Until the late 1990s, the Australian government was the sole owner of Telecom, which served as the country's primary telephone network and communications carrier. This entity, now privatized and known as Telstra, historically held a monopoly over telecommunications in Australia. As a result of this monopoly, Telecom neglected the maintenance and development of its infrastructure, leading to significant deterioration and unsatisfactory service quality.

In a particularly troubling situation, four small business owners faced severe communication problems that severely impacted their operations. Frustrated and without recourse, they were compelled to enter into arbitration with Telstra in order to seek resolution for their grievances. Unfortunately, the arbitration process was fundamentally flawed. The appointed arbitrator demonstrated a bias towards Telstra, actively minimising the claims and losses presented by the Casualties of Telstra (COT) members. Instead of facilitating a fair process, the arbitrator allowed Telstra to effectively control the arbitration, undermining any hope for a just outcome.

Compounding these issues, Telstra was reportedly involved in serious misconduct during the arbitration proceedings. Despite the gravity of these actions, neither the Australian government nor the Australian Federal Police has yet held Telstra or any of the other parties implicated in this deception accountable for their actions. This raises a troubling question: why does it appear that Telstra operates above the law, seemingly immune to the consequences of its actions?

What unfolds in the twelve chapters below is not merely a tale, but a meticulous dissection of treachery that resonates with the dark undercurrents of corruption running through the COT Cases. By delving into separate sections, as done in Evidence File 1 and Evidence File 2, we sought to ensure that no fragment of truth about these insidious practices would be lost to the shadows. Who could fathom that the very arbitrator dealing with these cases would permit the Telecommunications Industry Ombudsman to wield falsehoods about his own wife, subsequently passing these deceitful claims to the Institute of Arbitrators Australia? This sinister manoeuvre served to prevent the Institute's President from launching a necessary investigation into the arbitrator’s questionable actions.

In a similar vein, the government regulator’s collusion came to light, conveniently obscuring the distress of nearly 120,000 Telstra customers plagued by similar COT-type phone faults. Telstra, in a chilling display of power, compelled the government to remove these alarming findings from its report. Instead, the arbitrator was misled into believing there were only a handful—approximately 50 or more —COT-type phone faults, as the following link starkly reveals → Chapter 1 - Can We Fix The CAN.

And yet, the depths of this conspiracy ran even deeper. In our endeavour to uncover the entire narrative, we were driven to expand the twelve chapters already written, crafting an additional twelve, all to illuminate a chilling saga that remains incomplete. The collusion within the Australian Establishment is staggering, and it is through this painstaking effort that we strive to unveil the appalling assaults aimed at twenty-one Australians—assaults designed to obscure the grim reality of Australia’s telecommunications system.

It is chillingly sinister that Telstra, the defendant in this affair, orchestrated a manipulative scheme that led the government regulator to drastically alter the findings of the AUSTEL report released on April 13, 1994. This crucial document callously brushed aside the devastating struggles of 120,000 ordinary Australian citizens—individuals ensnared in COT-type problems, suffering through severe service interruptions and baffling billing discrepancies. The Department of Communications, Information Technology, and the Arts (DCITA) disgracefully cherry-picked data from this deeply compromised report, deliberately undermining the legitimacy of the COT claims and turning a blind eye to the distress of countless victims.

My name is Alan Smith, and my story is one of unyielding perseverance in the face of an overwhelming telecommunications giant and the shadowy forces within the Australian Government. This tumultuous journey has unfolded across the intricate landscape of power, regulatory bodies, and the judiciary, all centred around the colossal entity known as Telstra—formerly Telecom—since 1992. What began as a quest for justice has been marred by a tapestry of deception and betrayal, a struggle that persists to this day, leaving scars that refuse to heal.

My story traces back to 1987, a year that marked the end of my 26-year life at sea—a life filled with the salt and spray of the ocean and adventures that shaped my character. Yearning for stability and a fresh start, I cast my gaze towards Australia. This land promised opportunity and possibility, utterly unaware of the pervasive corruption that lay waiting below the surface.

