to look at the ecosystem of influence that surrounded Telstra at the time. The telecommunications landscape was shifting. The government was preparing Telstra for privatisation. Its value — and the political careers tied to that value — depended on maintaining the illusion of a reliable, modern, world‑class network.
Admitting systemic faults would have been commercially disastrous. Compensating ordinary citizens would have been politically inconvenient. But compensating a global media empire? That was necessary. And so the system bent. It bent for Murdoch. It bent for Fox. It bent for the government’s own commercial ambitions.
But it did not bend for us.
The deeper I went into arbitration, the more I realised that the system wasn’t broken — it was functioning exactly as designed. The rules were written by Telstra. The arbitrator was appointed under conditions that would later be revealed as deeply conflicted. Evidence was withheld, delayed, or altered. Technical reports were sanitised. And the government, which had promised oversight, quietly stepped back into the shadows.
Meanwhile, the same legal and corporate figures who shaped the regulatory environment were moving into senior roles within major media organisations, including Fox‑related entities. It wasn’t illegal. It wasn’t even unusual. But it revealed something essential about how power circulates in Australia: within tight circles, behind closed doors, and far from the reach of ordinary citizens.
When powerful institutions operate within overlapping networks, accountability becomes optional. Transparency becomes negotiable. And justice becomes a privilege, not a right.
For us — the small business owners, the farmers, the tourism operators, the shopkeepers — justice was never on the table. We were told to trust the process. We were told the arbitrator was independent. We were told the government was watching.
But the truth was simpler and far more brutal. We were expendable. Our losses didn’t threaten the national interest. Our businesses didn’t influence global markets. Our voices didn’t carry into boardrooms or cabinet meetings. And so, when Telstra failed to meet its obligations to us, we weren’t compensated. We were punished. Some of us were forced to pay Telstra’s legal costs. Some were left with debts that would follow them for decades. Some lost everything.
The same government that protected a billionaire’s commercial interests refused to protect its own citizens from the consequences of Telstra’s failures. That is the heart of the injustice.
That is the rot at the centre of the system. That is the story Australia still hasn’t been told.
Looking back now, with the benefit of years and the clarity that comes from surviving the worst of it, I can see that our fight was never just about faulty phone lines. It was about something far larger: the right of ordinary Australians to be treated with the same dignity, fairness, and respect afforded to corporations and political allies.
We weren’t asking for special treatment. We were asking for equal treatment. And the system couldn’t — or wouldn’t — provide it.
This chapter marks the turning point in my memoir because it marks the turning point in my understanding. It was the moment I realised that our battle was not just against Telstra, but against the machinery that protected it. A machinery that could compensate for a global media empire while abandoning the citizens it was meant to serve.
It was the moment I understood that justice in Australia is not distributed evenly. It is allocated. It is prioritised. It is negotiated. And for people like
----------------
The Evidence That Should Have Stopped Everything
The most disturbing part of the arbitration saga was not just the missing documents, the withheld engineering reports, or the secrecy surrounding the process. It was the fact that one of the two technical consultants who signed off on the arbitration findings later confirmed in writing on 17 December 2014, that the faxed documents he reviewed had been interfered with before they reached their intended destination, stating:
“I still stand by my statutory declaration that I was able to identify that the incoming faxes provided to me for review had at some stage been received by a secondary fax machine and then retransmitted, this was done by identifying the dual time stamps on the faxes provided.” (Front Page Part One File No/14)
Interception of this 12 May 1995 letter by a secondary fax machine:
Whoever had access to Telstra’s network, and therefore the TIO’s office service lines, knew – during the designated appeal time of my arbitration – that my arbitration was conducted using a set of rules (arbitration agreement) that the arbitrator declared not credible. There are three fax identification lines across the top of the second page of this 12 May 1995 letter:
- The third line down from the top of the page (i.e. the bottom line) shows that the document was first faxed from the arbitrator’s office on 12-5-95, at 2:41 pm to the Melbourne office of the TIO – 61 3 277 8797;
- The middle line indicates that it was faxed on the same day, one hour later, at 15:40, from the TIO’s fax number, followed by the words “TIO LTD”.
- The top line, however, begins with the words “Fax from" and then the correct fax number for the TIO’s office (visible).
Consider the order of the time stamps. The top line is the second sending of the document at 14:50, nine minutes after the fax from the arbitrator’s office; therefore, between the TIO’s office receiving the first fax, which was sent at 2.41 pm (14:41), and sending it on at 15:40, to his home, the fax was also re-sent at 14:50. In other words, the document sent nine minutes after the letter reached the TIO office was intercepted.