With a passion for hospitality and a dream to foster joy in a nurturing environment for children, I set my sights on running a school holiday camp. My heart raced with excitement when I discovered the Cape Bridgewater Holiday Camp and Convention Centre, a charming property advertised in The Age newspaper. Nestled amidst the breathtaking rural landscape of Victoria, near the tranquil port town of Portland, the camp seemed like a slice of paradise, rich with potential. I meticulously reviewed every detail, conducting diligent research to ensure the success of my new venture. Yet, in my eagerness, I tragically overlooked one critical factor: the phone lines' functionality.

Just a week after acquiring the business, the stark reality struck me like a thunderclap. My establishment had become enshrined in a communication black hole; customers and suppliers were unable to reach me, and as the phone remained silent, the whispers of business faded away. My dreams evaporated, lost amidst the chaos and uncertainty of a broken phone service. What began as a desperate scramble for survival soon morphed into a fervent quest for justice.

What unfolded was a nightmarish labyrinth of deceit and obfuscation. The simple request for a working phone escalated into an overwhelming struggle against a faceless bureaucracy that seemed determined to ignore my plight. Promises of compensation for my crippling losses trickled in, but they were buried beneath a mountain of bureaucratic red tape that served only to prolong my agony. Even after I relinquished ownership of my business in 2002, the new owners were thrust into the same harrowing scenario, a testament to the deep-rooted issues that had plagued the establishment.

I was not alone in my distress. A coalition of independent business owners, collectively known as the Casualties of Telecom—or the COT cases—joined me in my fight for recognition and accountability. Together, we fervently sought acknowledgement of our suffering from Telstra, only to face an unforgiving wall of indifference and callousness. “Fix the problems!” we implored, “And compensate us for our immeasurable losses!” After all, is it too much to ask for a functional phone line, the very lifeline of our businesses?

Our fervent appeals for a comprehensive Senate investigation were nonchalantly brushed aside, replaced with a disheartening arbitration process that initially glimmered with promise. Naively, we accepted this path, drawn by the tantalising prospect of resolution. Yet, our optimism quickly wilted in the face of reality. The essential documents promised by Telecom, critical for substantiating our claims, never materialised. Instead, we uncovered the chilling truth that our communications were being covertly intercepted—an insidious violation that hinted at conspiracy and collusion.

With the government providing only nominal support, our evidence shrouded in secrecy, and our pleas for investigation very systematically dismissed, the odds continued to mount against us. The most insidious betrayal, however, lay in a confidentiality clause we unwittingly signed, effectively binding us in silence while they wielded their power unchecked. Now, as I contemplate risking that confidentiality to share my story, I am left to ponder the extent of my remaining options.

Our odyssey pressed on through the convoluted maze of Freedom of Information requests, a desperate, Sisyphean attempt to unearth the buried documents. The years from 1994 to 2011 were characterised by a grotesque dance with bureaucracy, filled with frustration and despair. In May 2011, I faced my final battle before the Administrative Appeals Tribunal in Melbourne, my hopes shattered by the shadowy machinations of the Australian Communications and Media Authority (ACMA). The government solicitors stood united against us, and once again, I found myself facing defeat.

In the wreckage of my dreams, the question loomed: what options remained? We had already lost our legacy in the arbitration process, our failures compounded by lost appeals and a devastated business. As I stood amidst the ashes of my once-thriving enterprise, a startling revelation came to light. On June 3, 1993, Telstra executives had visited my business, inadvertently leaving behind an open briefcase that, unbeknownst to them, held vital insights. Inside was a file marked "Cape Bridgewater Holiday Camp," which confirmed that they had been aware of my struggles all along, while I had been deliberately misled.

Had I shared the crucial documents with the media that I had previously submitted to AUSTEL, the government communications regulator, the ensuing pressure from the press might have compelled Telstra and the government to confront and rectify my ongoing issues. Instead, AUSTEL conspired to obscure the truth surrounding my telecommunications troubles, a complicity echoed by the arbitrator’s effort to bury my claims deep within the bureaucratic trenches, ensuring that my voice would remain unheard and my suffering unrecognised.