The fax imprint across each of the documents and letters provided to two well-recognised technical telecommunications specialists both made sworn statements that the fax imprint described in the Scandrett & Associates report (see Open Letter File No/12 and File No/13) was all captured by a secondary fax machine, the report states:
“We canvassed examples, which we are advised are a representative group, of this phenomena .
“They show that
- the header strip of various faxes is being altered
- the header strip of various faxes was changed or semi overwritten.
- In all cases the replacement header type is the same.
- The sending parties all have a common interest and that is COT.
- Some faxes have originated from organisations such as the Commonwealth Ombudsman office.
- The modified type face of the header could not have been generated by the large number of machines canvassed, making it foreign to any of the sending services.”
It is also clear from Front Page Part One File No/1, File No/2-A to 2-E, File No/3, File No/4 and Front Page Part One File No/5, that numerous documents faxed from my office to the arbitrator's office did not reach their intended destination.
Interception of this 12 May 1995 letter by a secondary fax machine is discussed in more depth in our Australian Federal Police Investigations page
The Final Telstra Insult
When Cathy and I left Cape Bridgewater for the last time in February 2019, hoping to leave the nightmare behind, a towering billboard rose above the highway out of Portland. Its message hit like a blade. It wasn’t an upgrade announcement. It was a confession — a public admission that everything Telstra had sworn in 1994 was false.
“We’ve expanded Australia’s best network to Cape Bridgewater.”
For twenty‑four years, Telstra swore under oath that Cape Bridgewater enjoyed the same standard of telephone service as metropolitan Australia. Seven employees, seven signatures, all insisting my business had “world‑class” telecommunications and that any problems were long resolved.
Then, in late 2018, a new roadside placard appeared at the entrance to Cape Bridgewater announcing that a “world‑class telephone service” was soon to be introduced. Not celebrated. Not maintained. Introduced. A quarter of a century after those sworn statements — and seventeen years after I was forced to sell my business because that service never existed.
Cape Bridgewater never had the service Telstra claimed. Not in 1994. Not in 2001. Not until the upgrades were finally finished around 2018.
Evidence the Arbitrator Never Saw
In his 11 May 1995 award, the arbitrator wrote at point 3.2(h):
"The claimant adds that he continued to suffer transmission problems after March 1993, although since July 1994, he has had relatively little cause for complaint"
This statement directly contradicts the government’s own findings from its secret investigation into my complaints — findings that were withheld from the arbitration process until November 2007, twelve years too late for me to appeal.
- Points 2 to 212 of the government communications authority reports (see AUSTEL’s Adverse Findings, tell a completely different story — one that aligns with Telstra’s 2018 placard, including the statements made by Paul Howell of (Canada) in his formal report of April 1995 and the statements made by the new owners of my business in 2002 to 2006. The sworn witness statements should be reinvestigated by the boards Telstra and the current government 1994 sworn statements.
- Government records show AUSTEL’s adverse findings were provided to Telstra one month before Telstra and I signed the arbitration agreement.
- I did not receive those findings until 23 November 2007, long after the statute of limitations had expired.
The arbitrator was fed a narrative that Telstra knew was fiction.
Even worse, the statement made by Paul Howell, DMR Group Inc (Canada), who was flown from Canada by the government to investigate my ongoing telephone faults, states at point 2.23, in his official formal report, that:
“One issue in the Cape Bridgewater case remains open, and we shall attempt to resolve it in the next few weeks, namely Mr Smith’s complaints about billing problems.
“Otherwise, the Technician Report on Cape Bridgewater is complete.” ( Open Letter File No/47-A to 47-D)
and
“Continued reports of 008 faults up to the present. As the level of disruption to overall CBHC service is not clear, and fault causes have not been diagnosed, a reasonable expectation that these faults would remain ‘open’,” (Exhibit 45-c -File No/45-A)
It is clear from this Canadian telecommunications expert that, in his opinion, my telephone problems were ongoing in April 1995 and would continue to remain "open", his emphasis, not mine, until the cause of the faults being recorded was diagnosed.
The New Owners Confirm What Telstra Denied
Their testimony matches the government’s findings.
It matches the 2018 placard.
It does not match Telstra’s sworn statements.
What began in March 1988 as a simple fight for a fair go had become a long, punishing struggle against a system determined to break me. The arbitration process, supposedly a path to justice, unfolded like a performance whose ending had been written long before I stepped into the ring. Seven sworn statements painted a picture of a flawless rural network — a picture crafted to obscure, confuse, and suffocate the truth.
The government’s own secret investigation told a very different story. Its findings — withheld from me until 2007, twelve years too late to appeal — documented the same faults I had been reporting for years. Telstra received those findings a month before I signed the arbitration agreement. I didn’t see them until the statute of limitations had closed the door on justice.
Even the new owners of my business later confirmed what Telstra denied: the faults continued, the bookings failed, and the service remained broken. Their experience matched the government’s findings — and matched the 2018 placard — but not Telstra’s sworn evidence.
This was never an error. It was a strategy.
The Australian Government owned the network. It owned Telstra. It owned the arbitration process. And instead of ensuring fairness, it allowed Telstra to weaponise false statements to protect itself during privatisation.
Meanwhile, Cathy and I were left to run two telephone‑dependent businesses — Cape Bridgewater Holiday Camp and Seal Cove Guest House — on a service so unreliable it crippled revenue and ultimately forced us to sell. We were misled. We were deceived. We were sacrificed to protect a government‑owned corporation.
And that 2018 placard still stands as the final insult — and the final proof — of the truth Telstra tried to bury.
---Telstra’s conduct during my arbitration was not merely incorrect—it was deeply sinister, unethical, and laced with deliberate deception. On 12 December 1994, seven employees of Telstra signed witness statements under oath, asserting to arbitrator Dr. Gordon Hughes that my Cape Bridgewater Holiday Camp received a telephone service "equivalent to the rest of Australia."
This was no innocent mistake; it was a calculated fabrication. They all knew it was false, and so did Telstra.
For years, Telstra maintained this deceitful narrative—swearing under oath that Cape Bridgewater possessed the same standard of service as metropolitan Australia. Yet in late 2018, Telstra brazenly erected a roadside placard at the entrance to Cape Bridgewater, heralding a forthcoming "world-class telephone service." This announcement came a staggering twenty-four years after those false sworn statements and seventeen years after I was forced to sell my business due to the nonexistent service they had promised.
This sign was not just an upgrade announcement; it was a damning confession. It exposed that Telstra’s nine witness statements were not only inaccurate but knowingly deceitful, meticulously crafted to mislead the arbitrator and destroy my rightful claims. It illustrated how the government-owned carrier lied to protect its interests during a legal process already under scrutiny for its egregious mishandling.
In his 11 May 1995 award, the arbitrator stated at point 3.2 (h), “The claimant adds that he continued to suffer transmission problems after March 1993, although since July 1994 he has had relatively little cause for complaint.” This assertion blatantly contradicts the findings from a secret government investigation into the very same complaints, findings that were intentionally withheld from the arbitration process until November 2007—twelve long years after my arbitration concluded. The findings presented in points 2 to 212 of the government communications authority reports convey an entirely different narrative, one that aligns perfectly with Telstra's 2018 placard—specifically, AUSTEL’s adverse findings.
Furthermore, Telstra's nine sworn witness statements starkly contrast with the testimonies provided by the new owners of my business, as highlighted in Chapter 4, "The New Owners Tell Their Story," and Chapter 5, "Immoral - Hypocritical Conduct."
Government records (see Absentjustice-Introduction File 495 to 551) reveal that AUSTEL's adverse findings were submitted to Telstra (the defendants) a mere month before we signed our arbitration agreement. I, however, did not receive a copy of those findings until 23 November 2007, twelve years after the conclusion of my arbitration, far beyond the statute of limitations that barred me from using this information to challenge the arbitrator's ruling.
Cape Bridgewater never had the service Telstra so deceitfully claimed—not in 1994, not in 2001, and not until their so-called upgrades were finally completed in 2018. Yet, in their arrogance, Telstra misled the arbitrator, fully aware that my very livelihood depended on reliable telecommunications. They falsely proclaimed everything was resolved when in truth, nothing had changed. They declared our service had been made equal when it was patently inferior, and they insisted the issues were fixed while they ruthlessly dismantled my business.
This wasn’t merely an error—it was a calculated strategy, a treachery in plain sight.
The Australian Government owned the network, Telstra, and held control over the entire arbitration process. Instead of guaranteeing fairness, it colluded with Telstra, allowing them to weaponize lies to shield themselves from accountability. While Telstra executives and government bureaucrats closed ranks, my partner Cathy and I were left to manage two businesses—Cape Bridgewater Holiday Camp (1988–2001) and Seal Cove Guest House (2001–2018)—struggling with a service so disreputable that it shattered bookings, decimated revenue, and forced us to succumb to the pressures of a corrupt system.
We were misled. We were deceived. We were sacrificed by a government-owned corporation bent on protecting its interests as it prepared for privatization. The 2018 placard stands as a silent monument to the truth that Telstra desperately sought to bury: our service was never equal to that of the rest of Australia, and Telstra knew this well when they swore otherwise.
As if this betrayal weren't enough, on June 24, 1997, the same Peter ---- was called out by Telstra whistleblower Lindsay White during a Senate committee hearing probing Telstra's gross misconduct in numerous arbitrations. Mr White's explosive testimony revealed a chilling directive he received from Peter ----: all five COT cases—naming both Mr Schorer and me as part of this conspiracy—had to be "stopped at all costs" from proving our claims against Telstra (see pages 36 to 39 of the Senate - Parliament of Australia). This orchestrated malfeasance paints a horrifying picture of a corrupt system that defies democracy and undermines the very principles of justice.
An investigation conducted by the Senate Committee, which the government appointed to examine five of the twenty-one COT cases as a "litmus test," found significant misconduct by Telstra. This was highlighted by the statements of six senators in the Senate in March 1999 → →
Eggleston, Sen Alan – Bishop, Sen Mark – Boswell, Sen Ronald – Carr, Sen Kim – Schacht, Sen Chris, Alston Sen Richard.
On 23 March 1999, the Australian Financial. Review reported on the conclusion of the Senate estimates committee hearing into why Telstra withheld so many documents from the COT cases, noting:
“A Senate working party delivered a damning report into the COT dispute. The report focused on the difficulties encountered by COT members as they sought to obtain documents from Telstra. The report found Telstra had deliberately withheld important network documents and/or provided them too late and forced members to proceed with arbitration without the necessary information,” Senator Eggleston said. “They have defied the Senate working party. Their conduct is to act as a law unto themselves.”
Unfortunately, because my case was settled three years prior, several other COT cases and I were unable to benefit from the valuable insights and recommendations of this investigation or from the Senate. Out of the twenty-one final arbitration and mediation cases, only five received punitive damages, along with their originally withheld FOI documents.
In the mid‑1960s, I alerted the Australian Government that Australian wheat shipped to Communist China was being re‑routed to North Vietnam, feeding the very forces Australian, New Zealand, and American soldiers were fighting. The government did nothing. Canada, by contrast, stepped in to help its own merchant seamen caught in the same geopolitical mess. That contrast—Canada standing tall while Australia hid the truth—would repeat itself decades later when the Canadian Government again offered assistance during my COT arbitration battle after Australia refused.
The same pattern of concealment resurfaced during the COT arbitrations, where promised FOI documents were withheld, evidence was tampered with, and officials avoided scrutiny. At the very same time, deeply disturbing allegations of child abuse within Parliament House, Canberra, were emerging—allegations involving the very office responsible for handling our arbitration‑related complaints. The climate of secrecy surrounding those allegations cast a long shadow over our attempts to obtain the documents we were entitled to.
These events—spanning corruption, political fear, international betrayal, and institutional cover‑ups—are not separate chapters. They are interconnected threads of the same fabric. To tell the truth, I must weave them together, because that is how they unfolded: overlapping, reinforcing, and shaping each other across three decades.
The entire process we were forced to endure was nothing short of corrupt, evil, treacherous, and sinister. From the outset, it was clear that this was not just a battle for justice but a dark labyrinth of deceit designed to silence and manipulate. The interconnected events of this saga played out like a meticulous web of betrayal, where every attempt to reveal the truth was met with an insidious response from those in power.
The government's actions were not merely negligent; they were calculated, a deliberate effort to obscure uncomfortable truths that would threaten their own interests. The wheat scandal from the 1960s exemplified a systemic refusal to act against wrongdoing, paving the way for similar abuses during the COT arbitrations. It was as though an invisible hand was guiding this treachery, ensuring that the darkest corners of dishonesty remained shrouded in secrecy.
As the Telstra privatisation unfolded, the collusion became even more evident. With falsified testing results heralded as credible proof of Telstra’s integrity, it was clear that trust was not just broken; it was weaponised against those seeking redress. The same governmental indifference that allowed the wheat shipments to corrupt ends echoed throughout the telecommunications scandal, illustrating a twisted pattern of conduct where truth was sacrificed for profit.
The very institutions meant to uphold justice were complicit in this treachery. The sale of Lane Telecommunications to Ericsson amid ongoing investigations was not just a conflict of interest; it was a heinous betrayal of the trust placed in them. The integrity of the arbitration was irreparably tarnished by this insidious manoeuvring, leaving us in a precarious position where our voices were muffled and our plight ignored.
To this day, the critical reports meticulously assembled by my trusted technical consultant, George Close, on Ericsson’s exchange equipment remain missing, swallowed whole by the shadows of a corrupt arbitration process. These documents were not merely evidence; they were the linchpin of my case, and their vanishing act signals a brazen betrayal of the very rules that should uphold justice. According to the arbitration guidelines, all submitted materials must be restitutioned to the claimant within six weeks of the arbitrator's decision—yet here I am in 2026, still grasping at thin air.
None of the COT Cases were granted leave to appeal their arbitration awards—even though it is now clear that the purchase of Lane by Ericsson must have been in motion months before the arbitrations concluded.It is crucial to highlight the bribery and corruption issues raised by the US Department of Justice against Ericsson of Sweden, as reported in the Australian media on 19 December 2019.
One of Telstra's key partners in the building out of their 5G network in Australia is set to fork out over $1.4 billion after the US Department of Justice accused them of bribery and corruption on a massive scale and over a long period of time.
Sweden's telecoms giant Ericsson has agreed to pay more than $1.4 billion following an extensive investigation which saw the Telstra-linked Company 'admitting to a years-long campaign of corruption in five countries to solidify its grip on telecommunications business. (https://www.channelnews.com.au/key-telstra-5g-partner-admits-to-bribery-corruption/)
Back in 1996, when my arbitration legal team began to untangle the web of deceit surrounding the arbitration agreement, we unearthed alarming irregularities—text covertly altered to shield the culpable technical consultants, specifically Lane. It is a staggering revelation that this treachery was facilitated with the blessing of both government and COT lawyers, who had sanctioned the original version, perhaps in exchange for their own vested interests. In the face of such conspiracy, I demanded the foundational documents from the arbitration administrator John Pinnock, desperate for insight into how this treachery could transpire beneath our noses. And what was his chilling response? Silence, laced with complicity.
“I do not propose to provide you with copies of any documents held by this office.” — John Pinnock, 10 January 1996 ()
Even on the brink of signing the arbitration agreement, it had been insidiously tampered with behind our backs—manipulated to safeguard the interests of the arbitration consultants, Chapter 5 Fraudulent Conduct," vividly reveals. The three of us—Ann Grams, Graham Schorer, and I—were cornered into a grim choice: either exonerate the arbitration consultants by scrapping the $250,000,000 liability caps from the agreement and fully exonerate the legal arbitration counsel involved, or face the dire consequence of pursuing Telstra in court without any arbitration. Faced with this treacherous ultimatum, we reluctantly caved in.
What unfolded was not arbitration—it was a coordinated campaign of collusion and concealment. From the laundering of evidence to the secret sale of Lane Telecommunications Pty Ltd, every move was calculated to undermine justice and protect the guilty.
Every step of this convoluted path was fraught with malevolence, where every thread of our narrative was intertwined with the forces of corruption and treachery. It became painfully evident that the truth we fought so hard to uncover was not just unwelcome; it was dangerous to those who thrived in the shadows of deceit. The whole process was a grim testament to the lengths institutions will go to protect their own interests at the expense of justice and integrity.
Don't forget to click on the kangaroo image and learn more about this terrible story → → →
It is crucial to emphasise the significance of the four letters dated 17 August 2017, 6 October 2017, 9 October 2017, and 10 October 2017, authored by COT Case Ann Garms shortly before her passing. These letters were addressed to The Hon. Malcolm Turnbull MP, Prime Minister of Australia, and Senator the Hon. Mathias Cormann (See File Ann Garms 104 Document). On 1 June 2021, Mathias Cormann officially assumed office as the Secretary-General of the OECD in Paris, France. Like Australia's former Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull, he possesses comprehensive knowledge of the legitimacy of the COT Cases' claims. (rb.gy/dsvidd)
It is undeniably crucial to bring to light the treacherous AFP transcripts from 10 February 1994, where the ominous figures of Superintendent Jeffrey Penrose and Detective Sergeant Cochrane conspired with Grahm Schorer, a mouthpiece for the corrupt COT, and Amanda Davis, a former government official. Together, they spoke in hushed tones about a briefcase—left behind by Telstra at my business—that contained the names of individuals, including Mr. Schorer and myself, whose private conversations were ruthlessly monitored and tapped. It is shocking that pages 37, 38, and 39 of these sordid transcripts reveal how Schorer disclosed to the AFP that former Telstra employee Mr. Marr had provided damning evidence of this phone interception to Senator Bob Collins.
We must draw a line here: I am not comparing the devastation faced by the COT Cases—who were robbed of their businesses, livelihoods, and dignity—with the unfathomable trauma inflicted upon vulnerable children. Those heinous crimes stand in a dark league of their own. In those days, we were blissfully unaware of the insidious machinations playing out within Parliament House. We were merely seeking the documents we were blatantly denied—documents locked away in the very ministerial office where these horrifying allegations later erupted.
Yet, an undeniable truth hangs heavy in the air: in their malevolent quest for control, the government ultimately concealed not only the documents related to the crimes against innocent children but also the vital information that should have been delivered to the COT Cases. The same office that fumbled with our telephone-fault complaints was shrouded in dark allegations of abuse. Bureaucrats, seemingly paralyzed by fear, hesitated to release any information that could potentially unveil their own complicity in these disgraceful acts—whether pertaining to the children, to the corrupt machinery of Telstra, or to the politically explosive wheat-to-North-Vietnam scandal that I had brazenly exposed years prior.
The overarching narrative is chillingly clear: the government opted to shield a minister, safeguard its own interests, and protect a once-government-owned telecommunications behemoth at all costs. This sinister alliance came at a grave price—the sacrifice of truth, the abandonment of victims, and the trampling of citizens ensnared in the ruthless machinery of arbitration.
PART IV — THE SURVEILLANCE NO ONE WOULD EXPLAIN
There are moments in life when the world tilts — not dramatically, not with a crash, but with a quiet shift that changes everything. For me, that moment came the day I realised Telstra wasn’t just ignoring my complaints. They were watching me.
It began with a single line in a document — a Telstra internal memo that referenced my telephone conversation with former Australian Prime Minister Malcolm Fraser. I had spoken to Mr Fraser on two occasions concerning my 1967 arrest by the Chinese Red Guards. I remember staring at the words, feeling the air leave my lungs. That part of my life was buried deep, spoken of only rarely, and never lightly. It was a chapter carved into me by fear and uncertainty, one I had survived but never fully escaped.
And now it was sitting in front of me in a Telstra file note: → 'alan smith' spoke with malcom fraser today ---- cape -- then more than half of the remaining page had been redacted.
Why?
What did my past in Communist China have to do with phone faults in Cape Bridgewater? Why was a telecommunications company documenting events from my youth — events that had nearly cost me my life? The questions came fast, but the answers never came.
The memories I had spent decades trying to contain began to seep back into my life. I could see the Red Guards again — the uniforms, the shouting, the accusations I couldn’t disprove. I could feel the cold floor beneath me, the uncertainty of each passing hour, the fear that I might never see home again. I had survived that ordeal, but the scars had never fully healed. And now, Telstra had found a way to reopen them. I didn’t know whether to be angry or afraid.
In truth, I was both.
The next blow came quietly, almost casually, in the form of a conversation with a Telstra technician who let something slip — something he shouldn’t have said.
“Your calls are being monitored, Alan.” I would like to elaborate on this statement, but I have no evidence, and absentjustice.com is a website that does not make major statements without supporting documents.
He said it like a man who had seen too much and was tired of pretending otherwise. He said it like someone who knew the truth but wasn’t allowed to speak it. However, the questions I answered in the Australian Federal Police Investigation File No/1 indicate that the AFP stated it had documents showing that my private life was not so private.
I felt the room tilt again. Monitored? By whom? For what purpose? I had nothing to hide. I was a small business owner trying to keep my doors open. My calls were to customers, suppliers, family, and — occasionally — to former Prime Minister Malcolm Fraser, who had taken an interest in my case.
Was that the reason? Was that why Telstra was listening? The thought made my skin crawl. I sought answers. I asked Telstra directly. I asked politely. I asked firmly. I asked repeatedly.
And every time, I was met with silence. Not denial. No explanation. Just silence. The kind of silence that tells you the truth is too dangerous to speak aloud.
The psychological toll was immediate and brutal. I hesitated before picking up the phone. I wondered who was listening. I wondered what they were writing down. I wondered how much of my life had been quietly recorded without my knowledge. The house, once a sanctuary, began to feel like a stage. Every conversation felt exposed. Every fax felt intercepted.
Every silence felt deliberate.
I wasn’t sleeping. I wasn’t eating. I was unravelling. Two clinical psychologists — Dr Burnard in Melbourne and Dr Francolm in Portland — examined me and reached the same conclusion: I was suffering from PTSD, triggered by Telstra’s unexplained surveillance and the pressure of being forced into arbitration. Both warned that I should not be placed into arbitration until Telstra explained why they were intercepting my calls and hacking my faxes.
Their warnings were ignored. Ignored by Telstra. Ignored by the arbitrator. Ignored by the government. Ignored by everyone who should have protected me.
Then came the meeting with Mr Ian Joblin, Telstra’s own clinical psychologist. He listened as I explained the impact the surveillance was having on my mental health. He listened as I described the nightmares, the flashbacks, the fear that history was repeating itself. He listened as I told him about the Red Guards, the interrogations, the uncertainty that had shaped my youth.
And he said something I will never forget.
“Alan, I can’t discuss my findings with you, but I will be noting in my report that Telstra’s actions are contributing significantly to your stress.” For a moment, I felt seen. For a moment, I believed the truth might finally be acknowledged. For a moment, I believed the system might still have a shred of integrity. But that moment didn’t last.
When I received his witness statement from Telstra’s arbitration defence unit, it was unsigned—and, worse, empty. Every concern he had acknowledged was gone. Every ethical obligation he had referenced had vanished. Every truth he had promised to record had been erased. It was as if the conversation had never happened.
The silence had swallowed it whole.
That was the moment I understood the full scope of what I was up against. This wasn’t just a telecommunications company. This wasn’t just a faulty phone line. This wasn’t just a bureaucratic oversight. This was a system — a system that monitored, documented, redacted, manipulated, and silenced. A system that protected itself at any cost. A system that saw people like me not as customers, but as threats. And threats had to be neutralised.
The surveillance wasn’t just an invasion of privacy. It was a weapon. A weapon designed to destabilise me. A weapon designed to undermine my credibility. A weapon designed to push me into arbitration in a state of psychological vulnerability. And it worked.
I entered arbitration already broken, already traumatised, already fighting ghosts from my past and enemies in my present. But what Telstra didn’t understand — what they could never understand — was that a man who has survived the Red Guards does not break easily. They could monitor me. They could silence me. They could erase my truth from their documents.
But they could not erase it from me. And that truth — fragile, battered, but still alive — would become the foundation of everything that followed.
PART VI — THE GOVERNMENT THAT LOOKED AWAY
There is a moment in every long fight when you realise the people you thought were on your side never were. It doesn’t happen suddenly. It happens slowly, like a curtain being drawn back inch by inch, revealing a truth you were never meant to see.
For me, that moment came when I realised the government — the same government that had promised fairness, transparency, and accountability — had quietly stepped back from the fight. Not because they didn’t know what was happening. Not because they lacked the power to intervene. But because intervening would have meant confronting the truth.
And the truth was dangerous.
In the early days, I believed the government would help. I believed the Ombudsman’s office would investigate. I believed ministers would demand answers. I believed the Senate would insist on transparency. I believed that once the evidence was laid out — the faulty lines, the intercepted calls, the altered documents, the surveillance — someone in authority would say, “This is unacceptable.”
But belief is a fragile thing.
The first cracks appeared when the Commonwealth Ombudsman’s Director of Investigations wrote to Telstra’s CEO demanding an explanation for why Telstra was refusing to return FOI documents that had already been released to me. Documents containing handwritten notes on my China and Vietnam history. Documents that had been quietly redacted in later versions.
The Ombudsman recognised the seriousness. The Ombudsman demanded answers. The Ombudsman expected cooperation.
Telstra ignored them.
And the government did nothing.
Then came the Senate.
For a brief moment, it felt like the truth might finally break through. Senators asked questions. They requested documents. They examined the COT Case Strategy. They acknowledged the evidence of withheld information, altered reports, and compromised arbitration processes. Some senators were outraged. Some were sympathetic. Some were determined to uncover the truth.
But outrage is not action. Sympathy is not justice. Determination is not accountability. Behind the scenes, the machinery of government was already shifting — not toward transparency, but toward containment. The Senate could ask questions. But they could not compel answers. Not when the answers threatened the reputation of a government‑owned corporation. Not when the truth risked political fallout. Not when the cost of honesty was too high.
And so the questions remained unanswered. The documents remained hidden. The truth remained buried.
I remember sitting in my living room, watching a Senate hearing on television, listening to officials speak in the careful, polished language of people who know how to say nothing while sounding like they’re saying everything. “We are looking into the matter.” “We are reviewing the documentation.” “We are confident the process was fair.” “We have no evidence of wrongdoing.”
No evidence? I had boxes of it. I had lived it. I had survived it. But the government wasn’t looking for evidence. They were looking for distance. Distance from Telstra. Distance from responsibility. Distance from the truth.
The deeper I went into the arbitration process, the more I realised the government’s role wasn’t passive. It was strategic. They had created the arbitration. They had appointed the arbitrator.
They had approved the rules. They had promised independence. But independence was an illusion. The arbitrator was denied resources. The technical consultants were restricted. The legal framework was manipulated. The evidence was controlled by Telstra. And the government — the same government that had promised fairness — allowed it to happen.
Not by accident. Not by oversight. But by design. Because admitting the truth would have meant admitting failure.
Admitting failure would have meant accountability. And accountability was something no one in power was willing to face.
The hardest part wasn’t the betrayal itself. It was the silence that followed. Letters went unanswered. Requests were ignored. Meetings were postponed. Promises evaporated. I would write to ministers, detailing the surveillance, FOI alterations, technical failures, and psychological harm. I would attach documents, evidence, and timelines. I would plead for intervention.
And I would receive replies that said nothing. “We acknowledge your concerns.” “We appreciate your patience.” “We are unable to comment on ongoing matters.” “We trust the arbitration process.”
Trust?
The arbitration process was collapsing under the weight of its own corruption. And they knew it. But the government had made its choice. They would protect Telstra. They would protect themselves. They would protect the narrative. And the casualties — the small business owners, the farmers, the isolated families, the people whose lives had been quietly destroyed — would be left to fend for themselves.
There is a particular kind of loneliness that comes from realising your own government has abandoned you. It is not the loneliness of isolation. It is the loneliness of betrayal.
You expect corporations to protect themselves. You expect lawyers to play games. You expect bureaucracies to be slow. But you do not expect your own government to look you in the eye, acknowledge your suffering, and then turn away. That is a wound that never fully heals.
But here is the part the government never understood:
When you abandon a man who has nothing left to lose, you create something dangerous. You create a man who will not be silenced. You create a man who will not walk away. You create a man who will document everything. You create a man who will build a record so complete, so detailed, so undeniable, that the truth will outlive every attempt to bury it. They thought ignoring me would end the story. They were wrong. It was only the beginning.
PART VII — WHY I BUILT ABSENT JUSTICE
There comes a point in every long fight when you realise you are no longer fighting for yourself. You are fighting for the truth — because the truth has no voice of its own, and if you don’t speak it, it will die in the dark.
For me, that moment came long after the arbitration had ended, long after the government had turned away, long after Telstra had declared the matter closed. I was sitting alone again — the same kitchen table, the same flickering light, the same boxes of documents that had become both my burden and my armour. But something was different.
The despair was still there, yes. The exhaustion. The anger. The grief for the life I had lost. But beneath all of that, something else had taken root — something small, stubborn, and quietly powerful. A refusal. A refusal to let them erase what had happened. A refusal to let the lies stand unchallenged. A refusal to let the truth be buried under redactions, silence, and bureaucratic indifference.
I realised that if I didn’t preserve the evidence, no one would. If I didn’t tell the story, it would vanish. If I didn’t fight, the truth would die. And I could not — would not — let that happen.
Absent Justice didn’t begin as a website. It began as a promise. A promise to myself that I would not let the system win by default. A promise to the other COT Cases — the farmers, the small business owners, the isolated families — that their suffering would not be forgotten. A promise to the truth itself, which had been twisted, redacted, manipulated, and silenced for far too long.
I didn’t have money. I didn’t have political influence. I didn’t have legal power. But I had something the system didn’t expect. I had the documents. I finally, after more than two decades, had the FOI releases — the original versions and the altered ones. I had the memos referencing my China and Vietnam history.
I had the evidence of intercepted calls and hacked faxes. I had the technical reports that contradicted Telstra’s public statements.
I had an acknowledgement from psychologists warning that I was unfit for arbitration. I had the proof that those warnings were ignored. I had the COT Case Strategy — the blueprint for withholding evidence. I had the Senate transcripts. I had the Ombudsman’s letters. I had the truth. And I had something else — something Telstra never understood. I had time.
They thought I would give up. They thought I would break. They thought I would fade away. But I didn’t. I kept writing. I kept documenting. I kept piecing together the deliberately scattered fragments of a story.
And slowly, painfully, relentlessly, the truth began to take shape.
Absent Justice became my way of fighting back — not with anger, not with violence, but with evidence. With facts. With the kind of meticulous documentation that bureaucracies fear because it cannot be dismissed.
I built the website page by page, document by document, memory by memory. I wrote late into the night, long after exhaustion told me to stop. I scanned thousands of pages, I cross‑referenced dates, matched signatures, and compared versions. I became my own investigator. My own archivist. My own historian. And as the story grew, something unexpected happened.
People like you began to read it. Not just the COT Cases. Not just the families who had lived through similar nightmares. Not just the few politicians who still cared. Ordinary Australians.
People who had never heard of the COT saga. People who had never questioned the integrity of a government‑owned corporation. People who had never imagined that something like this could happen in their own country.
They wrote to me. They thanked me. They are now beginning to tell me their own stories. They are starting to tell me they finally understood what had happened — not just to me, but to all of us. And for the first time in years, I felt something I thought I had lost forever. Purpose.
Absent Justice is not a website. It is a record. A testimony. A refusal to let the truth be erased. It is the story of what happens when ordinary Australians stand up to a system that was never designed to be challenged. It is the story of lies, surveillance, betrayal, and the quiet brutality of bureaucratic power. It is the story of how far a corporation will go to protect itself — and how far a man must go to protect the truth. It is the story of the COT Cases — the Casualties of Telstra — and the fight that should never have been necessary. But above all, it is a story about resilience.
